#that he can tell good and ill intent apart

[haunted-xander]

BBS is a tragedy in many ways, but one of the things that gets me is that the catalyst, the one big thing that caused this mess to begin with, is so avoidable.

Like, the story starts primarily because Terra starts to fear himself (because of the darkness he has unwittingly 'used') and this causes a spiral of doubt and obsession. A spiral which he could've escaped from or maybe not even started if he just 1) had been taught the balance between light and dark properly (that darkness is more than just unquestionable evil, that light is more than unquestionable good, that they can and should co-exist in balance), and 2) had consistent socialization from more than the same 3 people.

Like. BBS is a cautionary tale about what happens when people aren't exposed to a wide enough variety of people and, therefore, end up naive and overly trusting because they never learned that people have ulterior motives. Terra is consistently manipulated and used by people literally everywhere he goes, because he can't see that they might not have the best intentions! He can't see the red flags because he doesn't know there are red flags to look for!

Xehanort knows this. It's why he targeted Terra to begin with: because he would be susceptable to his words. The main reason he couldn't use Aqua is because she was too confident in her own values, she didn't have the seed of doubt that Terra had. It's the only thing that prevents her from being used the same way he is, even though she is just as naive and trusting as he is.

Ven probably has it the worst socialization wise. Unlike Terra and Aqua who, presumably, has/had a family and life outside of the Land of Departure prior to beginning training there, Ven doesn't remember anything before then (not that he had much he'd be happy to remember anyway). And since he's the youngest and most 'fragile' one (due to being in recovery for most of his time here), he gets somewhat coddled and shielded by everyone else. Not to mention the way Eraqus completely forbid him from leaving and never intented for him to ever see worlds outside the Land of Departure. Sure, Terra and Aqua aren't typically supposed to leave either, but at least they'd be allowed in certain situations. Ven wouldn't.

Ven isn't allowed to interact with anyone outside of home. He's not allowed anything that involves the outer worlds. (He and Naminé are a bit alike in that sense. Though at least the people he's stuck with are nice to Ven and do genuinely care for him, unlike Naminé...)

BBS happens largely because Eraqus failed as both a teacher and a parental figure to all of them, but Terra most of all.

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 25: Vibrators(You tear my dreams apart...)

warnings/kinks: smut, vibrators, semi-public sex, squirting, bondage, mentions of oral sex word count: 0.7k pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader teaser: “See,” Toji says as he leans in to kiss you. “I knew my good girl could do it. You’re such a good girl,” taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic

Toji treats you like a princess. He’s not usually one to catch feelings like this, but something about you just makes him want to spoil you. He’ll buy you anything and get you anything, money is no limit at all. He works his ass off to make sure you’re well taken care of and pampered. 

The only thing Toji wants in return is for you to let him use your body for his pleasure whenever he wants. You’ve got an agreement that there is no limit(unless you’re ill) to when he can fill your holes in any way he sees fit. He quite enjoys pampering you in exchange of getting to fuck you like the animal he is.

Most days, he just wants to fuck your pretty little mouth and then he wants to bend you over the nearest surface so he can unload his cum deep inside that perfectly waxed cunt of yours. Everything he pays for to have you looking so beautiful and prim and proper for him seems to be so worth the money. He knows you look this way just for him.

One of Toji’s favorite things to do with you is to use sex toys on you. He’ll buy all the latest ones as well, just wanting to see what kind of effect it’ll have on you. He’s not afraid to blow hundreds of dollars on you either, just wanting to make sure his pretty little princess gets the best treatment. Not only will he buy you the best and top of the line sex toys, but he dresses you up in the cutest little outfits and sexiest lingerie sets.

Today he’s decided to give you quite the wild ride. He dresses you in a cute little outfit along with his favorite vibrating panties. He tells you that you two are going shopping and that he’s going to be using the vibrations on you the entire time. The only catch is that you can’t cum until you go home, or else he’ll edge you for the rest of the day.

The steady thrumming of the vibrations has you so pent up all day. You whine and beg, but Toji has no intentions of letting up. Just seeing you so helpless like this has his cock hard all day. He’d give anything just to push you up against a wall and fuck you until you cry. But this little game he’s playing is so much better.

You sit at the table of the cafe as you try to eat your lunch, but all of this is too much. You feel your slick coated thighs shuddering as the vibrations are hitting your clit in all the right ways. You try to squirm away from it, but it only pushes further into your clit. Toji smirks at you, holding the remote in his hand.

“Remember our little deal, princess.” Toji reminds you, the shit-eating grin still on his face.

You moan softly, “Toji…daddy, please.”

But just having you beg and whine and about to cum is too much fun for him. Besides, you haven’t said the safe word. The moment you say that word, everything stops. Toji keeps a very close eye on you as he watches you struggle to finish your lunch. He tells you to behave or else it’ll get much worse for you.

Lunch goes over more smoothly than you thought and after a bit more shopping, Toji tells you that you two are going home. You carry the bags to his car, your face all red and your hands shaking. He’s quite impressed that you’ve stuck it out this entire time. He knows he’ll have to pleasure you beyond what he was planning to make up for all this teasing.

Once you’re home, Toji has you tied up on the bed with your favorite wand vibrator on your clit. He’s fucking you on his fingers, watching you come undone with ease. You soak him and the sheets, a satisfied little smile on your face.

“See,” Toji says as he leans in to kiss you. “I knew my good girl could do it. You’re such a good girl,”

With his praise hitting you so hard, you know you could go for a few more rounds of this treatment. Especially if he’s going to stop teasing you…

[blixssily]

"you've got to be kitten me"

| you've brought home a lonely kitten that looks just like them... how do they react?

| gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader separated!!!

˓ ꒱ notes and disclaimers: reader is gender neutral

˓ ꒱ authors notes: i wanted to try writing for jjk!!! i have a geto wip atm so here's this so i don't go on a month long hiatus. apologies for suguru's part being so short i didn't really know how to not make it similar to satoru's :( also please tell me someone got the joke in the title

| gojo satoru *◞

the moment he opens the door to your shared apartment, he notices somethings up. you're sitting on the sofa, legs huddled to your chest as you look up at him. "hey you're back! how's your day been?" he noticed the slight shiver in your voice, the way your hands are dusting off whatever it is on your shirt.

"it's alright, could've been better if you were with me." he pouts, huffing as he plops on the sofa beside you. "what's up with you? everything ok?" he questions, a little teasing smile on his lips. "do you have constipation from how much you missed me while i was gone?" he laughs as you punch his shoulder, glaring at his stupid (good looking) face as he dramatically flops onto the other side of the sofa. "everything's fine, just ran into something... interesting today." if by interesting you meant meeting a poor abandoned kitten on the side walk then yes. it was interesting.

"oh? what was it?" he says, attempting to push his cold ass feet onto yours. "you're sleeping here tonight if you carry on like this." and he immediately retracts his toes, not without his signature pout on his face. "whats with the white stuff on your shirt?" he finally asks, he's noticed it as soon as he sat down beside me but he didn't want to spring the sudden question on you.

"okay, do you promise not to get mad at me?" that surely earned his attention. he sits up and tilts his head (like the cat you have that's inside your shared bedroom..) "why would i be? how could i ever be mad at this face??" he teases you as his hands cup your face, squishing your cheeks together. "i'm gonna kill you." you glare at him, whining as you try to escape from him. as you're almost about to kick your boyfriend, you both hear a certain meoooooow coming from your shared bedroom. "oh? is that what you were trying to hide?" and as soon as he was on you, he's off skipping towards the room. "satoru wait!!" you rush after him, you know he doesn't have any ill intentions but you're scared he might scare the poor kitten.

"how could you not tell me about this?!" you find him at the entrance to your room, you can tell he's smiling no matter how much his hands try to cover his face. the cat you found on the side wall while walking home today was sitting on your shared bed, specifically on satoru's side. "yea.. i couldn't just leave it out there. plus it even looks like you." he scoffs at the comparison, sure he and the cat shared the same white hair/fur but that doesn't mean anything! "aww so you thought of me?" he coos as you scoff at him, you both walk over to the little feline that's sitting on the bed. "i think it likes me, it's sitting on my side of the bed." he sticks his tongue out at you as you roll your eyes, yeah you wish.

he lets the kitten sniff his hand, your heart warms at the scene in front of you. pearly blue eyes peering into your partner's as it decides to nudge satoru's hand. "do you have a name in mind for them?" he asks you, hand busy stroking the kitten's head. "not at the moment, we still need to buy a litter box and food if we actually do decide to keep them." you sigh, thinking about the responsibilities of owning a feline. "it's okay, we'll work it out. how could you resist this face anyways?" you turn to your boyfriend who's holding the kitten up to look you straight in the eye.

"you two look identical." you laugh giving a kiss to satoru's forehead as you pet the newest addition to your humble home.

| geto suguru *◞

you swear you had no other choice but to take it in, the small little black kitten that's huddled on your lap right now. what else were you supposed to do with golden eyes piercing right through your very being?? (reminding you of a certain someone) you use a slightly damp cloth to clean the kitten's eyes up, making sure to softly rub it under its eyes. "i know i know, i wouldn't like this either if i were you." you tried comforting the poor thing, small whines slowly dying down as you stroke its head.

the little black ball of fur in your lap reminded you of your boyfriend. how you'd offer to help comb through his hair whenever he got frustrated with detangling it. you'd have to coo at suguru too to get him to stop his whining about how you were pulling too hard. just as you were about to put the damp cloth away, you heard your front door creak open. "oh shit shit shit shit shit. why is he home now???" you spend your first 5 seconds of shock looking at the door and the kitten that's currently on your shared bed.

"shh shh it's okay." you try your best to calm the kitten down before suguru can hear the meowing. honestly you don't even know why you're panicking but you feel like a child that's about to be scolded by their mother for bringing something into the house that they told you not to. you laugh a little at the thought of suguru being a mother.

"darling? you okay?" you can hear the very slight worry in his voice when you didn't respond to his 'hey i'm back' when he entered the door. "i'm in here!" you shout, trying your best to sweep off all the black fur that's made its way onto your shared bed. you've hidden the kitten (not really well....) inside the bathroom that's connected to your bedroom, you pray the kitten doesn't make its way to the frosted door that led inside it. "what's up?" he asks, looking around the bedroom as he stepped inside. "nothing! everything's fine, how was your day?" the unimpressed raise of suguru's eyebrow giggle nervously.

"what's that?" he turns his head towards the frosted door to your bathroom, the black silhouette of a kitten looks back at him. "well you see, it was a funny story.." you chuckle as you open the door. you start laughing a little when you see his eyes widen at the sight in front of him.

a kitten with jet black fur with glowing yellow eyes. he tilts his head a little and the kitten seems to follow along with him. he laughs a little at this. "looks just like me. where did you find them?" he ask, crouching down and extending his hand out to the feline.

"i found them at the park, well they kinda found me since they kept following me around until i reached the house." you confessed as you crouched down too, stroking the kitten's head as a way to encourage it to make its way to your boyfriend. you smile as the little black ball of fur sat right in front of suguru. the corners of suguru's mouth loosely tug upwards, his large hand gently petting the kitten in front of him.

you sit next to him, his arm wraps around your frame, pulling you closer. he kisses you softly, nuzzling his head into your neck. the kitten in front of you seemed to get the message, crawling cautiously into your lap.

guess you've got another cat to take care of now..

notes and reblogs are heavily appreciated !!

[heartsforvin]

Hey Paige !! I was wondering if you could do a jealous vinnie smut ?? I would love to see one

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

loveeee this idea ! thank you for the request <33

guys also, if it’s extremely noticeable (ik it is) but idk how to flirt so pls don’t make fun 😭😭

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; smut, use of pet names (baby, princess, etc), praise kink, cussing, vinnie being is own warning for this one

summary; you flirt with someone else to try and get a rise out of vinnie, but are soon met with the consequences

it wasn’t your full intention to flirt with another guy while your boyfriend was literally holding your hand, but you did it anyways.

you just wanted to get a rise out of vinnie.

the two of you walk hand in hand but you suddenly stop when you see a guy walking in your direction.

you let go of vinnie’s hand before the guy can notice the two of you may be together.

“hey handsome,” you say with a smile as vinnie has a confused look on his face. “i like your eyes.”

the guy in front of you blushes and replies with a small thank you. you can tell he’s nervous, while also feeling your boyfriends eyes stare at you from behind.

you start to pull out your phone and that’s when vinnie almost loses it. “you single?” you firstly ask the man in front of you, to which he nods. “why don’t you give me your number and we can see where this goes, yeah?”

the guy agrees and gives you his number. “i’ll text you when im home, ill see you later.” you say as you start to walk away, you turn around to wink at him before linking hands with vinnie when you’re a good distance away.

vinnie doesn’t reply, just simply keeps walking and occasionally squeezing your hand tight.

you know you got under his skin and pissed him off. you know that you’re his and no one is going to take that from him.

you know that too, but watching him get angry like that is so hot to you.

“the fuck was that?” vinnie asks after minutes of silence.

you turn your head and look at him. “what was what?” you try to play innocent, but only knowing it’s going to result in a not-so-innocent act later.

“don’t play fucking dumb with me,” vinnie tells you in a stern voice. “you know what you did.”

you shake your head and shrug. “ i complimented a guy and got his number so we can hang out,” you tell him. “so what?”

vinnie stops dead in his tracks, his hand immediately falling out of yours and to his side. “you fucking flirted with a guy, and asked if he was single. doesn’t sound like something so innocent as you made it be.”

the way vinnie was looking at you — like you had just done the most unforgivable thing ever — made your stomach drop.

vinnie loves you with everything in him, and to watch you so easily flirt with a guy and give him your number, with you knowing what girl’s have done to him in the past, really hurts him.

putting your hands on his arms, you rubbed his arms to try to relieve the hurt he was feeling.

vinnie didn’t let that slide though. pushing your hands off him, he just continued walking while you just stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“baby!” you called out for your boyfriend as he was walking farther away.

vinnie doesn’t stop walking, he just continues on as you shout for him. “babe!”

finally you caught up to him and pulled at his shirt sleeve so he could face you. “just hear m— get in the car.” vinnie cut you off mid sentence.

“but v, just lemme— listen to me and get in the fucking car!” he shouts a bit loud at you.

vinnie opens the car door for you and watches you get inside, slamming the door once you’re buckled. he gets in on the drivers side and starts it up without a word.

the drive back to his apartment is quiet, just music playing in the background while vinnie grips your thigh in a tight hold.

you tried talking but all vinnie did was grip your thigh a bit tighter and glare at you.

it wasn’t enough to hurt, but you could definitely tell he was more than just mad.

finally arriving at the apartment, you sit and watch as vinnie gets out of the car and makes his way to your side.

“go upstairs and wait for me, i’ll be up in a minute,” he tells you, and you start walking away. he calls out your name and that makes you turn around. “don’t want you in anything but that set you got on right now, you understand?”

you nod and reply with a faint yes, but vinnie hears it enough to nod his head in the direction of the stairs to the floor he lives on.

walking inside, you smile when you see hera waiting for you at the front door. you crouch down to pet her then walk into vinnie’s room.

closing the door behind you, you also make sure the curtains are closed as well.

once everything’s how you want it you start to undress, leaving you in only a black lace set vinnie had bought you months prior.

“so pretty f’me, sweetheart.” you suddenly hear, making you turn your head and see vinnie walk into the room.

you watch as he unbuckles his belt then slides off his pants, along with his shirt next. “you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks.

you nod frantically but that’s not enough for him. “use your words, baby.” he tells you, to which you reply with a ‘yes’.

vinnie smiles and makes his way to you in only his boxers. you slide up on the bed so he has room for himself.

looking down for a split second, you can see the obvious imprint in the man’s boxers, making you slowly look up at him.

“this what you want, princess? want my cock filling you up?” he asks, knowing exactly what the answer is.

you squirm and nod your head. “yes, please vinnie,” you whine. “please.”

he smirks and starts pulling his boxers down but you sit up and take them off yourself. “someone’s impatient.” vinnie chuckles.

once his boxers are off and somewhere in the room, you get back to the spot on the bed where you were moments ago.

vinnie grabs your hips and lifts them up so you can wrap your legs around his shoulders. without any warning, he pushes himself into you, not even giving you time to adjust before he’s thrusting into you with a fast pace.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he asks while watching you roll your eyes in pleasure.

you feel too good to even answer, even if it wasn’t a rhetorical question. all you can do is nod while you push your head further into the pillow.

“yeah? wanted to see what would happen if you flirted with another guy huh, baby?” he says, his pace never slowing as he speaks, if anything he goes faster.

you look up at your boyfriend and watch as he moves his hands to toy with your clit, making you bite your lip to suppress a moan.

“let it out, sweetheart,” vinnie tells you as his thumb moves fast on your sensitive bud. “let everyone know only i can make you feel this good.”

you let out a moan and vinnie smiles. “that’s it pretty girl, let me hear you.” he praises.

as he continues to toy with your clit you can’t help but try to close your legs on him. “v-vin.” is all you can say as he continues his actions.

vinnie watches as you fall apart right in front of him. he reaches over to squeeze one of your tits and that alone makes your back slightly arch off the mattress.

he takes your nipple in between his index finger and thumb, squeezing it just enough to make you moan in pleasure once again.

“doin’ so good for me, princess.” the praise goes straight to your head and all you do is smile at your boyfriend.

he can never stay mad for too long, and although he is still upset, he wants to make sure this all still feels good for you.

his thrusts become harsher and it’s almost as if a switch flipped and a whole different person was in his body.

“think you can just hit on someone else with me right there? think you could get away with it?”

you shake your head. “n-no, i’m sorry.” you try to say loud enough for him to hear.

“who makes you feel this good?” he asks you, and when he doesn’t get a response right away, he quickly pulls out and smacks your pussy.

you bite your lip to hold in the noise that wants to escape, not wanting vinnie to know you enjoyed that.

although he knows you too well, and knows you definitely did enjoy that. “pretty girl likes getting her pussy smacked, does she?” he asks in a teasing tone.

he does it once more and you can’t help but moan loud, making the man smile. “answer me.”

you nod. “y-you do, vin,” you say, and he pushes himself into you again, thrusting harshly. “only you!”

he smiles. “that’s right, good girl.” he praises.

his hand makes its way back to your clit and his thumb rubs harsh circles on it, making you squirm and whine in pleasure.

“i’m close.” you warn, and vinnies actions move faster.

you link your legs together so vinnie can move his other hand to your tits once more, giving both equal attention.

“cum for me, pretty,” he tells you as you watch him thrust in and out of you. “wanna see you cum on my cock for me.”

with one of his hands squeezing your tits and the other rubbing circles on your clit, you’re falling apart in front of him quickly.

“fuck, vinnie.” you’re so close you can feel it, and vinnie can tell too.

“come on baby, cum for me. show me who makes you feel this good.” he tells you once more, which pushes you over the edge.

with one more final thrust vinnie is right behind you, moaning out a string of curse words as he cums inside you.

he gently lowers your legs from his shoulders and you roll onto your side to face your boyfriend.

entangling your legs with his, vinnie pulls you a bit closer so he can kiss you softly.

“i’m sorry i got so mad, but you gotta admit that was pretty good.” he tells you, making you laugh.

you trace over the tattoos on his chest with a smile. “it was, but i’m sorry i even flirted with him in the first place.” you reply.

vinnie moves some hair out of your face and kisses your temple gently. “nobody can love and fuck you as good as me, let’s be honest.” he tells you, which makes you laugh once more.

it’s true though, no matter how many arguments the two of you might have, your guys’ love for each other is endless.

“i love you, vinnie.” you reply, kissing him softly.

vinnie grabs your cheeks and deepens the kiss, pulling away seconds later to kiss your nose. “i love you more, my pretty girl.”

hiii !! sorry i’ve been a bit inactive w posts, i was out of town for work and that’s why i didn’t get anything out (:

anyways i hope you liked this !! thank you again for the request !! <33

taglist: @forevergirlposts , @visualbutterflysworld , @cosmicanakin , @lyndys , @kriissy4gov , @supabhad , @laylasbunbunny @slvthrs , @st4rswrld , @bernelflo , @hallecarey1 , @kayleiggh , @lovingsturniolo , @leqonsluv3r

[heartateasee]

“Two”

Word Count: 9k

(Part two of ‘Goodnight and Go’)

⋆★★⋆

*Two months after the engagement*

"You can do this," I whisper to myself, staring into the mirror in my bathroom. "Do it for Gwen. Do it for Harry. You can do this."

Licking over my bottom lip, I press the cold compress I had been using back over one of my eyes. They were swollen, and so irritated given I had spent a good portion of my night crying.

I would be going to tour a wedding venue with Harry and Gwen today. I was surprised when she told me that she was already trying to narrow down places, but I knew she wanted to get the wedding done as soon as possible. Given that I was Gwen's maid of honor, she wanted me to be involved in a lot of the planning, and of course I agreed. However, agreeing didn't make it any easier on me. If I had it my way, I'd be involved in the planning as little as possible, and I'd only participate in the things that were absolutely necessary.

But I'm too fucking nice, and I agreed to be there for anything she wanted.

I sigh as I realize that my eyes are just going to stay pretty puffy for the day, and I slip my glasses onto the bridge of my nose. I had tried to get my contacts in several times already, but my eyes were so irritated that they felt too uncomfortable for me to wear today.

Flicking the light off, I exit my bathroom, and then I head towards the door. I pull on a light cardigan due to the mid-April treating the city well, and then I'm slinging my purse over my shoulder - walking out. Thankfully this venue was within walking distance from my apartment, so I start down the sidewalk - one earbud in as I listen to music.

Things had been okay over the past few weeks since Gwen's birthday, and the engagement. Harry and I ended up having that dinner that he wanted, and I forgave him for keeping me in the dark about his proposal. I knew he felt awful. Harry is in no way a malicious person, so I knew that he had no ill intent by not telling me.

I'm glad he cleared it all up though because I know how my sister can be, and I've always felt that she was intimidated by Harry and I's friendship. That was something I found extremely ironic considering there would be no 'them' without an 'us' to start, but I would never tell her that. I had seen her jealousy a few times throughout their relationship - one of them in particular always sticking out in the front of my mind.

It was one of the first times I had seen it, but it was after she came to the realization that Harry and I both had butterfly tattoos. This wasn't something that we had done together. I remember when Harry and I both discovered we had them. It was the second or third time we had hung out at his place, and I had taken off my cardigan when he saw the butterflies on my arm.

"I have a butterfly tattoo too," he told me, and he didn't hesitate to lift up his shirt to reveal the ink stained on his stomach.

I never thought anything of it. I never thought that somehow connected me to Harry in any way, but she did. I explained to her not too long after they were dating that we didn't even get them together, and deep down she knew that considering I got them the summer before my first year of college, Harry having done the same with his, but for some reason she was still so hung up on it.

I'll never forget the day she walked into the house, and showed me that she got a small palm tree on the side of her wrist to match the one Harry had on the back of his arm. Part of me wanted to shake Harry, and make him realize what was going on then, but I kept my mouth shut. As much as I love my sister, she's always been like this. She always has to one up me.

The one thing I did have over her, which I knew that she would never do, is that Harry came with me when I got both of my piercings - my septum, and my tongue. When Harry and I went to get my tongue done, he had made the decision that he was going to get his nose pierced as well. I had done the best job of hyping him up on the way there, but when they asked who wanted to go first, I spoke up and said I would.

That was a mistake.

The moment that Harry saw the needle go through my tongue, he collapsed onto the floor. It took him a good ten minutes to come to, and the decision was made by both him, and the piercer that he would not be getting a piercing that day. After that, we never ended up going back, but I couldn't stop reminding him of what happened - teasing him about it throughout the years. I thought that with all the tattoos he had that he wouldn't be so sensitive to piercing needles, but I obviously was very wrong.

I make my way to the front doors of the venue, and I walk inside - removing my earbud promptly. My eyes search around for either Gwen or Harry, but I'm not seeing either of them.

"Hi, can I help you?" I hear the woman behind the desk speak to me, and I smile as I walk over to her.

"Hi, yes, I'm here to check in the tour for Adams and Styles," I clear my throat as the words leave me, and I watch as the woman types on the computer.

"Oh yes, the reservation is right here. You're the bride?"

"No, no," I quickly shake my head. "The bride is my sister - seems neither her or the groom are here yet."

"Sorry, my mistake," she laughs it off as she continues to type before looking back up to me. "Okay, well we still have a few minutes before their scheduled time, so you guys can just check back in with me when they get here."

I give her a nod as I walk away from the desk, and I reach a hand up to run through the side of my hair while I make my way over to one of the benches they had against the wall. Just as I'm going to sit down, the doors open, and I watch as Harry walks in.

It's clear that he's just come from a round of golf as he's dressed in a pair of golf slacks, and the pullover for the country club he goes to - a white turtleneck underneath. He looks around as he latches his sunglasses onto the front of shirt, and he sends me a wide smile once his eyes land on me.

"Hey," he breathes as he walks over, quickly pulling me into a hug.

I reciprocate the action - my palms flush against his back. "Hi."

"Gwen's not here yet?"

"I haven't seen her, no," I respond as we pull away from each other. "I actually went ahead and checked you guys in. She said just to go back over to the desk once you both were here as well."

Harry nods as he looks around, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Pretty fancy, huh?"

"Yeah, well, you know Gwen," I mumble softly, crossing my arms over my chest.

I see Harry glance over to me, and a small smirk places itself on his lips. "She is always one to want the best."

I roll my eyes playfully at him, and that's when I notice the clip holding some of his curls back. It's a regular thing for Harry to wear, so it's not something that strikes me as different, but I know how my sister is when it comes to this damn clip.

"Harry," I click my tongue against the back of my teeth, and I walk forward to close the gap between us again. "You know she hates when you wear that clip in public. She'll throw a fit, and you know she'll already be worked up because she's late. I'm doing you a favor."

Reaching up, I undo the clip from his hair, holding it in one hand as I run my fingers through the front of his curls with the other. He chuckles softly, and my eyes meet his own as I continue to get his curls straight. "Always looking out for me, hm?"

I swallow harshly at his words, slowly dropping my hand away from him. "Always."

I watch as Harry's eyes bounce over my face, and just as he opens his mouth to say something again, the doors to the venue open.

"Sorry, sorry. A client was asking so many questions - had me running almost thirty minutes later than I expected," Gwen gasps as she practically runs over to us.

I look down at Harry's clip that I'm still holding, and I slip it into my purse - making a mental note to give it back to him later. When I look back up, I see Gwen with her arms around Harry's neck, his hand on her lower back as he leans down to press a kiss against her lips.

"Carter said we need to check back in over there," he tilts his chin over to the desk, and we begin to make our way over there as a group.

I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans as Gwen talks to the girl I had talked to previously behind the desk, and we begin to head out of the main lobby of the building.

My eyes take in everything around me the further we get into the venue, the woman even leading us outside to a walking path that ventures to a large chapel. I stop in the doorway once we walk inside, and my eyes widen.

The room is massive with high ceilings - light colored wooden beams lining it. The color of the beams matches the color of the pews lining the majority of the room, and the stage they have set up for the wedding party to stand on is quite large. Gwen's gasps fill the room as she walks around, Harry trailing behind her with his hands in his front pockets.

"Oh, Harry, I know this is the first place we've looked, but this is beautiful," she gushes, pulling her phone out as she snaps picture after picture.

I finally make my way inside and stand beside Harry as he runs a hand up and through his curls. "Yeah, 's nice, Gwen."

The place is nice, but it's huge. I don't even know if they would fill half of this chapel.

"What do you think, Carter?" I hear Gwen speaking, and I look over at her.

Why was she asking me?

To be completely honest, I don't even know why I'm really here. I know Gwen, and she's going to choose whatever she wants regardless of input from others - even Harry.

"It's beautiful," I agree, and I try to think of how to phrase what I want to say next as best as possible. "Do you think you need all of this space though? Do you think you're going to invite this many people?"

Gwen was looking around as I spoke, but as soon as I was done speaking, I saw her head snap over to look directly at me.

"What?"

My mouth gapes as I hear the sharpness of her tone - my eyes widening a bit. "W-well, we don't have a big family, and neither does Harry. This is a really big chapel, Gwen. I feel like you could maybe find somewhere else that feels a little more....I don't know..intimate?"

It's a complete stare down, and I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, my eyes flicking over to Harry for a moment.

"Don't look at him," Gwen growls, and I quickly look back over to her as she walks closer to me. "Who's wedding is this?"

My bottom lip trembles as I stare at my sister, and I know she's trying to make me feel small on purpose. "Yours," I whisper in response. "But you asked for my opinion."

"I asked for your opinion about the chapel in general. I didn't ask for you to give me your opinion on whether or not we'd be able to fill it."

I nod slowly at her, forcing my tears away at all costs. "Got it. I-I'm sorry."

Gwen's eyes cut at me harder before she looks away, and she heads back over to the coordinator who's giving us the tour. I can feel that my shoulders immediately relax now that she's not so close to me, and I can see Harry frowning in my peripheral.

I avoid his eyes - knowing that part of him feels guilty for my sister's actions. Over the years, there's been plenty of times that Harry has put Gwen in her place with the way that she speaks to me, and I know that it's caused many fights between the two of them, but somehow Gwen still just can't seem to treat me with a little more respect.

Why should I expect her to though? This is how it's been my whole life. There's times where Gwen and I are so good - where we're inseparable. Then there's times where she's completely at my throat over something as small as me needing to push a dinner that we had planned together back half an hour, with plenty of notice might I add.

It makes me wonder if she treats Harry this way as well. I've never heard him speak about it, but I know he's not one to bad mouth people - especially those he cares about.

I didn't even realize that I had zoned out, staring at the wall across from me until I know see Harry in my eyeline - blocking my vision. "Carter?"

Snapping out of it, I meet his moss colored eyes, and I see his eyebrows meeting in the middle. "Sorry," I apologize. "Were you saying something?"

"No, just your name."

I feel Harry's hands cup my upper arms, and I can tell that he's studying me - trying to make sure that I'm okay. "Is it time to move the reception area?"

Harry's frown only deepens at my words, and before he can speak again, I hear Gwen's voice cut through the air. "Come on you two, we're heading to the dining hall."

The contact that I so desperately need is soon dropped from my body, and it's everything I can do to keep up this facade. I exhale a shaky breath as we follow behind Gwen. I'm picking at my nails as we walk, hissing when I feel myself finally break the skin.

"Fuck," I mumble, quickly sticking my finger into my mouth to suck on my cuticle.

"Carter," I hear my name leave Harry's mouth again, and before I can comprehend, his hand is around my wrist - pulling the digit from between my lips.

We stop walking, and he looks down at my hand with concentration. "It's fine, Harry."

"You only do this when you're really stressed or upset," he says it under his breath, but I can still hear him clearly.

"It's okay. Just leave it, alright?"

I tug my wrist out of his grip, and Harry stares at me with a hurt in his eyes. I have to look away quickly to keep myself from crumbling, but there has to be some separation at this point. My sister is always going to get what she wants, including Harry, and I can't keep putting him in the middle.

"Hey," his voice is still quiet, but abrasive as I keep my head down. "What's going on?”

I shake my head - silently telling him to drop it.

Thankfully, we walk into the dining hall, where the reception will be held, and Carter starts to gawk at the environment once again.

"This is so perfect," she admires the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, as well as the wood paneling with intricate molding along the walls. "This is exactly what I've pictured."

In my head, I'm begging to make it out of this part of the tour unscathed. I don't want her to ask me what I think again. I just want this to be over so that I can go home, smoke a few cigarettes, and do some tattoo sketches out on my balcony.

So I do what I do best - I tune my sister the fuck out. I usually don't get this angry when it comes to her, but I know deep down it's due to me being bitter about the engagement. I continue to walk behind them, faking my excitement, and I know that one person here knows I'm lying. Of course he does, he knows me like the back of his hand.

Just like I know him.

Before I even realize, we're heading back towards the lobby of the venue, and as Gwen and the coordinator are indulged in a discussion, Harry looks over to me.

"Hey, do you want to come back to mine? Unless you have work later, of course. I took the day off because I didn't know how long this was going to take," he expresses - an eagerness in his eyes as he asks.

"I don't know, Harry," I shake my head, hugging my arms around myself. "I don't think that's the best idea."

"Why? What makes you say that?"

I look over his shoulder to see that Gwen is still heavily engaged in her conversation before meeting Harry's eyes again. "Because I clearly did something that pissed her off, and if she knows that we're going to hang back at your place when she has to go back to work, she'll probably get even angrier with me."

Harry's lips twitch into a frown as he processes what I've said. "C'mon, Carter, we haven't hung out in a while. I'll deal with her if she tries to say anything rude about it."

I want to bite back and ask him who's fault it is that we haven't hung out lately, but I bite my tongue. I've asked Harry to hang out quite often, even since before the engagement, and I each time I was given an excuse that he and Gwen already had something planned, or it was too last minute.

His moss colored eyes are pleading with me to say 'yes'. I feel my heart ache in my chest before I let out a loud sigh through my nose. "Okay, sure. I'll come over for a little bit."

Harry's expression immediately changes, that boyish grin that I'm so familiar with taking over. "Perfect. We can stop by the market on the way back to mine, and I'll get some stuff to make us lunch. You didn't eat before coming here, did you?"

"No, just had a couple cups of coffee, and a bagel earlier for breakfast."

Gwen makes her way back over to us, wrapping her arm around Harry's shoulders from the side - leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek. "I still want to check out a few other places before we settle, but I did go ahead and put down a refundable deposit of two hundred dollars so that it doesn't get booked up for the date we have."

"You guys already decided on a date?" I ask, my eyebrows narrowing.

So no one wants to give me any details, but my sister wants to drag me along for the tours?

"Yeah, a winter wedding," Gwen states through a large smile. "December 6th."

I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping when I realize that Harry and Gwen will be getting married this year. I figured they'd stay engaged for a while, at least a year or so before I would have to watch them get married while plastering a fake smile on my face. But no - my sister works quickly, and it really doesn't surprise me that she's already wanting to be Mrs. Styles.

"O-oh," I clear my throat, dropping my arms from around myself to fiddle with my fingers behind my back. "I didn't know it was going to be this year, but that's amazing. You've always wanted a winter wedding."

"I know," Gwen smiles over at Harry, lifting her hand to run her fingers through his curls just like I had done just a bit ago. "I'm really hoping it snows. Those pictures would come out so beautifully."

All I can do is hum in response as I watch Harry's hand run up and down Gwen's back. "I know you've got to get back to work, yeah? Carter's gonna come over to mine. We're gonna stop by the market and grab some stuff to make lunch."

I can read the expression on Gwen's face clear as day, but she disguises it quickly. "Oh, I was hoping that we could go grab some lunch together down the street before I have to go back."

Harry's eyes peer over to me for just a moment before he's looking back to my sister. "I have lunch with you a couple of times a week, angel," he says, bringing up his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I haven't hung out with Carter in a long time, and we're both off for the rest of the day. I'll come have lunch with you tomorrow - I promise."

I can tell that Gwen is more pissed than she's letting on by the look in her eyes, but she sends him a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, of course," she drops her arms from around him, and almost instantly creates distance between the two of them. "I'll see you tomorrow at lunch then?"

Gwen and Harry still haven't moved in together yet. I wasn't sure if they intended on doing so before the wedding or not, but I knew they were both a little stubborn when it came to giving up their current lofts. They had decided two years ago that they weren't going to be moving in together until they'd be moving into a new house so that neither of them felt like they were giving up the comfort of their current spot for another.

Harry nods. "I'll see you tomorrow, and call me later once you're home from work, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, and I'll call."

Gwen looks over to me, and I send her a small wave. "Bye, Gweny."

I can tell the nickname that I've used for her since I can remember gets to her a little bit - in an emotional way. Gwen's smile actually turns genuine as looks at me. "Bye, Carty."

Once she walks through the doors of the venue, I almost instantly feel the anxiety leaving my system. It makes me sad that being around my sister these days has that effect on me, but it's something I've come to deal with.

"Well, shall we?" Harry asks while gesturing his hand towards the same doors that Gwen just left out of.

I smile up at him - giving him a nod. "We shall."

We walk towards the entrance, and he holds the door open for me as we walk out. As we're heading down the street, Harry does what he always does, and he switches spots with me to make sure that he's closest to the cars coming down the road.

"I'm parked just in the garage over here," he says as he fishes his keys out of his pocket.

Once we're in his car, we start down the way towards the market, and I hear the sounds of Peter Gabriel flowing through the car. I hum along softly once 'Sledgehammer' starts, and I can see Harry smiling at me out of the corner of my eye.

"Remember when we were at the bar during our final year, and I had played this on the TouchTunes? You freaked out because you thought the bar was just randomly playing Peter Gabriel," Harry chuckles, and I reach out to swat my hand against the back of his chest.

"Yes, I do remember that, and don't judge me," I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. "I was very drunk, and very excited that the song was playing. It's your fault I ended up being so obsessed with it. That album was all you played for months."

"Of course I did. This, and 'In Your Eyes' are absolute classics," Harry says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I roll my eyes at him.

We pull up to the market, and we each get out so we can head inside. He grabs a hand basket as we walk in while latching his sunglasses onto the front of his shirt again like he had earlier.

"What were you thinking? I'm really in the mood for anything," he begins to grab a few basic things off the shelves as we walk - things I'm sure he just needed to pick up anyway.

I hum as I think, pursing my lips to the side as I contemplate what I'm hungry for. "What about that eggplant parmesan that you used to make? That was always really good. Maybe we can make some garlic bread to go with it?"

"I haven't made that in forever. That sounds perfect," he states as we head towards the procedure to pick out the veggies we'll need.

We grab a couple of eggplants, as well as some onions and garlic gloves since Harry likes to make his marinara sauce from scratch, and he knows he'll be needing those to make it. As we walk towards the canned aisle so that he can get a can of crushed tomatoes, I notice that he continues to run his fingers through the front of his curls to keep them from falling into his eyes.

"Oh, here," I speak up, digging through my purse to locate his hair clip. I approach him, and I tilt my chin down. "Kneel down a bit."

Harry does as I ask, just slightly bending at his knees, and I put the clip between my lips as I use both hands against his curls. I make sure they're smoothed out before gathering them together the way that he likes, and I hold the small sprout together with one hand as I use the other to take the clip from my mouth - putting the teeth of the clip around his hair.

I feel my heart flutter as I realize that he's really been concentrating on me the entire time that I've been doing this, and I have to remind myself that I need to quit handling him in this way. Touching him in this way, and having him look at me in that way doesn't help my situation in the slightest. I'm just so used to being able to touch him, and handle him the way I always have. I know that I need to stop though. Regardless of how harmless it truly is, I know that Gwen would have my head if she saw it.

"There you go," I breathe, and my eyes follow Harry as he stands up straight again.

He sends me a crooked grin, one that has one of his eyes slightly squinting, and has a dimple popping in his cheek. "Thanks."

Taking in a deep breath, I gave him a small shrug and a smile to try to cover up just how the encounter made me feel - playing the whole thing off as nothing as we continue to gather up everything we need.

"Wanna go pick out a bottle of red wine?" Harry asks me, and I nod. "Okay, meet me at the registers once you're done. I just need to grab a few more things."

I walk towards the wine aisle of the store, tucking my bottom lip between my teeth as I eye a few of the different bottles. A red blend always seems to be the safest bet when it comes to pairing well with flavors. I go for a decently priced one, and I start to head towards the registers until I see one of the guys from the tattoo shop.

"Alfie, hi," I smile as I walk over to him, and once he realizes who was speaking his name, he smiles back at me.

"Carter, hey," he swings an arm around my shoulder lazily to pull me in for a hug. "Missed you at the shop earlier."

I chuckle softly as I shake my head, patting his back for a moment before we break away from each other. "You're just saying that to flatter me."

Alfie smirks softly. "Yeah, maybe."

I watch as he licks over his bottom lip, eyes trailing over my appearance for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "You're looking quite comfy today. Were you heading anywhere in particular?

"I had to tour a wedding venue with my sister earlier," I tell him. "I'm actually about to head over to a friend's for lunch - hence the wine."

Lifting the bottle up by holding onto the neck of it, Alfie gives a chuckle as he inspects it in my hand. "A girl after my own heart - indulging in some wine when it's only a little past noon."

Alfie was cute, definitely the cutest guy that I work with at the shop, but I'm not attracted to him in that kind of way. He really likes to flirt with me, and I let him. He doesn't make me uncomfortable, and we pretty much know that it's never going to lead to anything, but it's fun to go back and forth a little bit every now and again.

We talk for a little while longer as he's telling me about the piece he did on a client earlier, and that's when I realize that I was supposed to be meeting back up with Harry. I'm polite in the fact that I let Alfie finish his story, but once he's done, I quickly tell him that I forgot my friend was waiting on me. He follows me out of the aisle, and I can see that Harry spots me almost immediately as Alfie and I walk side by side.

He ends up needing to go down another aisle before I fully reach Harry, and I give him another hug before we part ways. I walk over to Harry, and he looks down at me with narrowed brows.

"Who was that?"

"Alfie," I say, and I'm sure I'm now mimicking the look that he's been giving me. "He works at the shop. I'm pretty sure I've introduced the two of you before."

Harry just hums in response as he begins to put the groceries on the conveyor belt. I keep the bottle of wine in my hands, and I keep a good grip on it when he goes to take it from me.

"I can get this, Harry," I didn't want him to pay for absolutely everything. "You're already getting everything for the food."

I watch as Harry takes in a deep breath - signaling that he's not super happy about letting me pay for anything. He's always been like this though, and we've always gone back and forth when it comes to who pays for what. He knows not to argue with me about it, so he just gives me a nod as the cashier begins to ring up his things.

Once I've also paid for my wine, we head out of the story as Harry pushes his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"Do you not like Alfie or something?" I speak up once I realize he really has been silent for so long. "Because if you don't, that's really strange considering you hardly know him."

I watch as Harry rolls his eyes at me from behind his lenses, and it causes some anger to flare up within my chest.

"No seriously, Harry, what's your deal?"

We begin to load the groceries up into the trunk of his car, and I make sure to secure the bottle of wine between a few soft items so it doesn't break. He slams his trunk shut as he moves to get back into the driver's seat of the car. I follow suit and get into the passenger seat, but I'm immediately turning to face him.

"I obviously knew it was Alfie," Harry huffs as he starts the car up. "And I remember getting irritated one day when you were tattooing me when he was there. We had taken a break, and you went to grab a quick water for you and I both, and he started talking to you. I just saw the way he looked at you when your back was to him, and you were walking back over to me. He was checking you out. It wasn't in a 'oh, I'm admiring her beauty' kind of way either. It was gross."

I sit there for a moment as I process the words he's spoken. As I said, Alfie and I flirt with each other a lot, and I'm well aware of the way he looks at me most of the time, but I never expected for Harry to feel any sort of way about that. Why would he? I understand he's my best friend, but he shouldn't feel protective over me in that way.

"I work with him, and that's really it. Him and I flirt a lot - I'm not going to sit here and deny that. I'm sorry that the way he looked at me bothered you, but he really is harmless, I promise. He hasn't even tried to ask me out or anything. If he did, I'd probably say no because I'm not interested in him like that."

Harry sighs deeply before he looks over to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get all...weird. I just always want to make sure you're okay, and that you're safe."

"Trust me, I am more than safe when it comes to guys at the shop. You know how Duncan is. If he were to see anyone lay a finger on me without my permission he'd break their hand," I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Now come on, there's eggplant parmesan to be made."

With a small chuckle, Harry buckles his seatbelt, and we pull out of the parking lot of the market.

The way he became protective over me like that has me thinking back to how he used to be like that all the time. When we would go out together in college, he always made sure that he was close to me - wanting to keep anyone from messing with me. He had a few flings here and there, and they absolutely hated the fact that we were a package deal when it came to going out on the weekends. Everyone else in our friend group just knew that was our thing.

If Harry was going, then I was going too.

I'm sure it's kind of obvious when that stopped being the case. When the time came where Harry went out, and I didn't get an invitation - I'd only find out later by seeing Gwen's posts of them at the bar on Instagram. Post after post it was like a part of my heart was getting hollowed out.

Am I a bad person if I say that I have my sister's posts on Instagram muted?

I had to do it after a couple of months into her and Harry dating. Every single post, and every single story she would upload had him plastered all over of it. I got it, I really did, but I just couldn't deal with seeing it all the time. Not when my best friend was barely returning my texts.

It makes me sad to think about how rambunctious Harry and I used to be when we were together. Although we were always safe, and he always made sure that we weren't going to be hurt, we did a lot of wild stuff back in our prime college days. He still remained that way, even a couple years into dating Gwen, but as time went on, that streak in Harry seemed to fade away.

I knew when we started to get older that we wouldn't be as carefree as we once were - that happens to everyone. It wasn't just him not being carefree anymore though. Slowly his style started to change, and it was obvious he didn't find joy in the same things we used to find joy in together.

At this point I felt like I was friends with a whole new Harry. Sure, there were times when the old Harry would shine through so bright, especially when we were alone together, but whenever he was around Gwen, that Harry rarely ever showed his face.

Regardless of all of that, I was still undeniably in love with him.

I snap out of my thoughts when I realize that we're parked outside of Harry's building, and I get out to help him start getting the groceries from the back. He takes the majority of them before we head inside.

Harry stands behind me as we walk up the single flight of stairs - something that he always did in case for some reason I lost my footing. He always said that it would be better for him to be behind me to catch me, regardless if it meant him losing his footing too, at least his body would be underneath me to break my fall.

This whole thing came about after a night of drinking, and he was walking me back up to my dorm room. I had a lot to drink that night, and even with holding onto the handrail as I made my way up my stairs, I had grown dizzy which caused me to start teetering backwards. That night Harry caught me before I started to fully fall, but ever since then, he always makes sure he's behind me on the stairs.

Harry unlocks the door to his flat, and we begin to sort through his groceries. As he begins to prepare lunch, I start to put away the groceries that I know he won't be needing for this particular meal.

"I'm going to the bathroom to freshen up really quick," I tell him as I shrug my cardigan off, draping it over the back of one the chairs at his dining table.

Harry looks over his shoulder at me, giving me a nod in response as I make my way through the living area and down the hallway. I pop into the bathroom, sucking in a deep breath as I try to calm my nerves. I don't really know why being here is making me so anxious. I think it might be some underlying emotions with the way that Gwen was treating me today, and also seeing the look on her face when Harry told her that we would be having lunch together at his place.

I turn on the sink before sticking my hands underneath the cold stream of water. I dance my fingertips lightly over my cheeks to cool myself down a little bit, seeing as I didn't have any face makeup on today other than some mascara, and I feel that it's starting to do its job.

Once I give my body and mind just a few more seconds to ground themselves, I head out of the bathroom and back towards the kitchen to hear music now playing. I can hear Harry humming along, causing a smile to curl onto my lips. As I get closer I realize that he's playing Shania Twain, and when the kitchen comes back into view, I see that he's already poured us each a glass of wine.

"Everything okay?" Harry asks, his back is to me, and I raise my eyebrows a bit at the fact that he knew I was in here without me even making a sound.

"Yeah, I was just feeling a bit warm - wanted to cool down a bit before having some wine. You and I both know that wine makes me flush," I giggle, grabbing my glass.

I take a small sip, trying my best not to focus on the flex of Harry's biceps as he chops up the garlic cloves for his marinara sauce. He had changed out of his golf gear while I was in the bathroom, now wearing a pair of loose light denim colored jeans and a black Joni Mitchell t-shirt.

My eyes follow Harry around the kitchen as I push myself up onto one of the barstools that he had against one of the higher counters, and I watch as he starts to stir all the ingredients to make the sauce in a small saucepan.

"Smells good," I compliment, and Harry peers over to me.

He smiles as he lets the sauce sit by itself for a minute, and he leans against the counter while grabbing his own wine. His sight remains on me over the lip of the glass as he takes a long sip. "Your glasses," he starts once he swallows down the crimson liquid. "I haven't seen you wear them in a while. Reminds me of our early days - you hardly ever wore your contacts."

Shrugging, I play it off. "Yeah, well I was feeling a bit nostalgic today, I guess."

I had to lie. I couldn't tell him that the reason I couldn't wear my contacts was because my eyes were so irritated from crying myself to sleep the night before. The thought of having to tour that venue today with them was eating me up inside, and somehow the outcome was even worse than what I had pictured last night in my head.

Harry turns back to the sauce, and he scoops some up onto the wooden spoon. He begins to bring it over to me with his other hand underneath it - tilting his chin down. "Try it."

A knot forms in my stomach when I realize he wants me to try it while he's still holding the spoon, seeing as he's not making any sort of motion to pass it over to me. I lean down, wrapping my hand around his wrist holding the utensil to keep him steady as I seal my mouth around it. I pull away once I've collected all the sauce, and I hum softly while licking over my lower lip subconsciously.

"Holy shit, Harry, that's really good," I compliment him with a small laugh.

I can see that Harry's a bit frozen, but he snaps out of it quickly - sending me a grin. "Yeah? You're not just saying that?"

I shake my head as he heads back over, putting the spoon back into the pan to continue stirring it. "I promise that I'm not, but Harry!"

He looks over to me with his eyebrows raised at the tone of my voice. "You just stuck that back in there after my mouth has been on it!"

"So," he shrugs, looking back to the sauce while taking another sip of his wine. "It's just us eating it. It's not like it matters. We've shared plenty of drinks and food over the years."

I roll my eyes playfully at him as I lift my arms, gathering my hair in both my hands to form a ponytail. As I pull the elastic off my wrist, Harry looks back over to me, and I watch as his eyebrows knit together.

"That's new," he says, walking back over to cup my arm.

"What is?" I ask before looking down at the back of my arm. "Oh, yeah, I got it done a couple of weeks ago."

It's a small floral design that one of the guys at the shop whipped up for me on a whim. Most of my tattoos have meaning, but every now and then I like to just fill up some of the empty space that I have with dainty, and frilly ones.

"I like it. 'S cute - very you, Carter," Harry gives me a small wink before turning around and heading over to the counter where I could see he had already started to prep the eggplant a little bit.

"Well thanks," I clear my throat, gulping down a big sip of my wine once I get my hair properly into a ponytail. "When are you going to let me tattoo you again?"

Harry chuckles softly as I watch him begin to coat the eggplant slices - moving between dipping it into flour, then the egg mixture he made, and then breadcrumbs. "Yeah, Gwen said I'm not allowed to get anymore until after the wedding."

"Wait...seriously?"

I knew my sister had taken control over a few things here and there in Harry's life, but one thing I thought he'd never let her have control over is what he chose to ink onto his body. He had always been someone that didn't care what other people thought about his tattoos, getting them here and there as he pleased.

"Yeah, it was kind of an agreement, I guess? She asked me not to get anymore the night we got engaged - on the way home from dinner, actually," Harry continues as he begins to line a baking dish with the eggplant. "I'm not super thrilled about it, but it is what it is. A little bummed because I had something in mind that I wanted you to tattoo on me. It can wait until after the wedding though."

"Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry," I don't really know why I'm apologizing. I don't agree with what my sister's making him do. "What did you have in mind for your next one?"

"I was thinking of a heart on my arm."

I raise an eyebrow at him as he pops the baking dish into the oven. "You already have a heart."

"No, no like...this one would be anatomically correct."

"Where would you get it?" I finish up my glass of wine, and Harry is quick to start pouring me another.

"My bicep, I think. I've got some empty space right here," he motions to an area of his skin that's surrounded by a few other tattoos, but there's definitely room to fit something else.

"That's a good placement, you can angle it well and everything so that it doesn't look wonky when moving your arm around."

"Well, after the wedding, hopefully you can pencil me into your busy schedule, since you'll be done with your apprenticeship and all," he smirks, and I shake my head at him.

"I'll always have time for you, H. Have I not made that clear enough for you?"

Silence looms over us for a moment as we stare at each other, and I swallow harshly when I realize exactly what I've said.

"You have, Carter," Harry nods, his eyes glazing over with seriousness. "You always have."

⋆★★⋆

Harry and I finished off the bottle of wine I had picked out at the market during dinner, and he insisted on opening up another one that he had at his place - begging me to hang out a little longer. I gave in, of course, and we ended up snuggled on the couch. He was on one side, and I was on the other, both of us underneath our own blankets as we passed off a tub of ice cream while watching The Devil Wears Prada.

"Fuck, I love Stanley Tucci," Harry comments with a mouthful of ice cream.

We were both definitely feeling the wine at this point, and this was probably the fourth time Harry has made that statement during our watch.

"You don't say?" I joke as he passes the ice cream back to me, and he cuts his playfully.

"Are you shaming me?"

"Absolutely not!" My jaw hangs open at his accusation - surprised that's what he would gather by me saying that. "I've never shamed you for anything before, why would I start now?"

Harry hums as he nods. "Very true - you're right."

Being here like this, hanging out like we used to, has my heart warming inside. The last time I was over here was when he made me dinner to explain the situation surrounding the engagement. Although I enjoyed spending that time with him, it wasn't the happiest of hang outs.

This feels like us again.

Glancing at the clock, I see that it's just past five o'clock, and here we were - on our way to being drunk before the sun even went down. I'm drawn out of my thoughts when I hear Harry's phone ringing, and he picks it up off the coffee table.

"Shit, it's Gwen," he huffs, sitting up properly as he runs a finger through his curls. "How sober do I sound?

"Do you want the actual truth, or do you want me to lie to make you feel better?"

Harry reaches out and gives my thigh a pinch, causing me to yelp before answering the call.

"Hey, babe," he greets, and he instantly cringes.

That definitely came out a bit slurred.

I can hear Gwen's voice through the phone, but I obviously can't make out what she's saying. The way the grimace on Harry's face deepens tells me everything I need to know about what Gwen is saying to him on the other end.

"No, Carter is still here. We had lunch, and we're almost done with a second bottle of wine. We're watching a movie right now," he says, pausing said movie so that we don't miss anything - regardless of us watching this together over ten times at minimum.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I can tell that Gwen's voice has become raised, and I watch as Harry lifts his hand to run it stressfully down his face.

"We're not drunk, Gwen. We might be a little buzzed, but we're not out of it or anything. I don't understand why this is such a big deal. It wasn't like we had plans," Harry huffs as he leans back on the couch and closes his eyes - head tilting up towards the ceiling.

I reach out to grab my phone off the coffee table, and I quickly pull up my Uber app to check rates. The last thing I want is to cause a fight between the top of them, so if going now prevents that, then I'll do it - regardless of how much fun I've been having.

Standing up from the couch, I watch as Harry sits back up, and he keeps his eyes on me as I grab my cardigan from the chair I had draped it over. I pull it on before heading towards the door to slip on my shoes, and I grab my purse from the small table he has against the wall.

Harry immediately stands and walks over to me, looking down at me with a sad expression. "I'm going to have to call you back."

He hangs up the phone with Gwen still ranting on the other line before tucking it into his back pocket.

"Please don't go," he whispers, reaching a hand out to run it up and down my arm.

"It's fine, Harry. I don't want to cause any issues, and knowing how she is, she's probably going to end up coming over here and fussing the both of us out. If I'm gone by the time she gets here, then it'll lessen the blow for you," I explain with a shake of my head. "I promise that it's okay."

I'm lying. I'm lying through my fucking teeth.

"We were having such a good time though, a-and there's still an hour left of the movie," he rushes out, and I feel my eyebrows narrow in concern as he looks back over to the TV.

"Hey, what's going on?" I ask softly, lifting my hand to cup his cheek without even thinking about it - forcing him to look at me again. "Why are you so worked up about this?"

"I just...I don't know how often we're going to be able to do this once Gwen and I move in together, and are married. I know you'll probably be over a lot, but it's probably going to be rare that it's just us."

Harry drops his chin to his chest, and I make the decision to drop my hand back down by my side. I want to tell him that he's wrong, that it's not going to be like that when the time comes, but I can't.

We both know it's the truth.

I know that I'll probably regret this if Gwen comes over now, or I'll deal with hearing it the next time I see her, but I ultimately make the decision to stay.

Toeing my shows back off, I place my purse back down, but I keep my cardigan on as I let out a soft sigh. "Let's finish the movie, yeah?"

Harry's head snaps up, and I can see his eyes twinkling as they connect with mine. "You're gonna stay?"

"Yes, I'm going to stay," I tell him as I walk back over to the couch and plop down - covering my body with the blanket again. "Now come on, I bet we can demolish this carton of ice cream before the movie is over."

He moves at lightning speed to sit back down on the couch next to me, restarting the movie before filling our glasses of wine back up.

The movie continues on, getting to the point where the ice cream carton is empty, and our glasses of wine are almost finished as Harry peers over to me. I look over to him with a soft smile, and he sends me one back.

"Thank you for staying, Carter. I hope you know how much this means to me."

I look down at his hand that's on my thigh over the blanket, and I take in a deep breath before meeting his eyes again.

"I do, Harry," I tell him, dropping my hand to wrap around his - giving it a squeeze. "I really do."

But I think this means more to me than you'll ever know.

[taintedbenevolence]

A KNIGHT'S CONSOLATION

a/n: thinking about argenti's s/o consoling him whenever he wonders if spreading idrila's word is pointless and if his faith goes unheard. pairing: argenti x gender non-specified reader warnings: no particular warnings. maybe a bit of information about the knights of beauty. not proofread. category: comfort/mild angst.

Argenti was a typically well-mannered man, with looks so stunning one would think he's the very image of beauty. Fitting, for being a Knight of Beauty, I suppose.

Candid, devout, and warm-hearted were words people often described him as. He bore no ill intent, and although a little exaggerated at times when he directed himself, it was clear he only meant well.

After all, what kind of Knight would he be if he didn't spread Idrila's good word?

Alas, not everyone returns the kindness he offers. And a flower, as beautiful as every, withers like any other if not taken care of.

The kind knight is amicable, but not delusional. He knows well that she whom he follows is well most likely dead — not missing.

This objective of the Knights of Beauty to find their vanished Aeon was starting to seem more like wishful thinking than an accomplishable feat.

And when one's testimony of The Beauty is rejected more often than not, it's easy to grow frustrated — so when your lover strolls with you in the garden with mildly furrowed brows, you can tell the lack of appreciation for his beliefs is starting to get to him.

You take his armored hand in yours, guiding him to a section surrounded by flowers and grass, as you both slowly sit down in between nature's glory.

Slowly beginning to pick apart a few flowers and tying them around each other, you speak softly.

"What is it that bothers you?"

A simple question, but it does bring the knight's attention back to you. He musters a smile, a quiet chuckle leaving through his lips that reverberates through his chest as he gazes at you.

"Dearest, and here I believed that this was meant to soothe us?"

His words are teasing, and well — elaborate, as always, yet, you can tell he's attempting to shift the subject just slightly. Subtly.

But you know better than to ignore when Argenti begins to show signs of distress. So you pry further.

"It is — and I know something is occupying your mind."

And as his breath catches, his emerald hues flicking towards the sky briefly before glancing back at you, a wry smile tugs at his lips — you have him.

And well, it can't hurt to tell you, now can it?

"I still haven't found her."

Those're the first words he speaks. He pauses, before continuing, just a hint of melancholy present in his usually warm gaze.

"And not many are willing to spare a glance at her radiance."

A bit of a complex statement at first, but you're able to decipher quickly enough what he means by his words. His Aeon remains unfound, dead, and any attempt to garner faith for The Beauty has by now been almost but completely futile.

You continue making a wreath out of the flowers, as you hum quietly in response. You know spreading The Beauty's word can for him be, whilst certainly a blessing, also a burden.

"Not many are able to withstand her radiance," You reply in turn, beginning to lift your gaze to meet Argenti's eyes.

"The human mind was not made to comprehend the divine," You continue, finishing the wreath of flowers as you sit beside him, hugging your knees.

"It's normal for a mortal to not believe what cannot be seen," You say to him, not minding his silence as he gazes at you with an expression that slowly turns into a half-hearted, amused, but certainly endearing smile.

"That is very consoling, my love, but.." He chuckles, his lips forming a more genuine smile that has a hint of hurt, not intended to be hidden. "It doesn't make it any less exasperating."

And he is right — even if your words provided a soothing message to his heart, his mind yet remains uneasy. You gaze at him, contemplating his words, and you sigh quietly, as your head leans on his right shoulder.

"There are things that'll remain with uncertainty, Argenti," You state, gazing at the setting sun, the sky slowly shifting into a faded dusk. "Faith cannot be demanded of instantly — it must come of the soul."

Your hand finds his, gently squeezing it, and he still feels a miniscule chill sent through his way with an accompanied warmth from the palm of your hand, despite the armor that separates him from your touch.

"Even if you don't live to see her light once more .." you speak, feeling his attentive gaze fixed on you. You pause, trying to find the right words, before you smile faintly, finishing your statement.

"I can say for certain — the Path you treaded will leave Traces, and I'm sure that she will find a way into mankind's hearts as she did once before."

[inamagicalhallucination]

guys do u remember my post that was like atsushi time travels back to a little while before he meets the ada??

okay so listen

its not too long before he meets the agency - but its still a long time if ur actively starving

atsushi isn't sure where to go or what to do, to be honest, it's hard to think with your stomach painfully begging for something, anything

atsushi isn't even sure if this is real

still, he drags himself up, considers just going to the agency, worries that if he meets them differently, something will change and he won't have his family

stumbles around and walks his way to the one of the few people outside of the agency that he knows he can trust

akutagawa ryuunosuke hears knocking on his door and is very surprised becuz who could it be ? the few ppl who know where he live would either never visit or call ahead

and gin, of course, has a key

still, making sure his coat is on and rashomon is just barely out, he opens the door

he doesn't know what he expects but a white messy haired, starving man in rags of clothes and dirt on his body standing there, tapping his foot, is not it

akutagawa stares, readies rashomon instictively

the boy smiles and akutagawa almost, almost flinches at the aboslute delight in his face at seeing him

"akutagawa" the boy says, akutagawa knows now that he cant simply kill him, he has to know how he found him, and who sent him, "thank god you still live here. i was a little worried." he reaches out and bats away the tendrils of rashomon with a gentle ease and pushes akutagawa slightly out of the way to enter akutagawa's apartment - akutagawa uncommon bafflement being the only real reason his starving body is able to

akutagawa should strike him now that his back is turned but the boy knows his name and his apartment and he needs to know how - it's good, he thinks, that the boy walked in on his own - it'll be easier to keep him until he explains

"who the hell are you?" akutagawa growls, putting on his meanest face, the boy barely spares him a glance

"your actually pretty adorable when your trying to be threatening - do you have rice? im really hungry."

rashomon shoots out wrapping herself around the boy's arms and legs, holding him up in the air, digging into his skin

the boy does not flinch.

he pouts

"ryuu, how could you be so mean?"

"do not call me that." akutagawa says, wondering if he should just kill him and find out about how he knows somewhere else "who are you"

the boy doesn't stop pouting but he finally answers "my name is nakajima atsushi. i got kicked out of my orphanage. im hungry. i want tea on rice." then he smiles and pulls out the ultimate weapon - something even akutagawa isn't prepared for against - "i'll make you fig pie "

akutagawa drops him

no it isn't just for the namedrop of one of his favorite dishes - it's simply becuz akutagawa can detect no lie or hint of malice or ill intentions from this atsushi

he keeps a tendril of rashomon on him just in case - he's not just letting him go of course - he still needs answers

atsushi pets rashomon and continues on to the kitchen, carefully washing his hands and moving around like he's been there a million times

"say, ryuu. i'll cook and clean if you let me stay here. just for a bit. until i get a job."

"no. i am letting you not starve perhaps - but do not think that i trust you or care for you."

"aww... im going to stay anyway."

"you will not"

"im not here to hurt you, promise. i really just didn't know where else to go."

"that does not explain how you know me."

"i guess not. ahh let me eat, i'll explain when i can think"

he never explains.

he does make the pie and he does fret over akutagawa eating dinner and he does laugh at akutagawa's threats and he does charm him easily and he does prove that he isn't associated with anyone just akutagawa and he is so so untrustworthy but akutagawa lets him stay

he tells himself its becuz he's keeping an eye on his strange man

atsushi, on his part, fully meant to explain everything to akutagawa as soon as he finished eating. he just forgot. he's so used to akutagawa already knowing everything about him, that it's esy for me to forget to explain, but still go on fully thinking that akutagawa already knows.

[cloudy-em]

Hey, I got an idea for Carmen, if you're okay with it, of course.

Basically, the reader has an eating disorder (she throws up after almost every meal), and he tries to help her.

of course love!! i myself have struggled with disordered eating

disclaimer: the following post will contain potentially triggering and/or upsetting content. i do not write triggering content to romanticize it; i occasionally write triggering content because i recognize it can serve as a form of comfort for readers and authors. if you think any of this post may cause you discomfort, please feel free to interact with one of my other posts.

warnings: mention of food, detailed talk of disordered eating, talk of feeling ill and vomiting

xxxxxxxxxx

Being in a new relationship with a famous chef and battling an eating disorder at the same time is certainly not easy. I like Carmen, I really do, and I don't ever want to upset him. I've been avoiding food-related dates with him; usually we walk in the park or get coffee. But he's been begging me to let him make me dinner, and this last time I made up an excuse, the disappointed look on his face absolutely broke my heart.

"So, I'm not free tonight for dinner, but I uh, I can come over tomorrow?" I offer. He lights up, nodding.

"Y-Yeah, okay! I'll make you something nice, yeah?" He asks, but it's not really a question, more of a confirmation. He kisses the top of my head gently, rubbing my shoulder.

I watch as he walks out of my office door, closing it behind him. When I hear the latch, I sigh.

xxxxxxxx

I'm already shaking when I knock on Carmen's apartment door. It swings open, revealing the beaming chef.

"Come in, 'm almost done, 'kay? Make yourself at home," he says sweetly, stepping aside to let me in.

Whatever he's decided to make smells delicious, but I can't appreciate it for long, because my stomach quenches, making the reality of it set in. I'm either not eating and offending Carmen, or I'm throwing up in his bathroom. Neither is a desirable outcome.

He looks beautiful while he cooks, so focused and in his element. He's plating his creation carefully for the both of us, like it's the final touch to his painting. He sets our plates at the table and smiles gently at me, signaling he's ready for me to join him. I'm not ready.

It feels like my whole body is convulsing as I walk over to the table and sit down. He's made a beautiful chicken fettuccine with a light cream sauce and peas. I pick through, trying to make it look like I'm eating, only collecting a few peas and small pieces of pasta on my fork.

"Hey, what's up?" Carmen asks. "Do you not like it?"

"No, it's not that, Carmy! It's good, I promise," I reassure him.

"What is it, hm? You can tell me. Are you vegetarian? Dammit, I knew I should've asked but I assumed-" he begins to ramble and I cut him off.

"I'm scared," I whisper. I can feel the crocodile tears forming, and one falls when he reaches out to rub my hand with his, moving his chair closer to mine.

"What're you scared of, baby?" He asks. I shake my head, but he's looking at me so intently, like he cares so much that I just break, sobbing.

"It's not you or your cooking, Carm! I promise! You're so good and so talented and I'm so proud of you! But I'm so fucking scared, Carmy." He nods and hums, his large palm rubbing soothingly between my shoulder blades. So I continue, "It's just a lot of food, and I can't really explain it, but it- it's just a lot of carbs and I don't want to gain weight and whenever I eat full meals it makes me so, so sick. I can't eat more than a couple of small snacks a day, otherwise I'm vomiting everything in my stomach," I sigh.

"It's okay, baby," he says softly. "We'll work through it, yeah? You never, ever have to eat everything I put in front of you. I want you to feel safe and comfortable with me, 'cause you make me feel safe and comfortable. But you gotta eat something, honey, y'can't starve yourself. Y'gotta eat balanced, too. Here, let's try."

He cuts a very small piece of chicken and puts it on my fork, holding it out for me to eat. I do, and he praises me. "Good job, I'm so proud of you. See? That's protein, it'll keep ya going. You don't even need that much, just a couple more bites, yeah?"

He continues to help me stomach enough food to keep my blood sugar up, praising me for every bite.

"I can't, Carmy, no more please. I'm starting to feel sick," I warn.

"Y'did good, okay? I'm so proud," he kisses my temple gently. "We'll keep working on it together. I'm here for you."

[adrinoir]

I LOVE Felix and Kagami together so, so much

I feel like it just makes sense.

At first, Felix’s intentions seemed really unclear - all of them, not only the ones he had for Kagami - but he’s already proving he means well. His character arc has been fantastic.

His ways of showing he cares are definitely weird and used to come across as possibly ill-intentioned and all for himself. But, I feel like Kagami has brought out a really good side in Felix, one that has made him express his emotions and true intentions clearly.

Like, prior to Pretension (I think it was?), Felix only showed love for his mom and the slightest bit for Adrien by taking his place in leaving Paris for the modeling gig. Other than that, he acted very conniving, like he was some sort of villain seeking out the peacock miraculous for his own benefit, not caring if he hurt the heroes in return.

But, suddenly, he meets Kagami and he’s like I LOVE YOU AND MUST PROTECT YOU AT ALL COSTS. And Kagami falls for him so quickly in return.

The fact that he’s made it his thing to “kidnap” Kagami, take her away from her apartment room so they can sneak off together is precious. I feel like that is very on brand for him.

Also, he told opened up to Kagami about him and Adrien being sentibeings (insane that this is now 100% canon!!) and let her help tell the story to Marinette in his weird little play. Amazing. I love it when people can be vulnerable like that with people, it shows how deeply they love and care about that person.

They kiss so much too?! Like YES. PLEASE. The romance and chemistry between them is alive and well!!

[jupitercomet]

Douche Bag Jar Deposit: $1 and a Tube of Lip Balm

summary - After your night at the bar, Jake starts avoiding you. Maybe an encounter with a certain dog named man will help fix that.

warnings - New Girl au, fluff, angst, slowburn, language (like... a lot), very suggestive, men being the worst, violence, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you would like

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 5.1k

the douche bag jar masterlist

Your body thudded against the closed door of Jake’s room, his lips swallowing your startled yelp just as quickly. Your hands were a desperate frenzy of fingers and palms, his scrambling up and down your body, torn between what part of you he wanted to explore first, and yours pulling and tugging at his hair.

You threw your head back against the door, a whimper escaping you as his lips bit and sucked at your neck. “Jake.”

“I gotta get you out of this dress, peach,” his voice was strained against your collar bone. “Or else I’m gonna fucking cum in my pants.”

Jake swore — crossed his heart and hoped to die and all that shit — that he had no ill intentions when he stayed with you at the bar. He was listening to Bradley, just trying to be a good roommate and not send you packing with his flirtatious advances. He’d brought you orange juice for fuck’s sake. What’s more innocent than orange juice?!

But then you were batting your lashes at him, and teasing him, and your eyes were so pretty. And Bradley and Natasha were scooping up a very delirious Mickey, informing you both that they were taking him home and that Bradley would walk Natasha back to her apartment and so then you were alone.

If the universe didn’t want him to sleep with you, then it shouldn’t have let you look at him like that. Besides, you kissed him first! What was he supposed to do? Say “No, we’re roommates. That’s not what roommates do”?

That was not what he did. Instead, he had you pinned against his door as he pulled your pretty, white dress over your head.

“Holy fuck.”

Either Jake had just died and gone to heaven or he was about to. Because he was not certain that he would make it out of having sex with you alive. What a way to go though.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a whine escaping your swollen lips as you tried to coax his mouth back to your body. “Please, Jake.”

He swallowed audibly, almost forgetting what to do with himself as your glazed over eyes looked up at him, your chest brushing up against his every time you breathed. Another whimper of his name was all it took to break him, snapping him out of his stupor as he crashed into your lips again and prompted you to wrap your legs around his waist.

“God, I love this ass,” he groaned, supporting it with his hands as he moved you both to his bed.

You giggled against his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jake confirmed, dropping you on his mattress so that he could rip his belt off. All of his clothing was taking far too long to get out of — he ended up sacrificing his leisure dress shirt, letting the buttons scatter across the floor of his room in his haste to take it off. 

His hands stilled suddenly when he felt yours pushing them off his belt buckle. You’d moved to sit on his bed, tucking your heels under you as you looked up at him teasingly through your lashes.

“Peach,” he warned as you slowly undid his belt. “I wasn’t joking. I will bust a nut right now.”

Your hand trailed down the front of his jeans and Jake closed his eyes at the feeling. “Do you want me to help you with that, Jakey?”

He groaned, eyes fluttering open to tell you that yes, he very much did want you to help him with that, but furrowed his brows suddenly. Because, instead of being met with your sultry gaze, he was met with his white, popcorn ceiling.

Jake shot up from his bed, looking around wildly as he pieced together the darkness of his room, his digital alarm clock laughing at him in the numbers 3:04 am, and the fact that you were not sitting on his bed in just a bra and panties.

Jake let himself fall back on his mattress, closing his eyes and trying not to scream into his pillow.

“Fuck.”

Mickey trudged out of his room with a groan, wincing at the sunlight that was filtering in through the windows. He was never drinking ever again. In fact, he would probably never do anything but lie down on the cool hardwood of the loft’s floors ever again. Yeah, that sounded like a nice idea.

“Fanboy!”

A harsh whisper registered in Mickey’s ears, his body reacting to the noise before his brain translated it. He pressed his fingers into his closed eyelids, vibrations thundering around in his skull. The reason for his new wave of dulled pain was looking at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“No way,” Mickey shook his head. “I am not going to the gym with you today, Jake. I’m so fucking hungover.”

“No. No, come on man, you can’t do this to me,” Jake begged, which Mickey would have found unusual had he not been trying to stop the jackhammer going off in his brain. “I can’t be alone with—”

“Hey guys!” You greeted the two cheerfully, cringing when you noticed Mickey’s grimace and lowering your voice apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Peach! Hi— I mean hey—” Jake leaned to balance his elbow on the wall, missing it and almost falling over in the process. He recovered frantically. “S’up… shawty.”

You looked at him in slightly uncomfortable confusion. “Okay, so that was a choice you made.” 

Mickey’s eyes flitted between the two of you and he let out a scoff of disbelief. “I refuse to do this this early in the morning,” he shouldered past Jake, ignoring the look of urgent alarm on his friend’s face to instead drown his pain in french toast and an aspirin. “Goodbye.”

You sent Mickey an understanding smile, too caught up in your sympathy of his clear discomfort to fully comprehend what he was saying. With a couple of grumbles and grunts, he left you and Jake alone in the hallway. Resecuring your grip on your gym bag with a flex of your fingers, you moved your attention back to the blond.

“You ready to go?”

Jake gulped audibly. It had all started a few days ago, this offer that he was now deeply regretting.

“Ew, Bradley!” You shoved him with your foot from where you were laying on the couch. “What does that even mean?”

“I just think there’s something sexy about blenders, okay?” He defended. “Like, if I had to fuck any household appliance, it would be a blender. You’re telling me you’ve never been attracted to an inanimate object before?”

“No!” You looked at him incredulously. “How often are you finding yourself attracted to inanimate objects?”

Bradley sighed, turning away from you with a far off look. “Enough to turn Bed, Bath, and Beyond into a goddamn minefield.” 

Jake exited the bathroom before you could even begin to piece apart everything wrong with the information Bradley had just shared with you and the movement caused your eyes to focus on him instead. Instantly, you wished you could go back to unpacking Bradley’s alarming fantasies.

The terry cloth towel he was using to dry his hair was blocking his gaze from you and, for that, you were grateful. You had a feeling your expression would be especially telling. It didn’t take a genius to interpret what part Jake’s low hanging sweatpants and clean-shaven face played in your dry mouth and heated cheeks.

“Gross, dude. This is a shared space, put a shirt on.”

Oh, and that too. You supposed that was also an important detail.

Jake dropped the towel, letting it rest around his neck and you blinked a few times to compose yourself. This was fine. You were fine. Who in here wasn’t fine? Not you!

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re literally not wearing pants right now.”

“Boxers are the pants of the home, Jacob,” Bradley looked at him indignantly. “And I refuse to be shamed in my own home.”

He got up with an angry huff.

“Hold on,” Jake took a step forward, widening his eyes. “Are those mine?”

Bradley’s head snapped down to his boxer clad thighs. “No. No! I knew this blue didn’t look right!”

“It’s oxford blue, asshat, and it compliments my skin tone.”

Bradley gagged, reaching for the waistband of the oxford blue fabric. You shrieked when you realized what he was doing, slapping a hand over your eyes.

“Bradley, do not!”

“Not in front of peach, you pervert!”

Keeping your eyes squeezed shut, you waited until you could no longer hear Bradley’s heavy footsteps to tentatively remove your hand from your face. Luckily, you were not greeted with the sight of Bradley’s… intimate areas, but Jake’s bare chest and the peeking waistband of his own boxers underneath his sweats objectively might have been worse.

You kept your eyes trained on the TV. Wow, who knew that those tiny home shows were so interesting? Definitely more interesting than Jake, that’s for sure.

Jake rubbed a tired hand over his face, moving to head to his own room — and do a thorough check that all his underwear belonged to him. Your eyes darted to his back as he turned, his bare skin taught over his muscles. There were still beads of water from his shower, making him look— No! No, nope, you were not doing this.

The housing crash.

Lizards getting so scared that their tails fall off.

Global warming.

You let out a breath. Crisis averted. You were fine. Everything was fine. Jake was fine— Stop it.

“Are you doing anything Saturday?”

You head snapped up to find Jake still standing in the living room, looking at you expectantly. And almost hopefully?

You kept your eyes trained on his face. “I don’t have plans. Why?”

“You should come to the gym with me and Mickey.”

Clearly you looked hesitant because Jake laughed. “Please? Mickey always leaves me to flirt with gym girls and I never have a spotter.”

“You expect me to believe that you don’t also flirt with girls at the gym?”

Jake’s tongue darted out to trace his bottom lip. “Peach, you should know that I take my physique very seriously.”

You were well aware.

“Do you go to this gym a lot? What equipment do you use the most?” You questioned, oblivious to Jake’s inner plight at your workout attire. “Oh! Do you have, like, a gym regimen you follow?”

You kept rattling on about treadmills and weights — Jake was hardly paying attention, a little more focused on not popping a semi in the middle of the hallway — and, for a moment, he wondered what would happen if he just bolted right past you. He was definitely faster than you... probably. In any case, you’d be no match for his locked door.

“That’s actually what I’ve been meaning to tell you, peach,” Jake interrupted you suddenly. “I, um, I can’t go to the gym today.”

“What? Why not?” You pouted.

Fuck.

“Please, Jake? I really need to start working out more and I’ll never do it if someone isn’t there to hold me accountable. 

“Please, Jake.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

“Boobs.” He blurted suddenly.

You closed your mouth.

“What? Did I say that?” Jake laughed nervously, his voice rising in pitch. “Jar!”

Scrambling towards the living room, he grabbed the only thing he had in his gym shorts — a tube of Burt’s Bees cucumber mint lip balm.

(Mickey had gotten him and Bradley hooked on the stuff a couple years back after a winter so dry that Bradley’s bottom lip was splitting open almost anytime he spoke. They all had their own scents too, so they wouldn’t get confused — e.g. the oxford blue underwear incident. Jake’s was cucumber mint, Mickey’s was mango, and Bradley’s holy grail had come in the form of Burt’s Bees ultra conditioning lip balm.)

Without thinking, he threw his lip balm into the “Douche Bag Jar”, almost knocking it over before turning back to face you. You were watching him in silent bewilderment.

“I’m gonna go have a long, hard think about my role in the patriarchy,” and this time Jake did bolt right past you to his room. “Bye!”

Even his Burt’s Bees cucumber mint lip balm seemed embarrassed of him.

“Do I even want to ask why you’re hiding behind my bed right now?”

Jake popped his head out from behind the red flannel sheets, sending Mickey a nervous smile. Truthfully, Mickey probably didn’t want to know why Jake was seeking refuge in his room. And Jake really didn’t want to tell him that this was the third time he’d run away as soon as he’d seen you. He was already well aware of how embarrassing it was that he couldn’t even be in the same room as you without thinking about— He looked down at his pants. Shit.

“I was just,” he made a dramatic show of dropping his eyes under Mickey’s bed. “Looking for something.”

“Like what? Your dignity?”

Jake froze. “What are you—”

Mickey smirked. “The walls are thin, bro. Thin enough that I can hear you moaning our roommates name in your sleep.”

Jake opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to find words to defend himself from Mickey’s accusations. Well, maybe not accusations. Were they accusations if he was right?

“Honestly, I always thought you’d have one about Rooster first.”

“Ew,” Jake wrinkled his nose. “And give yourself some credit, man.”

Mickey preened slightly. “Thanks, dude.”

Jake shrugged, suddenly reminded of who he’d actually dreamed about, and he let out a loud groan. “What am I gonna do? I can’t even look at her without thinking about it.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I shouted the word ‘boobs’ at her and then ran away.”

“Okay,” Mickey let out a low whistle. “So it is that bad.”

Rolling his eyes at him, Jake moved to get up. “If this is the only insight you plan on offering, I’m just going to leave.”

“I didn’t even ask you— Do you have a fucking boner right now?!”

Jake swiped one of Mickey’s pillows quickly, covering his front with it as he defended himself, “It was an intense dream, okay?”

Mickey’s eye twitched. “Get my pillow away from your dick or so help me, I will neuter you.”

“Fanboy, this is serious,” Jake lowered the pillow — Mickey’s threat having effectively killed his mood. “It is literally the only thing I can think about. I am blue balling myself so bad right now.”

“I don’t know, you just need to, like, see her as a person or something,” Mickey suggested. “The second you realize women have emotions and require effort, you usually stop being attracted to them.” 

Jake glared at him. “Thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m wrong,” Mickey scoffed. “You once told me you stopped seeing a girl because she asked you if you’d still date her if she was a worm.”

“That was not my fault,” Jake pointed at him accusingly. “She stopped seeing me. All I did was tell her that, honestly, I’d probably take her fishing and she cried. What the fuck did she want me to do with a worm?” 

“I rest my case,” Mickey moved to remove his pillowcase. “You just gotta find her worm and you're golden.”

Yeah, he just had to find your worm. Jake could do that. How hard could it be?

Very hard.

Turns out finding your worm was going to be very hard for Jake.

And it shouldn’t have been. That’s what pissed Jake off the most. Almost everything you did was strange, borderline crazy, and overall not hot. You rambled and sang at inappropriate times. You were friends with Bradley and Mickey — no woman he had ever dated had enjoyed the company of those two. He once found you crying because you’d read an article about two gay penguins at the zoo adopting a chick whose mother had died. 

(In fairness to you, it did make him tear up a bit and he and Bradley decided that, if they were gay penguins, Mickey would be their orphan penguin son. The night ended with the four of you tearfully watching Happy Feet.)

But that! That was what Jake was talking about. That was not something he usually found himself attracted to. And if it managed to trigger another sex dream, except you were both penguins this time, he would be fleeing the country.

Mickey found the whole thing nothing but amusing. Weirdly, he’d become Jake’s confidant through the whole ordeal, listening to his various rants and vents about how you’d managed to make putting chopsticks in your mouth like a walrus look sexy! 

“This pattern you have with semi-aquatic Antarctic animals is starting to worry me.” Mickey pointed out, popping a Cheeto into his mouth.

“It is not— It is not a pattern, you freak!”

Mickey held his hands up, though not before grabbing a few more Cheetos. “Hey, I’m not the one who wants to fuck a walrus.”

“Shut up, I don’t want to fuck—”

“Jake!” You closed the front door with an unnecessarily loud bang, wincing at the sound for a moment before strengthening your resolve and moving past it. “We need to talk.”

Jake turned to Mickey with a panicked look, the other man just shrugging in response, going back to munching on his Cheetos as he watched the two of you from the couch. Jake briefly wondered if he could launch himself over the couch to escape you, but you were already standing in front of him with a stern pout before he could take the initiative. 

“About— About what, peach?” He laughed nervously, the way you were looking up at him through your lashes was not helping. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about—”

“You’ve been avoiding me and we need to talk about it, so I brought you something,” you moved to riffle through your purse, before finding what you were looking for and handing it to him. “It’s a conflict resolution ball. Whatever prompt your thumb lands on, you have to answer as a way to help solve the problem. I use it with my kids all the time.”

Jake looked down at the purple and white checkered ball, lifting his thumb to read one of the prompts. Describe your initial reaction to the conflict. How was this not an immediate turn off for him?!

“Peach,” he tried to hand the ball back to you, “there isn’t a conflict between us.”

You snatched the ball from him with a glare. “Fine, I’ll start. ‘How would you like to see the conflict resolved?’ I would like for Jake to tell me what I did to upset him, so that he stops avoiding me and so that I can be more aware of it in the future and not do it again.” 

“Peach—”

“Can I see the ball?” Mickey asked from the couch, dusting his hands clean of Cheeto cheese and holding them open for you to throw him the ball. “I would like to be a part of this conflict resolution.”

Jake gritted his teeth, about to smack the other man upside the head because whose side was he on? But you had already tossed the ball to Mickey.

“‘Who needs to take responsibility for what happened?’ I think Jake needs to take responsibility for this conflict. It’s unfair of him to make you play with balls just to please him.”

Jake was going to knock his face in.

“And the fact that he’s been keeping you on edge—”

“Okay, fine!” Jake interrupted loudly, grabbing the ball. “‘Describe one win/win solution to the problem.’ How about I stop being weird and we never talk about this again?”

“But Jake, you still haven’t told me why—”

“And I’ll watch whatever shitty rom com you want.”

You contemplated his offer. “You’ll come with me to get popcorn?”

Jake nodded. “I’ll come with you to get popcorn.”

“And Starbursts?”

“And Starbursts.” He confirmed. 

You smiled, “Deal.”

You watched with a small smile as Bradley tried to sneak another bag of Lay’s Dill Pickle chips into your shopping cart, Jake none the wiser as he scrolled through some article about which microwavable popcorn brand had the most butter. After — what you were deeming was — the success of your conflict resolution ball, you and the guys made the trip to the nearest grocery store for the snacks that Jake promised you.

So far, the trip had resulted in Jake and Bradley arguing over every item placed in the cart and you and Mickey spitballing which romantic comedy you were going to watch for the night. The two of you were currently torn between How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, The Notebook, and 13 Going on 30.  

“Who put pickle chips in the cart?” Jake’s tone of disgust made you turn away from the rows of microwavable popcorn, your eyes landing on the way he held the offending object in his hand.

One look at you and Mickey confirmed that you were not the culprits and he targeted his disgust at Bradley.

“They’re good!” He defended.

“Yeah? And who’s paying for them?” Jake thrust the green bag into Bradley’s chest. “Because it isn’t your bartender's salary, I can tell you that.” 

“Don’t poor shame me in a grocery store, dickhead!”

In retaliation, Bradley dropped four bags of Lay’s Dill Pickle chips into the cart. Jake scoffed, taking them out only for Bradley to knock them right back in. You and Mickey shared a glance at their childish display, silently agreeing to leave the two and get the rest of the snacks yourself. There was a high likelihood that Jake and Bradley would still be arguing over pickle chips by the time you were done.

“You always act like this. Why can’t you just let me eat what I want?”

“Because, last time I let you get the groceries, you accidentally got dog treats and it took us a week of eating them to figure that out!”

“That was not my fault! They should have put a fucking dog on it if they weren’t meant to look like Girl Scout Cookies!”

“The words ‘dog treats’ was on the box!”

A sudden call of your name interrupted the two — well, it didn’t. But it startled you enough that you could no longer pay attention to them — and you froze. You knew that voice. A quick glance at your lock screen confirmed the date and you winced. What were the chances?

He was already stepping into the aisle, making it too late to pretend like you hadn’t heard him, and you forced a smile onto your face. “Hi Cooper.”

That actually did interrupt Jake and Bradley’s argument, Jake whipping around to face you the second your ex’s name left your lips. You glanced at him hesitantly, partly out of curiosity, and were almost surprised to see him glaring at Cooper with a clenched jaw.

“Hey,” Cooper took in your roommates with furrowed brows. “I’ve been calling you, but you haven’t been answering—”

“Should’ve taken the hint then, huh?” Jake mocked him coldly.

Cooper’s furrow deepened, though he still directed his attention towards you, pissing Jake off further. “Who’s this guy?”

“Um,” you shifted uncomfortably, wishing desperately that Natasha was with you. She always knew how to handle your terrible exes. “These are my roommates.”

“Roommates?” Cooper raised his eyebrows. “You can’t be serious. What the hell are you thinking?”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed, it didn’t take much for him and Mickey to piece together what was going on. “I don’t think that’s really your business anymore.”

Cooper scoffed, “And I don’t think that I was talking to you.” His eyes moved back to you. “Come on, I’m not letting you stay with these guys. Just move back in with me until you figure something out.”

There was a point in your life where you honestly thought you would marry Cooper. There were moments when you watched movies on his coach and went to uncomfortable dinner parties with his bosses that you thought that those were things you were going to do for the rest of your life. That your future would amount to flowers almost four times a year — almost always near holidays which would remind Cooper to buy you flowers, you couldn’t find any other explanation as to why you always got a bouquet on Mother’s Day. 

And the worst part was that you were excited for this romance of mediocrity. When you thought about a life with this man who really only knew what you tolerated but not what you actually liked, you thought that you’d be happy. You looked at Cooper, who gave you almost nothing, and wanted to marry him.

You also knew there was a point — probably very recently — in your life where you would have accepted Cooper’s invitation to move back in with him. Where you would have forgiven him for maybe cheating on you and looked the other way when he maybe cheated on you again. 

But as you stood in the chips and snacks aisle of a grocery store with three guys you’d only been living with for a short time. As you glanced at the three sharing sized bags of Starbursts in your shopping cart, when you knew that you’d only put in one. As you realized that the whole reason you were even at this grocery store was because Bradley, Jake, and Mickey were buying your favorite snacks to eat while you all watched your favorite movies — things they already knew that Cooper didn’t — it hit you that maybe you weren’t at that point in your life anymore.

“No.”

You felt four sets of eyes on you and you swallowed down your nerves.

“No. I’m happy where I am and— These guys are my friends, okay? And— And I love them. And maybe I should thank you because, if it weren’t for you, I never would have met them. But I’m not going to move back in with you.”

The words felt all too meaningful for a grocery store, but you meant them. And you were sure they could all tell you meant them, if the way they were looking at you was any indication — Bradley, Jake, and Mickey with almost awestruck appreciation and Cooper with incredulousness. 

“Is this some form of Stockholm Syndrome?”

Jake rolled his eyes, taking a step closer to Cooper. “Listen man, I don’t know how many times she has to reject you before it sticks, but we have plans tonight. So maybe you could figure it out on your own time?”

The two men sized each other up — Jake was a good few inches taller than Cooper and, though he didn’t always look it in his work shirts and khakis, he was stronger than him too — before Cooper looked past him to smirk at you demeaningly.

“Oh, is that how she’s paying rent?” He nodded at you condescendingly, a switch flipping in his brain the second he realized his “nice guy” act wasn’t giving him the reaction he wanted. “If that’s the case, you don’t have to be so defensive of her. Trust me, there’s better.”

His words hadn’t even hung in the air for a second before an unsettling crunch took the place of them. In fact, it was only after you’d heard the noise that realized that Jake had punched him at all. You watched in shock as Cooper doubled over, clutching his nose as the only thing you could see of Jake’s expression was the back of his shoulders rising and falling with rage.

“Say it again,” he seethed, and one look at Mickey and Bradley showed that they were equally as angry. “I fucking dare you.” 

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“Sorry,” you lifted the bag of frozen strawberries from Jake’s cheek, the inflamed bruise on his cheekbone glaring at you. “I’m sorry.”

Jake shook his head. “It’s fine. Just don’t press so hard.”

You heeded his instruction, tentatively bringing the cold pack back to his face, only relaxing when Jake sighed in relief.

“I still can’t believe you punched him,” you admitted quietly. 

“Yeah, well there’s a lot of things I’d do for you, peach,” Jake chuckled, only slightly humorlessly. “Including taking a fist to the face, I guess.”

You winced. Though Jake had definitely won the fight, it wasn’t as if Cooper didn’t get in a few jabs of his own. It would be a lie to say that Jake came out of the whole incident unscathed.

“Don’t forget that you got us banned from that grocery store,” Mickey added.

“I’m sorry about that, guys. I’ll—”

“Don’t be,” Mickey interrupted. “We would have fought him too.” He gestured to Bradley to include him in the sentiment.

You were sure Bradley would have also agreed — the way he looked in the car ride back was proof of that — but currently he was passed out on the couch clutching a half empty bag of Lay’s Dill Pickle chips to his chest. So you’d just have to take Mickey’s word for it.

You bit back a smile, looking down bashfully. Even Natasha had been surprised when you texted her about the whole thing, calling you as soon as she read the message with a “Holy shit, Jake did that? Hold on, Bradley just texted me that he’s trying to get the security footage…” 

Your smile faltered slightly, when the light of the TV lit up Jake’s bruised face and you lessened your pressure on the frozen strawberries. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do? I don’t want you to be in pain, Jake.”

“You can explain what the fuck’s going on in this movie,” Jake joked, but his eyes were soft as he turned to look at you.

You nodded, scooting closer to Jake as you tried to figure out where you all were in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Jake’s arm was thrown over your shoulder, your body half on his chest as your own arm held the makeshift ice pack to his cheek — and that was the only reason the two of you were practically cuddling, so you could tend to his wound. No other reason.

“How are you confused right now?” Mickey tossed a piece of popcorn at his head. “The plot is not that hard to follow.”

“Hey!” Jake protested, looking at his friend indignantly. “Who’s the injured man who defended peach’s honor tonight? That’s right, me! You can’t throw things at me, I’m a hero.”

You laughed, shaking your head endearingly as the frozen pack of strawberries began melting in your hand. Already feeling drops of ice water drip onto the couch, you moved to switch the thawed bag out for another one.

“Thank you, Jake,” you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheekbone. “You’re my hero.”

And then you were making your way to the kitchen, quietly moving past Bradley’s snoring body. 

Once you were out of hearing distance, Jake turned to Mickey excitedly. “No boner, dude. High five!”

Mickey sent him an unamused look. “Jar.”

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[imightgetbetter]

our first kiss

ahhhhhhh. hi. it's me. this is so weird. i haven't been nervous to post a story like this in years. probably because it's a totally different fan space and group and all that. there's a first time for everything. i have a whole idea for a series of things i want to write, we shall see if they come to fruition. for now, here you go. just a little something. (this is literally the smallest piece of writing i think i've posted in seven years). have fun <3 happy reading!

Outside, everything is quiet in the simplest of ways – the honking that usually busies the streets has subsided, just a few passing cars beneath them, the lights flickering and the occasional yell or holler from someone on the street echoing around the seemingly empty avenue. One light is shining from the bedroom where the landing leads to, and you can hear a faint grunt and murmured swears as your darling company finally makes his way back to the metal escape. His hand is clutching the neck of the guitar you purchased for his birthday, the back of which is decorated in an array of randomized drawings that somehow felt fitting for him – a carton of cigarettes, a mouse with a cookie, a rose that looked awfully similar to the one you have dried and pressed from your first date. Mouth nursing a cigarette, he teasingly pulls it from your lips as he settles against the railing, the guitar now settled on his thighs and his worn-in notebook propped open with a pen. He reaches for the lighter, cupping the fire around the end until it’s lit and ashy with his inhale.

His hand lays on your knee and squeezes it gently, lovingly. “Can’t have you picking up a bad habit from me, darling. Already have too many of those.”

“You were once a bad habit, you know,” you say, peering at him through hooded eyes masked behind wire-framed glasses, the light from your computer lighting your face. He smirks, shaking his head without saying a word, simply basking in knowing that a bad habit had turned into this, into sharing an apartment in a city you love, into late nights on the fire escape, creating your art together, art that is often about each other, even if you don’t know it. And he doesn’t know it, that the collection of essays being stored in your hard drive are about the lessons of being in love, lessons that you learned with him.

His eyes flicker from where he’s strumming at the heart of the guitar to you, a smile printed on his features that you know well – the smile that comes from your favorite bottle of wine at dinner, a stray glass or two in a shared bath. “Am I still a bad habit, my love?”

“Only when you distract me from my work,” you say, nudging your knee into his calf, a smile toying at the corners of your lips as he nudges you back.

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips to where your fingers are working diligently against your keyboard. “How far have you gotten today?”

“About halfway into this essay,” you hum, leaning your head to the side, trying to get a peek at the lyrics being scribbled into the notebook. “How’s the song coming?”

“Good, I think. Question for you actually,” he says quietly, aware of the sleeping neighbors and easily disturbed animals surrounding the apartment. He waits for you to nod, closing your laptop quietly to give him your sole attention. “Our first kiss, where was it again?”

“Matthew.”

“In my defense, love, we’d had many drunken kisses before I’d actually kissed you sober and well-intentioned.”

“Are you trying to tell me the other times were ill-intentioned?”

“Yes, I am, actually. I was eighteen, darling. There are no good intentions at eighteen.” His eyes soften when you giggle quietly, the hardened expression washing away from your features as you hum knowingly, and a tiny smile begins itching at your cheeks. “It was during that holiday we took during Christmas. I remember that.”

“Walmart, I think,” you say, the memory suddenly feeling a bit hazy and out of touch. “You’d come to visit me for the holiday break because I couldn’t fly home. I was sick, I wanted a puzzle or something to do while I was stuck alone. You’d grabbed the one I wanted, and I kissed your cheek.”

“I turned my head, and I kissed you,” he says surely, interrupting your recollection of the memory. His smile as he told the story warms you from your head to your toes. He doesn’t need to say that he loves you for you to feel so. “I knew I was going to get the nastiest flu of my life, but I didn’t even care.”

“I yelled at you for kissing me. I didn’t want to get you sick, even though that was a bit of a lost cause considering we were sharing a bed while you stayed with me.”

“And that’s why I kissed you, again,” he says proudly, reaching for your hand and tugging you towards him. You know exactly what he wants you to do, and you do so easily. Closing your laptop, you maneuver yourself over the small space, settling between his open thighs. His arms circle around you, the guitar settled on your thighs, your head laying against his chest. He presses his mouth to your head, “I wish it hadn’t taken so long. I feel like I got years stolen away.”

“Hm?”

“Us, you know?” his murmurs, gently strumming the guitar and leaning his head on your head, humming a melody that surely just came to mind. “I wish I would’ve just moved with you.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly, leaning forward and turning to face him, your hands reaching to cup his cheeks and bring his eyes to meet yours. “I don’t because I love seeing you live your dream, and that wouldn’t have happened if you moved with me. All this happened like it was supposed to, you know that.” Matty’s eyes are pouring into yours, the deepest amounts of love washing over you. “Not to mention, if we weren’t apart, we wouldn’t have like, the best love songs to ever exist.”

Matty laughs, rolling his eyes as you lean your head forward, your nose brushing against his. “I want you with me all the time, you know that?”

“I know.”

“I want so many things with you.”

“And you can have them,” you say, brushing your lips against his ever so slightly. “I’ll be waiting, ready to go.”

[fuxuannie]

ok ok I just had a request idea if you don't mind-- gepard with a fem (but I don't mind gn) reader who is good at drawing idk it just seems so silly in my head because of the wanted posters he made 😭 but anyways, tysm in advance and remember to take a break when needed!

↳ pairing(s) : gepard x gender neutral reader

↳ synopsis : request ♡

↳ authors note : hi guys its me (ive been dead for so long) (it will happen again) (sorry about that) (i ate a banana this morning)

You loved art with all your heart, your apartment was full of paintings and drawings you had made over the years and happily pride yourself on your skill.

So when you were on your usual stroll, and pass by a rather.. poorly drawn wanted poster. Those messy squiggly outline and poor form of coloring couldn't have been anyone else.

Walking into your boyfriends apartment, he's not surprised to see you carrying your bag of art supplies inside and plopping it onto a table. Of course, he was more than aware for your passion with the arts (while also finding it very cute) and figured you were just going to his place again to paint.

And so when you gave him an all too familiar glare, the blonde could only laugh nervously as you pull him into the living room and away from the kitchen.

"Gepard Landau." You state, as if a strict parent about to give a four hour long lecture. "..Pfft.. What are these drawings?" The facade breaks and laughter fills the room, not one filled with ill intent or mockery just.. a genuine question with a bit of laughs. Gepard could tell you had nothing critical or rude behind those words, so he smiles at your laugh. Not minding the topic at hand and simply admiring your adorable giggles of joy.

You sit over on his left, a reference photo in hand and two sheets of paper. "It's been 2 years of us together, and in those two years I've given you several art lessons.. you can't even color within the lines?" You chuckle, beginning to sketch as Gepard already knew to follow your steps.

But maybe there's a little white lie in the air, maybe the middle child of the Landau family was in fact a great artist, it wasn't particularly out of character considering the extra classes from private tutors.

Maybe Gepard liked to watch you and your passions, perhaps enough to fake his skills with the arts just so you can come over to his house again and again and show him the skills he knows he's far too talented at for his own good.

Oh well, never hurt to lie if it was in the best interest of the both of you. You get to share your passion, Gepard gets to have his heart race as he watches you do so.

[marvelmusing]

Tender Loving Care

Part of the Tender Loving Care AU

Pairing: Vampire!Aleksander Morozova x Vampire!Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: You have an awful migraine, and your human roommate Alina enlists the help of the only vampire she knows - the one you’ve been talking to on a popular supernatural dating site - Aleksander.

Warnings: mentions of blood, reader and Aleksander consume blood (not each other’s), description of vampire turning, reader was turned unintentionally and abandoned by their sire, Aleksander calls the reader milaya and little one and gives off major daddy vibes

Alina’s sequinned dress sparkles in the low light of the apartment, turned down to soften the dull ache in your head.

Being a vampire meant that you were immune to the typical coughs, colds, and general illnesses of humans. It did not mean you were immune to the occasional migraine. With your heightened senses, everything seemed to overwhelm you, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sleep for a century.

“What are you doing?” You ask her, your brows creasing. “I thought you were staying in tonight.” She slips on her heels, eyeing you with a sheepish expression.

“Don’t be mad at me.” She says, and it’s then that you register the presence of someone else in the apartment.

Aleksander looks even better than the photos on his profile. All natural vampires have an imposing presence, something a turned vampire like you will always be lacking. His hair is combed back casually, dark eyes focused intently on the bottle in his hands. Not to mention his scent. Saints, does he smell good.

When he lifts his attention to you, it takes everything in you not to melt into a puddle at his feet. His eyes roam over every inch of you, and you would be embarrassed at the state you must be in - messy hair, casual clothes that never leave the house, dark circles under your eyes from your sleepless night - but you’re too distracted by the bottle in his hands.

“Alina tells me you’re a fan of AB Positive. A little too sweet for my tastes, but each to their own.” You watch the red liquid as it falls from the lip of the bottle into one of your glasses, swallowing hard at the sound and scent of it.

You had a few bottles of blood in the fridge, but your migraine had made you fussy, and you hadn’t wanted any of the kind you had in. Being human, Alina couldn’t buy from the local blood bank, and you wouldn’t want to subject her to that even if she could. He sways the glass enticingly, watching your reaction.

“It’s still fresh.” He says softly, as if he’s coaxing you towards him like a frightened animal. Part of you feels that way, you had always relied on yourself for your meals. This was odd in some sense.

Unable to focus on anything but the glass in his hand, you stumble forwards, standing much closer to him than you intended as you take the glass eagerly to your lips. You drink hurriedly, red staining your mouth as you gulp it down. The sudden rush of blood in your body has you wobbling slightly, and Aleksander’s hand reaches out to steady you.

When you lower the glass he curls his fingers around yours, taking it from you as you try to catch your breath.

“You should take better care of yourself, little fledgling.”

“I’m not a fledging.” He raises a brow at you with an unconvinced expression. Of course, he already knows how old you are, but you feel the need to argue. “I’m nearly two hundred.”

His expression softens as he teases in a cooing voice,

“Little baby.”

Blood flushes to your cheeks, and you relish in the warmth of your flustered state after being cold all day. From the look of the smirk touching the corner of his mouth, you know he can smell it.

Alina picks her purse up from the kitchen counter, watching the two of you from a distance.

“I’m sorry for not telling you.” She wrings her purse in her hands for a moment. “It’s just I don’t know any other vampires, and you’d told me you liked him, so I thought I’d ask him to come over.”

Aleksander’s eyes don’t stray from you at Alina’s revelation. She must have used your phone when you were dozing on the couch, messaging Aleksander to pick up something from the nearest blood bank.

The two of you had met on an exclusive vampire dating site, and had yet to have an in-person meeting. You had messaged each other quite a bit, and you really liked Aleksander, but the two of you had yet to meet face to face - until now.

“It’s okay Lina, thank you.”

“Will you be alright?” As well as asking whether you’re comfortable with Aleksander, you know she’s actually asking if you’re content with her going out tonight.

“Course. Please be careful though.”

“I will.” She assures you, grinning as she slides her charmed pepper spray into her purse that repels all manner of supernatural creatures - from ghouls and demons to werewolves and vampires.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, and you curl your fingers briefly around her forearm in a reassuring squeeze as her perfume fills your senses.

“She’s just as you described her.” Aleksander observes as the front door of your apartment shuts behind Alina. In the hallway you hear the jingle of keys as she locks the door, and the click of her heels as she heads down the stairs.

You smile softly at the mention of your roommate. Alina was a sweet girl, who has quickly become the closest friend you’ve had in quite a while. She embraces everyone she meets and, despite being human, is always eager to visit supernatural-inclusive clubs and bars to which she often drags you along to.

“Thank you for coming.” You tell him softly, before you add in a small voice, “You didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I wanted to come.”

The two of you look each other over for what feels like an exceptionally long moment.

Then your stomach growls, and the scent of something sugary catches your attention. You peer your head around his body, searching for the source of the sweet fragrance sitting on your kitchen counter.

“Did you bring chocolate?” You ask him. He smiles softly before nodding.

“And some dinner, if you’re feeling up to it?” You nod eagerly, despite wondering what an older vampire like Aleksander considers to be dinner.

A wince twists your features as you move to follow him further into the kitchen, as a sharp pain digs into your temples. Aleksander notices immediately.

“Go sit down.” He orders you gently, nodding towards the small nest of cushions and blankets you had created on the couch.

Doing as he says, you settle back down on the couch and watch him as he opens up a bag filled with small cardboard boxes with some sort of takeout inside them. The scent is unfamiliar, but delicious.

The blood Aleksander had given you has you feeling a lot more relaxed, and your eyes flutter closed as you lean your head against the back of the couch, pulling a fluffy blanket further up your body. At the scent of blood, you perk up, and Aleksander holds out a glass to you.

Smiling shyly, you thank him and take a sip. With most of your thirst sated, you’re able to let the taste linger on your tongue as Aleksander sets his own glass down on the coffee table. Then he’s heading back to the kitchen for your food.

From the scent of it, he had picked out one of the bottles in your fridge for his drink. Nose wrinkling, you call out to him.

“You drink your blood cold?”

Hearing the disgust in your voice, he chuckles.

“I have no particular preference.” He returns with two plates in hand and sets them down on the table in front of you. “I spent a hundred or so years at my grandfather’s castle, where he kept his vintages in the cellar. I soon learnt to like it cold.”

He picks up his glass, taking a sip of it before he offers it to you.

“Would you like to try it?”

You shake your head hurriedly, and he breathes out a soft laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re the type to reheat your blood in the microwave?” He teases. The food he has laid out looks incredible, and you immediately pick up a fork as you eye your options.

“How else am I supposed to do it?” Now it’s his turn for his nose to wrinkle in displeasure.

“On the stovetop like a civilised person.” He watches with a small smile as you tuck into the food, its only then that he joins in with you.

“But that takes forever.” You protest with a small pout and he shakes his head at you with fake exasperation that makes you giggle as you scoop up more food. “Where did you get this from?” You ask him, frowning at the distinctly familiar taste of iron as you chew.

“A friend of mine owns a takeout shop, catered to our kind. They use a variety of different animal bloods to flavour typical human dishes.”

“Lots of vampires don’t like human food.” You say, stating an observation you had made based on what limited interactions you’ve had with your fellow vampires. Aleksander nods in agreement.

“Which is why Nina’s food is so popular, it gives us the chance to appear human without eating something we don’t particularly enjoy.” A satisfied sound hums in your throat as you continue to eat with widened eyes, amazed by the flavour.

Vampires didn’t need to eat human food; human blood alone was enough to sustain you. But vampires who stopped eating human food became the stereotypical image of vampires that you often see in the old human folktales - a pale, wrinkled being, with glowing red eyes and gnarled claws. Not something you were eager for, besides, you were one of the few who rather enjoyed human food.

“It’s really good.” You tell him. Aleksander smiles widely, ducking his head as he swallows a mouthful of food.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Will you tell me more about your friends?”

“Well, there’s Nina, who runs the shop with her husband, Matthias.” He leans back with his glass in hand, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he drapes his arm over the back of the couch. “Nina is a fair bit older than you, and I’ve known Matthias for several hundreds of years.” When he notices your frown he adds, “Matthias is a demon.”

You’ve met a few demons before, but in all honesty you tried to avoid them, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor if you passed one on the street. Despite being nearly two hundred years old, you had yet to grow into your strength which often made you feel vulnerable among more powerful creatures.

Aleksander is the first one you’ve felt truly safe with.

“Ivan is my oldest friend, he met and turned his husband Fedoyr around six hundred years ago. The four of us tend to stick together whenever we move somewhere, though there’s little need for such a thing in this day and age.” You nod in acknowledgement.

Around the time when you were turned, opinions regarding supernatural beings were changing. Whilst plenty of people still viewed your kind as monsters, times change, and in the present day it was safe for you to walk the streets without fear of being hunted down and burnt at the stake.

Once you've eaten your fill, you settle back on the couch, feeling full and warm for the first time in a while. Aleksander tilts his head, watching as you shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable in spite of your aching muscles.

“Would you like to come closer, milaya?” You look over at him, and nod before you shuffle closer.

He doesn’t need to alter his position, simply allowing you to tuck yourself into the space between his chest and the arm resting on the couch. His body is warm, he must have fed recently, and his scent is much stronger near his neck. You rest your forehead against his shoulder, and he cradles the back of your head delicately. He moves his fingers lightly over the nape of your neck as he continues to talk.

“Occasionally Genya and David return from overseas. Being a siren, Genya doesn’t enjoy being far from the sea, and David’s soul is bound to the ocean after dying in a wreck three hundred years ago.”

“Sounds like you have quite the collection.” You remark with a soft smile, your words slightly muffled against his chest. Aleksander’s life sounds vastly different from your own. For one, yours seems much emptier.

Aleksander mirrors your smile as he thinks about your words. The atmosphere is quiet and comfortable as his fingers maintain their gentle motions against your skin. Until they dip lower than before, grazing a sensitive area, and you stiffen. He notices immediately.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You answer quickly, but your voice is too high and strained to be believable. Aleksander looks at you with concern in his eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You hesitate with a small sigh before you tell him, “Your thumb just caught my scar, and it startled me. That's all.”

“Your scar?”

“From when I was turned.”

“There’s a scar?” Confusion fills your features as you look at him with a frown, before you ask tentatively,

“Should there not be?” He shakes his head.

“Your sire can’t have given you enough of their blood.”

“I- He didn’t- He didn't give me anything.” There’s a pause as Aleksander seems to consider something, and he sets his empty glass down carefully.

“You mean he left you?” You nod, swallowing down the emotions that are rising up your throat.

“May I see it?” He asks softly. You nod again, tilting your head aside to show him your neck, running your fingers over where the bite shaped scar sits on your skin.

Silence falls between you both as Aleksander studies the mark. You’ve never shown anyone your scar. Your voice shakes a little as you make a quiet admission.

“I don’t think he meant to turn me.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.” You frown at him. “Do you feel this artery?” His fingertip trails down the length of your throat, along your pulse, and you nod. “That’s where I would bite you, if I was intending on turning you.”

Something inside you aches at the thought of Aleksander being the one to turn you. He traces his way down your neck again, and you're entranced by the feeling as he circles his thumb over your scar, sending a fuzzy sensation up your spine that settles in your head.

“Your sire almost missed the artery. He just to say pricked it.” He says the word sire tersely, as he doesn’t believe the man who turned you deserves such a title. His voice softens as he adds, “Your turning must have been very painful.” You nod with glassy eyes.

It had been painful. Left alone, bleeding in a dark alleyway, knowing you should bleed out any moment. But you kept bleeding, and you just wouldn’t die no matter how much you prayed. It hurt so much, your body changing faster than your frightened mind could process. Senses heightened, the sound of your own heart pounding in your chest had been too much to bear, let alone the raindrops hitting the ground around you like mallets, or the metallic scent of your blood that had threatened to choke you.

Gentle hands coax you away from your memories. Aleksander guides you into straddling his lap, so that he can watch your expression carefully in order to keep you grounded in the present.

“It’s alright, little one. You’re safe now.” He murmurs softly as he smooths his hands over your thighs comfortingly.

Sniffling, you can’t help but bury yourself against his chest, clinging to Aleksander for as long as he will let you. In response, he wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed into his warmth, breathing in his scent. He smells like sharp berries, as well as something masculine and safe, a soft cologne that compliments the scent of his skin perfectly.

“I have a proposition for you.” He says in a low voice and you feel his chest vibrate with each word. You hum in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue. “You’re tired and in pain, I don’t expect any sort of answer now. Only for you to listen to me.”

Tilting your head upwards, you look up at his face, only to find him looking down at you. Your cheeks warm when his eyes meet yours, and you give him a timid nod.

“I’m offering to claim you. Do you know what that means, milaya?” His tone is gentle and understanding. He sounds ready to explain absolutely anything to you, and you feel no shame when you shake your head.

“It’s something a sire would do, creating a bond between the two of you, to provide you with someone to look after you after your turning.”

“But I’ve already been turned, for a long time now.”

“I know, and you’ve done remarkably well on your own.” Something warm stirs in your chest at the sound of his praise. “I’m only offering to give you what your sire should have.” He smooths his hand over the back of your head as he speaks. “I could introduce you to some other vampires, take you to a feeding den, and teach you to drink from a human.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course, among other things. Then, once you feel better adjusted, we can part ways if you want.” Your fingers tighten as they grasp onto the front of his sweater, and he chuckles softly. “Or not. I will only leave when you ask me to.” He assures you, placing a warm hand on one of your clenched fists.

“Would you teach me how to make blood tea?” You mumble against his chest, eyes drooping with peaceful exhaustion. His only response is a bemused,

“Hm?”

You nod sleepily.

“Yeah, I can never get the quantities right.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his arms loop under your legs as he stands, cradling your body against his chest as he moves towards the bedroom where your scent is the strongest.

“Let’s get you to bed, little one.”

Soon you’re being slid under your bedcovers and you hum contentedly as your body sinks into the mattress. Aleksander tucks you in, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Will you stay?” Your words are quiet, filled with a fragile hope that blooms into relief when you hear his shoes hit the floor, one after the other.

“Of course, milaya. How else will I make you a blood tea in the morning?” He teases, and the corner of your mouth quirks despite your closed eyes.

Aleksander slips under the covers, and immediately you roll over to cuddle into his side, drawing in deep lungfuls of his scent. He nuzzles his nose against the top of your head, breathing deeply as well.

“Night, Aleksander.”

“Sweet dreams, little one.”

-

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity

BB Character Tag List: @rachlovesactors

[setsugekka]

『paradise lost』 ; 08

❝ annihilation ❞

↳ and so, here you are: the consequences of your actions. the unraveling of a man that you love, and the dissolution of everything that the two of you had been so carelessly working towards.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯  ○  ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 8k

『 warnings 』 : hatefuck and all of the horrors that come along with that. it’s like watching a trainwreck in slow motion tbh. extreme carelessness emotionally, mean things are said, name calling, slut shaming, etc.

Arriving much quicker than Hongjoong had ever anticipated, made evident to you by the drop of his features upon opening the door to his loft, you don't bother to give him the time to protest, pushing past him with little effort to stop you on his end.

Seonghwa's place wasn't that far out, anyways.

Hair now black and slicked back up and off his forehead, perfectly done and obviously dressed with somewhere to be that evening; all black everything, actually. Pressed slacks and immaculately fitted suit jacket — Hongjoong looks a bit more put together than typical of him, less 'alternative art guy' and more 'business professional,' or rather even—

—dressed for going out somewhere, with someone.

Your face drops even more, and you know now more than ever, you have no business feeling the way that you do at the mere implications that you've fabricated in your mind. The idea that Hongjoong could be planning to spend the evening with someone else, a date. Really now, more than ever before, it's none of your fucking business.

He has every right, and had it been his intent, he certainly would have earned it.

Selfish as ever, you can't help yourself, though. Even after everything else that just took place — Seonghwa, the video, the phone call — you just can't help yourself, being anything but who and what you are. Selfish.

“Wh—where are you going?” you manage to stutter out, features laced with what could only be described as disgust at the mere sight of him. A man that's done nothing wrong, and nothing deserving of them.

A man who under normal circumstances; accepting of your faults, of the way that you're quick to jealousy, who coddles and loves you in spite of it all. Hongjoong laughs at the question, turning his gaze from you. The audacity.

“That's rich, really,” he says, eyes glancing up towards you again as the both of you still in the doorway, but only momentarily, before he begins reaching down for a pair of freshly cleaned and shined dress shoes. “You're really something else, you know that?”

“Joong—“

Hongjoong stands suddenly at the name, a pet name of sorts; a precious shortening that you had fallen into over time and that he once especially loved to hear fall from your lips in the throes of passion, when he knew he was being so good to you that you couldn't utter the entirety of it.

And for what?

“What's really sick about it is that I still want to tell you. I still want to ease your worries, quell your fears of where I am or who I might be with or what I might be doing,” he finally answers, voice louder and pointed, the hurt still horrifically evident in the way that it courses through his body.

“Because the idea that something I do might hurt you literally fucking kills me, even now.”

Eyebrows pressed as closely together as possible, lips pursed, you watch him. The man that you love, the man that you've torn apart.

“Do you know what that feels like? Or do you just ignore the texts and pretend it's not happening?”

Never laid a hand on you with ill intent, the words feel like a punch to the chest all the same.

Hongjoong bends down for his shoes again, beginning to slip them on. “Friend has a gallery opening tonight that I said I’d go to, that's where I'm going.”

“Can I stay here?”

You fumble the words out, just barely. Voice shaken and knowing his whereabouts offering little solace given everything else going on around them. It's barely a logical question, anyway. Stay for what? Until he returns? For when he returns? You practically live there, after all. But it's not something you put any deep insight into before tossing them out there.

Typically the way that you move throughout the world, it seems.

He sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess. Do whatever you want. That's what you do, anyways.”

“Can we please just talk?”

Eyes locked on the man bent before you, you watch as he slowly stands again, a roll of the eyes as he sighs as if entirely fed up with the topic at hand already. Fed up with you. With this.

“I tried to talk,” he begins, raise of the eyebrows and cock of the head that tells you he's doing his best to keep his anger under control. Kim Hongjoong, never raised his voice with you, never loud, never aggressive.

You were testing him, though. Your mere presence was a test.

“But you were busy. Not much to say, now.”

The both of you pause, looking at each other, faces full of twisted emotions bit back in an attempt to remain calm and assert the existence of upper hand in the scenario — you less so, fully willing and able to acquiesce this fight. You lost. You fucked up. You know.

So how can we fix it, can it even be fixed?

It's wrong, and you know it, but it's the only thing you feel as though you have, now. An aggressive approach to appeal to the broken part of him that reluctantly still cares for you, still wants you — still loves you.

“Hongjoong, I lov—“

“Don't.”

Cutting you off, he steps forward suddenly with palms clasping around your face — it's not violent, or with any intent to hurt you — the way that a lover would grasp their partner with intent to kiss them passionately, lovingly.

“Don't do that, you can't do that, you're so fucking—“

Hongjoong pauses, gazing deeply into your eyes with only a few inches off from you — holding you firmly in his hands, in place, you could escape from him but you wish not to. Unsure of his intentions but feeling as though whatever they may be, you would willingly accept them now more than ever.

He never finishes the thought, though, lips harshly crashing onto your own — full of teeth and tongue in an instant — it feels wrong, in some way. A kiss that drips with hurt; a man that knows nothing else in that moment beyond the fact that he wants and loves you even in spite of everything. Everything that you've done, everything that you've put him through.

It feels wrong, and you know that it is, but the warmth of feeling him with you again proving to be far too strong for you to muster up the courage to break away from. Maybe now, more than ever before, the two of you just need one another.

Logically, you know that whatever this is won't fix it, but you need him, and evidently, he needs you, as well.

Needs to have you back, reclaim you, undo whatever it was that Seonghwa did an hour ago.

Hongjoong drops his hands from your face to shrug his jacket off and to the floor, pushing you back and towards the couch that the two of you are no stranger to experiencing one another on — but the thought of a couch so soon after your romp with Seonghwa — bringing back the memories of such a thing, proves to be too much for you to overcome so soon. Back of your thighs hitting the armrest, mouths still sloppy, toothy kisses — the strong taste of tequila on his tongue from what you could only imagine to be a shot or two he downed after the phone call — you pull back briefly to speak, to protest only slightly.

The words catch in your throat as you take his features into your vision — the glistening of particularly moist eyes as Hongjoong's meet your own.

It kills him, being with you now, yet it's still the only thing he wants — even at his own self-destruction.

But Hongjoong doesn't bother pulling his face from yours to hide the evidence of his emotions, instead, he allows you to take it in. 'This is what you do to me, maybe you can finally feel it, too.'

And so, you do. You deserve it, after all. The way your chest feels as though it's caving in on itself as you look into his slightly bloodshot eyes — and the juxtaposition of his fingers making quick work of the button on the front of your pants, then zipper, then thumbs hooked into the sides before he spins you by the hips again. It's happening so fast and with such little thought put into it.

And not a word spoken, either.

This isn't him. Normally such a caring, considerate, gentle and attentive lover — but the haste in which he's now trying to take you is foreign. The man standing behind you now, feeling like a stranger.

It certainly does feel familiar, and in all of the wrong ways. You finally remember what it was that you wanted to say to begin with.

“Not here, Joong—“ you breathe out just as his hand meets the small of your back and you begin to hear the sound of his belt buckle.

He pauses, because of course he does.

And then you hear him continue with his belt.

“Why? Why not here?”

You think it's the first time he's ever met your reluctance with questioning of the reason behind it, and you don't particularly want to detail it, either.

“Just—“

“Remember the safe word, right?”

“Yes!” you bite back, getting somewhat annoyed at the way that he won't let you speak, at the way that he's being.

You feel him shuffle his slacks down around his thighs a bit from behind you, gritting your teeth and fingernails digging into the red cushion of the couch that you'd grown to love. So many memories of the both of you smiling and laughing and loving on it.

Only to be dwindled down to this. Whatever this even is.

“Why?” he asks again, this time louder, but before you get a chance to reply, it becomes evident that the reasoning dawns on him, having seen the video, after all. “Oh, is it because he just fucked you like this? Is that it? Guilty?”

You don't answer, thoughts being brought to the way his hand slides down from the small of your back to your panties — no doubt still bearing evidence of your deeds just earlier in the night, you can't see Hongjoong's face, and for once, you're thankful for it.

You think to yourself now, that you're pretty sure you know precisely what he thinks of you, anyways.

Hongjoong shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek as if contemplating precisely the way to move forward with this particular endeavor, fingers curling around the fabric of worn and used panties that he now wants nothing to do with and pulling them off towards the side as much as he can manage — the sound of tearing elastic ripping through the otherwise quiet apartment, and you grimace at the sound, at the feeling.

At him.

Feeling the tip of his cock against you from behind, threatening to enter you, your heartbeat increases all that much more. You want him, you want him desperately, now more than ever before, and even in spite of how terribly wrong it feels in this moment. In this way. The unignorable feeling that you two should not be engaging in this right now, how it won't fix anything — the carnal desire that Hongjoong has for you, to have you, physically, mentally, emotionally, and the same for you to be had by him — overwhelming all logic and sense.

It's something the two of you can figure out, later. You're not happy with the way that it's going down, but you're not going to stop him either, because you need him to need you, and if this is how he has to do it — punishing, thoughtless, hurtful — then so be it.

You earned it.

“Did you think of me?” he finally says, normally talkative and bright during sexual endeavors, now cold and quiet — and this, this not what you had been hoping for, either. “When he fucked you, did you think of me even a little bit?”

“God, Hongjoong, what the fuck?” you spit, craning your head back from your bent position in an attempt to look at him. Furrowed eyebrows. Truly a stranger to you, now.

“Just curious if I even crossed your mind,” he says as his hips slowly press forward, your body taking his length as you groan out at the intrusion.

Hips snapping forward suddenly to push the rest of himself into you in an instant, you grit your teeth and screw your eyes shut.

“Did he at least wear a condom? Or have you just that little care for me now, too?”

You wonder if he's genuinely asking or not, considering he's already buried inside of you — perhaps simply a risk he's willing to take in an attempt to reclaim what he believes to be his in the best way he knows how.

“Yes, he wore a condom, Jesus Christ,” you answer with a hiss, but the man behind you only chuckles. 

“Can't know with you anymore, don't know if I ever really did.”

Like a knife twisting in your chest, the words tumbling from his mouth. A man who once loved to shower you with praise and words of adoration as he made love to you, now a second and a third harsh snap of his hips against you — nearly painful at the drive — and nothing kind to say at all.

You sort of hate the fact that he feels heavenly inside of you, the harshness behind the otherwise perfect fit of him. Would it be so wrong to enjoy it? To come?

Quickly settling into a steady, fast rhythm, Hongjoong doesn't bother reaching down to rub you through what he may hope to eventually be your orgasm, one hand instead opting to reach up and into your hair as the other settles on the small of your back again to keep you settled there. “This what you need from me?” he grunts out between thrusts, voice broken — unsure if it's the act or the emotions behind it.

“Need me to fuck you like a whore? Is that it?”

It's not dirty talk, you know that. Trying to ignore the way your arousal reacts to it as if it is, you clench your eyes shut again, hating the way that even this, in this moment, is making him feel. The desperate need for one another in any way, however the two of you may achieve it, yet manifesting in the most ugly way imaginable.

He's never said that word to you before.

“Hongjoong, please—“ you whine, partially from the words and how much they hurt, and partially from the exquisite drag of his cock against your walls.

But before you can finish the sentence, Hongjoong has you up and off of your chest, hand still in your hair as he pulls you around and to the wall just on the opposite side. Only a few footsteps away until you're back against it, grip of his fingers into the strands so much tighter than before and offering almost no mobility to your head, his mouth meets your own again as he nips and bites at your bottom lip, dragging down your jaw and to your neck to suck marks into the skin — barely faded marks made by him not even a week ago still — as if a caveman's attempt at reclaiming what's his.

“I miss you so much, every time you're gone,” he whispers into your neck, a sudden and unexpected admission of himself, his feelings. The Hongjoong that you truly know and love slipping through the cracks of a worn down, bitter man otherwise before you this evening. It feels comforting, to hear him again, to know that he's still down in there somewhere.

The guilt bubbles up all over again on the other side of the coin, knowing that he's still in there. After everything that you have put him through, and even through this, he's still there.

“I really, really—“

The words are so soft as they spill out in breaths on your hot skin, Hongjoong's hand hiking your leg up to grant himself access to you again as he slides back inside with ease. Bringing his mouth up just in time for the both of you to groan against each other's lips at the feeling — for the first time in the night, it feels right, it feels reminiscent of him.

“—fucking hate you. I hate what you've done to me.”

It catches you off guard, then another sharp snap of his cock into you has you reeling all over again, a moan reluctantly falling from your mouth and into his due to his proximity, you look into his eyes in an attempt to parse through the situation — the thoughts, the feelings he's experiencing.

Slightly hooded eyes filled with lust, desperation, anger stare back at you, as if enjoying watching the way you fall apart for him all the same as before, but for what reason you aren't quite sure.

Is this make up sex, or something entirely different?

But everything aside, the long, quick drags of his cock inside of you, hard against all of the places he knows you love, sends you quickly towards your own orgasm — not sure if it's his intention or not to let you come, you whine out his name as your hands come up and around his neck, clenching hard into the black shirt he currently adorn — nails sinking into bare skin at areas where the shirt moves out of place, and Hongjoong hisses at the feeling of the contact, head thrown back briefly as his eyes roll only to then kiss you hard again.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” he asks, lips pressed into your own as he does and eyes never breaking contact with your own. “Like when I treat you poorly? Don't give a fuck about you?—“

A few harder drives into you. “Gonna take my cum, slut?”

Slut. So that's what he thinks of you.

Who could blame him, really.

And it's the first time that Hongjoong says something nasty to you that takes you out of it a little bit. Heart sinking, your mind comes back to you at the utterance of the words against your mouth — as if you're supposed to love it, but truthfully, knowing that he's past the point of caring whether you do or not.

Hongjoong's painted fingernails curling harder into your hair again as his thrusts become faster, more erratic in an effort to chase his orgasm, you find that yours has seemingly been lost to the drop of one single word.

And he doesn't seem to care in the slightest.

Hissing at the pain to your scalp, you wince slightly. “Hongjoong, it hurts—“

“Now you know how I feel.”

A thoughtless reply from him in a way you never could have anticipated, and before you have a chance to think through it, you feel the pulsating of his cock as he buries deep into you, releasing hard and heavy and with a bit back groan against the shell of your ear.

Immediately upon finishing, the man relinquishes his hold onto you, hands opting instead to splay against the wall on either side of you as you remain propped up against it, watching the way he attempts to catch his breath again quickly and regain composure — stuffing himself back into his pants almost as quickly as he had finished off, as well — as if now fully present and completely aware of all of the ways that this is so astonishingly fucked up.

Pulling back from you, you take note of the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, then beautifully long lashes as his eyes make their way back up to meet yours for the first time since finishing the endeavor.

What you don't expect to find, is the tears brimming his eyes, however.

Slamming a fist against the wall, you realize that it's coming back to him far quicker than you had expected — the events that had just transpired. Words said, feelings ignored.

Choking back the sob that threatens to escape him, Hongjoong instead opts to pull away from you completely, settling back against the arm of the couch that had started this whole thing to watch you from a distance — you can only assume that he thinks you want it, from him. After whatever it was that that was.

“I hate this. I'm not—“

Bringing his palms up to his face, you can hear the horror laden in his voice, at himself.

“Hongjoong, it's okay,” you offer, but he just as quickly shakes his head in dismissal.

“I love you, you know that, right? Why are you fucking doing this to me?”

Slowly picking your jeans back up and settling them into place again as you watch the man before you come undone emotionally once again, for the first time ever in regards to him, you don't know what to do. You don't know what's right, or what he needs.

But one thing is for sure, you didn't want his confession to be off of the back of this.

The word still ringing loud and clear through your mind, the ease in which it tumbled from his lips as if he hadn't even thought twice about it — or rather, he had thought it numerous times before, in actuality. Almost certainly not the first time the word had come up in regards to you, and perhaps he had never said it, and almost certainly told himself that he never would, and that it was wrong, and fucked up, and not okay.

He still did.

But even off of the back of the man that you love effectively using you physically with little regard — a result of so much pent up pain and suffering and not knowing anything else — it's not the sex that upsets you, because the sex is what you also wanted. You don't care that he didn't try to get you off, or that he was rougher than usual, and even a little distracted from being entirely present and in the moment with you. You knew the safe word, and chose never to use it.

It's the word. The words that he said. That you know he meant with every fiber of his being, only then able to finally say them to your face, tell you how he really feels about you, with the guise of dirty talk and another guilty fuck for the night.

This one feels far worse, however.

You did this. You did this to him, and you did it to the concept of 'us.'

And it's true that we are only ever responsible for our own actions, that at the end of the day, Hongjoong has to deal with his own demons in relation to the night, and the words and actions displayed going forward. Watching as he sobs into his palms, and finally stepping forward to take him into your arms, to tell him that it's okay, that you're okay, that it doesn't matter and we can finally just move on from this and do better, be better together and for each other — Hongjoong abruptly springs up and away from your touch, wiping smudged eye makeup from his under eyes with the knuckle of his thumbs gently as he sniffles and shakes his head sharply.

“No,” he says, matter of fact and through a hoarse throat. “No, no more.”

You don't know what he means, but the sinking in your chest gives you an idea.

“We're not doing this anymore, I'm not doing this anymore,” he continues on, bending down towards his coat and slinging it on once again — motions hurried and as if he's quick to exit the apartment all of a sudden. It's such a fast switch from how he was only moments ago — hunched over and in on himself, crying into his hands at himself, at this.

And now, one can only assume, that he had taken the time to mourn the loss of you, and of what had been and could have been in the future.

Remaining silent, you don't even want to press him for more, horror splitting through your body, through your veins and bones and the tears welling up in your eyes faster than you can even follow as your throat dries. Please not this, please don't be what you think it is.

Please don't give up on this, on us. I love you. You love me.

“I don't want to see you anymore.”

I don't love you anymore, goodbye.

“Hongjoong—“

Finally able to muster up the courage, the words, with his already out and on the table, it's all you have, you have to do and say something — you can't let it end like this.

Watching Hongjoong quickly slip his shoes on, so rushed and desperately attempting to make his way out of the shared room, he looks back to you only briefly, for a split second — obviously intent on not making or keeping eye contact with you. It makes him feel like a stranger.

So many new sides of him, tonight. All manifested by your wrongdoings.

“Don't,” he chokes out, rummaging through some items on the table near the door, it takes him a hasty moment to finally find his keys, then eyes quickly darting about to locate his phone.

You hate the way he so badly wishes to not be in your presence, when not long ago, your presence was the only thing he wished to have.

“Please,” he says, finally finding his phone and swiping it off of a table across the room before jogging back to the front door and pulling the door slightly ajar. Hongjoong looks back at your eyes again, both glistening with the suffering befallen the situation.

Mourning it. Mourning a love that crashed before it ever really even took off.

“I love you,” Hongjoong finally admits, and it's the strongest his voice has sounded since you arrived there. Gazing upon him as he stands tall, firm in the doorway with keys and door knob in hand — his expression just as equally pained as the first time he had laid eyes on you that evening.

An expression that is so desperate for an alternate ending to this, for a different possibility, for something else that doesn't have to be this.

“—but I can't say it. Not really. Not outside of this. For as fucked up as you are, so am I,” he says, voice now giving way ever so slightly, it's such a pained admission of self-understanding in a way that you feel as though you've never heard from him.

Hongjoong can tell you that he loves you now, only because he hates you equally as much.

“I don't want to lie, and I can't tell you the truth—“ he stutters out again, fingers gripping tightly into the metal keys in his fist as he allows the words out of his mouth.

He can't say the words. The actual words he means. Not past the initial admittance of not wanting to see you anymore, he can't say that the relationship is over — because he doesn't want it to be, and because he knows that he can't adhere to it with the slightest protest. The biggest reason for his needing to escape the fire now — not that you disgust him, or that he feels vile in your presence, but rather still entirely the opposite — an unending, inextinguishable love for you, a desire to have you and be with you that above all else, trumps all else.

You're destroying me, and yet I want nothing more than to be destroyed by you.

“I won't come back tomorrow so please just...have your stuff out in two days, please.”

He's begging you, now. Begging you to stop hurting him, begging you to let him heal and move on from this, from the damage you have inflicted upon him.

And choking out an “okay,” you watch him turn and leave the apartment, the sound of the large, front door slamming and echoing through the empty loft apartment that you had grown so fond of.

That you may never find yourself inside of again.

And with Hongjoong gone, you allow yourself to have it finally — the sob you bit back all this time now ripping through your chest and echoing through just as the door had.

How did we get here? How did it come to this?

“Hello?”

Beyond your initial response to the sound — heart thumping hard in your chest as you sit up straight from bed, automatic physical response one of high alert, because you know you shouldn't be hearing another person — a man, at that — in the apartment.

But you want to, you were hoping to, and as you laid your head down on the pillow that Hongjoong had once bought specifically for you to sleep beside him on, the last time that you likely ever would, you may have sent something of a prayer out into the ether — to someone, and to nothing all at once, that he might come back, have a change of heart and mind.

Find it in himself to forgive you.

And as your heart slows with each seconds passing, you come to realize that while the voice a familiar one — not the one you had been wishing for as sleep had taken you hours prior.

“I'm—“ you quiet after beginning the sentence, realizing that you had taken one of his shirts from the floor of the upstairs loft next to the bed and adorned it to sleep in, not expecting anyone to be finding you in such a way.

But given the circumstances, and the visitor in question, suppose it doesn't matter.

“—upstairs, give me a second,” you finish, voice small and ashamed of having been found like this. Less about the shirt, more about everything else surrounding it.

You wish not to be seen, and to be swallowed up by the ground itself, instead.

Slipping a pair of sweatpants on, you lazily head down to greet the visitor, already well aware of the face that would find you but none happier about it all the same. Barely able to make eye contact with the man as he tosses his keys onto the table, shoes already kicked off in the entrance — you can't help but chuckle to yourself internally about the last time the two of you met and what that looked like.

Hair blonde and fluffy just the same as that night, over sized, gray sweatshirt gracing his torso, it makes him look small, approachable. You aren't used to seeing him like this, but you aren't really used to seeing him at all, you suppose.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you. How are you?”

You watch Wooyoung's features sort of shift, as if realizing the stupidity of the question too long after the fact. He instead opts to pick up a white, plastic bag from the floor carrying what appears to be styrofoam take out containers, and with a small smile, holds it up to you. “Brought you food, let's have breakfast.”

“Um,” you muster out, hating the way you have to say the words and all of the implications behind them, but Wooyoung pauses at the sound, eyes shifting towards you again on the journey to the kitchen. “Hongjoong...isn't here.”

He sighs with a gentle smile. “I know. Let's eat.”

It's quiet over pancakes, even more so with the memories of the last time you sat at this dining room table. Thoughts mixing together of the conversation you had had with Hongjoong here, paired with everything else, you make an attempt to put something in your stomach with Wooyoung there — now obviously sent over by the man you've done so much wrong to in order to look after you — now caring for you the best way he knows how: entirely in his own absence. You can feel the heavy gaze of brown eyes on you occasionally, as if a father watching over his child and making sure they're getting their meals in.

There's kindness there, even love. Even now. Maybe hope.

Wooyoung finishes the last bite of his strawberry before taking a sip of water and leaning back in his chair. You can tell that he doesn't want to be the first one to ask about it — likely not wanting to pry, and all things considered, he's Hongjoong's friend, not yours.

But he's still here. For you. In spite of that.

“Do you know where Hongjoong is?”

It's simple, and you feel guilty for asking. It's really none of your business where he is, now more than ever, but still — the question weighs heavily on your mind.

Wooyoung clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I shouldn't tell you this, he's my friend, after all—“

“I know.”

“—But, he's at my place.”

It's a relief. You don't expect that Hongjoong went to Wooyoung for another guilty, miserable round even with having a little bit of knowledge of their history together, and figure it far too evil on Hongjoong's end to fuck, or be fucked by, the man and then send him over the next morning to do...whatever it is that Wooyoung is here to do, anyway.

“He had a thing and then he came by late.”

“That's good.”

“It wasn't like that, don't worry.” The man placates the little bit of curiosity regardless, and with a slightly shit-eating grin as if trying to lighten the mood with a joke. You meet him halfway with a perked up corner of your mouth as well.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The words slice through your ears like glass — the idea of reliving the events of last night all over again, as if talking about it were to bring any solace or comfort in the aftermath of the destruction you had caused in only an hour or two.

Fiddling with the hem of Hongjoong's t-shirt as the fabric sits pooled in your lap, you stare down at your busy fingers. “I mean, suppose he told you already.”

“He did,” Wooyoung says, nodding once in affirmation of the fact. “He's...not proud. It's sort of why I'm here — well, that, and to help you move.”

Help you move.

There's a lot to take in in such a short sentence you find, but Hongjoong standing firm in his resolve to not do this anymore, not have you anymore being the one that weighs the most heavily at first. Truthfully, you had hoped that Wooyoung had come in an effort to help the both of you work through it.

But, apparently that is not so.

“Not...proud?” you question, looking up and across the table at the man.

He leans forward, elbows pressed against the wood — earnest and serious but gentle all at the same time — such a far cry from the way in which you had met him before.

“You know as well as I do that Hongjoong is a good man. Kind, delicate — he's an art school kid, you know how they are,” he chuckles, waving a hand about in the air. “He's not at all happy with the way that things went down last night between the two of you.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“I don't really know all of the details, I don't need to,” Wooyoung starts again. “But he didn't apologize, he wants to apologize, he just can't.”

“And why can't he?” you question, voice small and throat dry, the conversation already beginning to bubble up again the feelings from before.

You don't want to cry in front of this man, but he's making it so hard.

“He can't...see you. Talk to you.”

“So he sent you to do it for him.”

Wooyoung frowns at the words — the way that it sounds so pathetic and cowardly, and perhaps that's not even false, but sometimes we have to be so in an effort to protect ourselves from further suffering. “Sort of, yeah.”

The two of you silence, Wooyoung sitting back again and chewing at the inside of his lip as he contemplates the best way to handle the situation going forward. For you, it's the stifling of the burning pain felt deeply in your chest — a kind of pain only expelled by the feeling of one's feelings, and for that, the man sent to help you needs to not be here.

Crying in front of him does neither of you any good. What's the point. It won't bring Hongjoong back here before you're gone.

“I know he's a good man, I...neither of us were in great form last night,” you say, finally acknowledging the words that Wooyoung had delivered.

Wooyoung nods, pushing his chair back from the table and moving to pick up the dishes from it, and just as quickly as the thought comes to you, the tears prick at the corners of your eyes all over again. Wooyoung is all you have, he's your one chance at undoing this, at trying to make it right for the two of you again. Looking up at him, eyes bloodshot and glistening with furrowed brows, you gently take his wrist to stop his movement towards the sink.

“I love him, Wooyoung. He loves me.”

Deeply inhaling, he frowns slightly but nods to you all the same — acknowledging the words in a silent plea to allow him to set the dishes in the sink and that he would then return to you. He does, quickly, taking you by the hand and bringing you to the open living area where the both of you sit on the couch together.

A man with many good qualities, the best being his kindness. Knowing well enough the torment you've put his friend through, and still here, by your side, in the aftermath of it all.

Inhaling heavily again, Wooyoung takes both of your hands into his lap and cradling them within his own as he looks you in your eyes. Delicacy but seriousness in his own simultaneously.

“Sometimes...even when we love someone, and they love us, too much damage has been done, and it's not fixable.”

Your heart drops in an instant, the tears welling up just as fast and all over again.

“I'm not here to advise you one way or another, just like I wouldn't advise him one way or another, either. Truthfully, I adore both of you — individually, and together—“

He pauses, thinking. “—but there's been a lot of hurt. On both sides.”

“You're saying I should move on, give up—“ you choke out, squeezing your fists still harbored under his own.

“I'm saying that you shouldn't wait.”

Waiting for Hongjoong to come around again, the thought that had been bouncing around in your skull from the moment he said the words — that if you simply waited long enough, he would come around. The hurt would eventually subside, and he could and would remember all of the ways in which the two of you made each other so unfathomably happy. That if you just waited, he could heal, love you again like he once did — without the hate lacing the word and making it easy for him to give to you.

And now, Wooyoung is telling you not to, in the nicest way possible. Parsing through the language, the meaning behind it ringing loud and clear to you: for you, he will never recover. The damage you have caused him is irreversible, as far as your relationship to him. He is traumatized by you, and your presence in his life will halt his healing.

Don't wait, he will never come around.

You don't give a response, eyes pulling away from the man and instead looking up to the ceiling, the tears too strong to fight now, and it's just as quickly that Wooyoung slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you tightly against him in a hug.

You break down into the contact, chest heaving and pained as you sob into his sweater.

Hours later and boxes packed a few minutes before four in the afternoon, Wooyoung comes back inside the apartment after having carried the last to his car to take to your own place. Looking around slowly at your surroundings — the apartment feeling so large and empty despite the fact that you didn't have so many things there to begin with and it still full of all of Hongjoong's things, you sigh — sad, and heavy — Wooyoung slipping his fingers in between your own on one hand as if to offer you more comfort. The two of you meet eyes, and he smiles ever so gently at you.

You wonder if this is the last time you will ever see the man again, and how painful of a loss that is, as well.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, boldly. “Like, not as my friend, or his friend, or even as a therapist just...I don't know, as a person.”

He laughs at the question, snorting through his nose as he nods. “Sure, I'll try.”

“What would you do, if you were me?”

Wooyoung squeezes your hand ever so slightly before pulling from you entirely, and you think in the moment that you've gone too far — pressed your relationship with the man too much and out of his comfort zone with the man that you love to extend you any more kindness, but instead, he shuffles a hand through messy, blonde hair and chuckles again.

“Don't know,” he starts, shaking his head slightly. “Suppose it is the only way to leave, though, isn't it?”

You know he's referring to the way that Hongjoong has — abruptly, suddenly, painfully.

“Suppose you still love them?” you answer back, quiet and almost a whisper as you gaze up at him through somewhat expectant eyes. You know that Wooyoung won't simply say things to make it easier on you, especially not after having just told you not to wait for the man that you want nothing more than to wait for, but still...you can only hope.

And he takes silence for far too long for your liking as he mulls over the question in his mind — perhaps not a scenario in which Wooyoung has ever had to experience himself, and you're happy for the fact, be it on either end of the situation. A man that deals more in quick thrills and fun rather than attempting to dabble in the sides of love, much less forever.

Eyes meeting yours again, he bumps his own shoulder into yours — a sort of playfulness that has no business being in the conversation, in the situation at all, but given the man that you're dealing with, you're unsurprised.

“Suppose you still love them,” he repeats again and to himself, before answering with finality.

“Then you don't leave.”

After dropping you back to your own place of residence and helping you bring your belongings back inside, Wooyoung bids you a pleasant farewell. You're thankful for Hongjoong's kindness — be it out of his love for you or guilt for what he's done to you, now well past five you realize that beyond the pancakes that Wooyoung had brought you much earlier in the morning, you had not eaten.

Not up for cooking, and barely up for eating at all, anyways, you decide on a small café only recently opened up down the block from you. It's nothing special, and no reviews to show for itself given its newness — but with less than an ample appetite, no reason not to give them a chance.

How hard could it be to make a BLT and a coffee, anyways?

Stepping inside with the ringing of a bell on the top of the door, you're actually pleasantly surprised to find other people already seated inside and from what you can tell, happily enjoying their items at their tables. You step forward and towards the counter, out of the way in case someone else were to come through with their mind already made up as you gaze upon the menu — taking in the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread items that line up the back wall on the other side of the register side.

Coming from the back room, a woman greets you happily. “Hello! Welcome to Mountain Breeze Café! Take your time.”

You thank her, turning your attention back up and towards the menu before feeling the presence of another person slinking up and next to you. Assumed to be another patron waiting, you turn to look at him as he, too, looks upon the menu.

“I'm not ready, you can go ahead of me.”

He turns his head to meet your eyes, an ever so slight grin forming on his lips that take form at the ends as dimples — you're a little taken aback by his striking features — sharp and cat-like, with medium-long black hair and a carefully placed slit cut out of his eyebrow.

Honestly, he looks sort of terrifying, but the childish smile dulling his otherwise serious face.

“May I recommend something?” he says, eyes widening and bright. You're now completely taken by the way he softens in an instant. What an intriguing, somewhat bizarre, man.

“Sure...” you reluctantly allow, supposing you're thankful for it given the fact that you've never been before, but all the same alarmed by the outward friendliness of the strange man in the new café.

“I think the melted ham and cheese is best,” he says with a nod. “As for drinks, you can get anything really, they're all good. I like smoothies, though.”

“It's cold outside,” you say to the smoothie comment.

“Goes well with hot food!”

“You're a little weird, huh?” you finally say to him, but he only laughs at the statement as you nod towards the woman waiting to receive your order that you will, in fact, be allowing him to hijack your dining experience.

“Not weird,” he amends, nodding gently and with a slow blink, really almost cat-like even in mannerisms. “It's my café, I own the place.”

Startled at the admission, you stumble over your words a bit, attempting to recall the entirety of a conversation in passing that meant almost nothing to you and hoping that you hadn't said anything rude, or hurtful — you know, just in case the food is good.

“God, I'm sorry,” you start, exhaling heavily. “It's been...a long twenty-four hours. I've had better days.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he says, and he sounds empathetic, although you can't tell if he's simply putting on a show because it's what he should do in the moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your immediate response is to chuckle at the thought, having just spent all afternoon talking about it with Wooyoung, but it's past that that the fact that you don't even know this man dawns on you. How you feel so comfortable with him already that this wasn't the first thought that comes to mind, you may never know.

“With all due respect,” you laugh, turning towards a small, empty table and sitting down at one of the two chairs perched just beside it. “I don't know you, why would I?”

Standing before you, the man looks as though he's thinking for a moment, before the logic of the situation dawns on him in real time. You can't help but feel a sort of child-like innocence from him, as if simple, everyday, real world concepts are still something he's attempting to grapple with each passing moment — as if he's not twenty-however old and a business owner.

“True, in that case—“ he responds, pulling the other chair out and seating himself down into it before finishing the thought.

“—I'm Choi San, and now you do.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

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[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

how do all the lackadaisy characters react to getting sick/how do the handle the situation. Thanks!! :3c

Lumping these two asks together as they are the same request. Ask and ye shall receive! (A collaborative effort between multiple of our authors as it does involve the whole cast.)

ROCKY

Sick? What do you mean sick. In his over twenty-two years of living thus far he's never been sick once. He has the immune system of a titan, what are you talking about.

Questions he whilst leaning heavily on the bar counter for support lest he is knocked to the ground in a feverish pile by this sudden earthquake that apparently no one else is noticing like seriously you guys shouldn't we evacuate the place?!

In his defense, he's right about one thing: illness seems to avoid him as prevalently and miraculously as death itself. He could get stuck in the rain, take cold mud baths, sleep outside in winter snow, hug someone with Spanish flu, taste the pavement of a rat-infested alley and drink raw sewage and still come out of it all fit as a fiddle.

(Whether he carries anything is a different question, though with the various microorganisms inside him he seems to live in an overwhelmingly peaceful coexistence.)

But every rule has exceptions. And since he frequently does end up in all those situations, when once a millennium he comes down with something it's hard to tell the cause.

How he handles it can be summed up in a short answer of: he doesn't. He refuses to acknowledge it until he's physically incapacitated. If asked about it he keeps insisting that he's fine, a-okay, dandy as can be, never has existed a more invigorated healthy young man on Earth. At best he may invent a perfectly unconvincing excuse, like allergies acting up. (Inside underground caves. In winter. When he's never been allergic to anything in his entire life.)

Aside from perhaps unsuccessfully forbidding him from causing more grievous disturbances than usual, people usually opt to just leave him to it, because once he's set his mind on being "fine" logical reasoning and sound advice are only breath wasted. Ever well-intentioned, Mitzi still tells him to get some rest every now and then, yet keeps stumbling into the boy as he's fumbling through whatever that unresting intent has currently possessed him to be doing.

This wouldn't be such an issue with, say, a cold, because regardless of his masochistic eagerness for activity it inevitably does pass, but if it's something that necessitates any amount of bedrest... well, good luck.

For one he hasn't really a place to rest. I mean... there's the car. No one but Ivy at the Lackadaisy seems to know he technically lives in there, and he's not too enthusiastic to disclose it himself; besides anywhere else actually suitable, like in Mitzi's apartment, he'd just feel like a capital nuisance.

But let's suppose a scenario with the ideal location and someone who cares enough to stick by and ensure he actually does stay put. Shouldering such a responsibility, they must be prepared for a minimum of two things.

For one: he's going to be even more unbearably talkative than usual. Because what else is there left for a restless spirit if the flesh is restrained? Nothing but to complain and lament and versify and prattle on incessantly about whatever comes careening hither along a changeful stream of consciousness. Albeit unwittingly, driving others insane with his aimless rambling is how he keeps himself... well, something.

It's like if his mind had to stop running at maximum speed for just a few minutes it would promptly crash for good. Which, for all we know, may really be the case.

(This is just my two cents, but: I think giving him drawing implements and a coloring book or just plain paper might keep him very nicely occupied, as well as relatively quiet. Be sure to provide plenty of paper though, if you don’t want him to start drawing on other things not meant to be drawn on when the supply runs out like an unsupervised kid... unless you welcome the idea of your walls and furniture being covered in doodles.)

The other, possibly more arduous challenge is keeping him inside the room in the first place. Not understanding nor agreeing with his special treatment largely experienced as imprisonment on his end, he seizes each arising opportunity to attempt to weasel away somehow.

And he's a trained escape artist.

Watch him closely but look away for even a second, and you'll find no trace of him left in the room when you look back. Lock him in there, he'll pick the lock in a pinch - or attempt the window, which depending on the floor number may carry various levels of risk. Tie him down (because you're getting desperate by now) and you're likely to stumble into him minutes later by the front door, having already wriggled his way out. Doesn’t matter which knot was used, he knows most of them by heart. (And even if he didn’t happen to, he’s resourceful enough.)

Like I’ve said before, he perseveres in resisting his confinement for as long as he's capable of moving his limbs around and some vague semblance of coherent thought. Even with his brains cooking with delirium one may have to rescue him as he's crawling along on the floor dragging with him the tangle of blankets he was last left swaddled in, not entirely clear on what direction he's headed but by all means dedicated.

He's not above manipulation either, in order to divert his warden’s attention or make them relinquish his firm supervision rooted in concern for his well-being. Because it's not like he's concerned about it; so why should anyone else be? In addition he's unshakably certain that his role in the Lackadaisy's rumrunning force as well as there in general is absolutely vital and requires that he always be available for employment regardless of if he’s even in a proper state for it. (Just look at the latest comic arc, for crying out loud.)

But psst. Here's a little personal tip, for (Y/N) specifically. If reasonable advice hits deaf ears, and cuffing him to a bedpost yields little results other than another mildly baffling escape attraction, there remains one other thing to try with better chances of success... a more hands-on approach, if you catch my drift.

(Cuddling. I'm talking about cuddling. If you've got a good grip on this string bean of a man he is certainly not going anywhere so long as you're vigilant. Doing so, of course, means risking your own health, which he won't fail to coyly point out either; but he'll otherwise put up minimal resistance and ultimately cave in because God knows he’s touch deprived and doesn't get held enough otherwise. Well, by not enough I mean not at all, ever. But that's exactly why it's a good thing you're here, isn't it?)

Overall, as amusing of a story collection to recount as his commonly absurd ailing escapades might provide later down the line, the fact that they very rarely happen is no doubt for the best. He engages in enough troublesome shenanigans as is.

FRECKLE

Surprisingly pragmatic about it. Yep. He's getting symptoms. Looks like he contracted something.

Best be careful about it... mostly because Nina wouldn't allow him running himself ragged anyhow.

Along with other moral virtues he's had honesty drilled into him from kittenhood. And although it's not always an option in... other matters... he's upfront about how he's feeling physically if not much else, and eventually does come to terms with it. (Once he’s confirmed with certainty that it’s not just the general nauseated feeling he gets whenever he thinks too deeply about his “work” nowadays.)

He doesn't want to infect other people, or incur the stern concern of his mother, so at the very least he stays around the house, doing small, mostly undemanding chores. He's aware it's not expected of him nor recommended, but he has a bit of restlessness to him too.

Mostly because, were it bad enough to confine him to bed in a blanketed bundle of suffering incarnate, all he'd be able to think about is that God's wrath finally caught up with him for being a horrible person and this was part of his rightful punishment. Even worse if he got a nasty fever; it's like he's already burning in Hell.

Distractions may be scarce, but if he's been told off from chores for sneezing on the washing-up or exhausting himself with much too overzealous hammering, he opts to read instead. Over the years he's amassed quite the collection of books, renowned classics and youth literature, and most of them still give off the fluttering remnants of a good kind of nostalgia when flipping through the pages.

And besides, immersing himself in someone else's story is far more pleasant than fretting over his own current predicaments.

Some company, from a safe distance of course, will do him wonders as well. Nina is not the most conversational woman around, and aside from checking on him regularly and ensuring his wellbeing they don't make much meaningful contact.

Rocky likely pops in from time to time however, forever enthused to just run his mouth for as long as allowed, and although he may get a bit too bombastic for Calvin's comparative lack of vitality sometimes he appreciates the distraction more than he's able to express it. And, believe it or not, it's not entirely one-sided either. Rocky has developed a keen sense for his quiet cousin's intent to contribute and will more than gladly listen to what he has to say.

He’ll also forward Ivy’s wishes for Calvin to get well soon as she’s just dying to be able to meet with him at the speakeasy again. (Definitely also attaches a teasing remark or two to the message.) Then he’s eventually ushered out by Nina and as soon as his hasty goodbyes are swallowed by the outdoors Calvin finds himself missing the noise already.

The paralyzed stillness of being sick gets to him a lot more than it shows… seeing as it leaves him a little too alone with his own mind. So he sinks into the comfort of old books until he’s incapacitated by a headache and sore eyes, and diligently rakes those seven leaves that had gathered across the back lawn since he last attended to them two hours before, and lingers outside in the garden until warmer hues overtake a sun-painted sky and the evening chill starts to bite, taking in all things green and alive and in motion to remind himself that he’s not a walking corpse. Not yet, anyway.

Due to his mom’s supervision as well as his own eagerness to follow instructions in order to escape his personal limbo as soon as possible, he does tend to recover fairly fast; and he’s a pretty hardy young lad, thank goodness, so it’s all quite uncommon of an ordeal. In short it’s back to the ol’ grindstone in a jiffy; you know, the kind of grindstone that pulverizes mortal lives and churns out dripping blood.

But hey, best not stop and mull over it too long.

IVY

Oh, it's a nightmare for her.

You mean she can't go out in the evenings anymore? Can't go shopping with friends? Can't procure booze with her criminal coworkers? Can't attend dates with her cute new boyfriend? (Well, those last two are one and the same, really.)

These are all vital activities for a young woman like her to pursue! What else is she supposed to do? Rot in her room and steer clear of all fun whilst everyone else keeps going on with their lives?!

Some flimsy cold is nowhere near enough to keep her away from the beloved Lackadaisy. She can still man the café counter with a little sniffle (taking care to sneeze on no one's food) or look absolutely gorgeous on the dancefloor decked in glimmering pearls and feathers with a slightly paler constitution. But if it's bad enough that she simply must stay put...

During classes the still life of an empty dormitory fills with upbeat contemporary tunes from her bedstand radio as she lies upon crumpled bedsheets, clad in her prettiest pajamas, surrounded by an almost ritualistic circle of tissues and magazines whilst flipping through one of the latter with her legs girlishly dangling in the air. This is likely the scene any visitors are greeted by as well.

She looks like she's coping rather well... until verbal contact ensues and she begins her long string of complaints about how she's feeling utterly miserable. Runny nose, sore throat, grating cough, an unshakable sense of fatigue and she can't even go anywhere! Her classmates are off studying or having fun themselves (as well as deliberately avoiding contact with her for obvious reasons), and she's got nothing to look at but patterned wallpaper and pictures of pretty clothes she currently can't even visit the boutiques for.

But once the grievances are shared she promptly guides the spotlight in their direction, upon which they are to share every last bit of information and news about all most recent ongoings in the world of the healthy. It is a requirement (she will not let them go until they oblige), but also an opportunity; they're welcome to spill the beans on how their week has been and any noteworthy things that happened to them and also to just chat with her about whatever else comes up in the process.

Another way she keeps herself involved with the outside world is through the telephone. The local operator can already tell if she's under the weather by the prevalence of hearing her slightly weathered, juvenile voice squeak for connection to mostly one line throughout the day.

Her calls may also be scheduled to a certain hour so that everyone can come up to Mitzi's office and say hi. That "everyone" overwhelmingly ends up being Rocky, who lingers around there a bit more insistently than usual nearing that time frame and never fails to make his presence known by shouting his own greetings and cheerful encouragements of perseverance into the receiver.

She always asks him about Viktor and Calvin since the former disappointingly refuses to engage with her calls, and the latter doesn't visit because boys aren't allowed in the dormitory... and because he's afraid of catching her sickness. (What a chicken.)

You’d better believe they both get a scolding once she’s recovered for not contacting her at all… though you can’t really stay mad at sheepishly apologetic, babyfaced Freckle McMurray, now can you

Supposing the presence of company who’s emotionally close enough, she may also get clingy in the physical sense. Yes, she knows it’s not very courteous to rub your germs all over someone, but oh, her head is just killing her and she’s exhausted and achy and utterly sick of being sick, hence she desperately needs to rest her chin on someone’s shoulder and latch onto their soft warmth. Really, they brought this upon themselves by daring to enter the sniffly lion cub’s den. Now they’re likely not allowed to move for… let’s say the next two hours. Alternatively, until she has to go to the bathroom or ask them to get her something to drink.

Yes, she’s a bit of a princess; and especially when she’s miserable she may occasionally indulge in showering a willing servant with her various requests. Fetch her this, throw away that, bring hot chocolate and snacks, take out the trash, give her attention. But how could you say no to those big, innocent eyes?

If it’s a schoolmate she will absolutely persuade them to skip their classes for the day and spend time with her instead, offering cuddles and gossip. Forgetting, or ignoring rather, that not everyone can afford to be so lax about their education. Though surely, full-time service as a personal maid slash stuffed animal is making a much better use of their time. She promises to do the same when they inevitably catch the illness themselves, if that’s any consolation.

Nightly adventures and consequent loss of sleep aside, she takes decent care of herself overall, so the understimulating agony of quarantined solitude luckily isn’t something she suffers more of than the average person… albeit that little she’s an expert at suffering luxuriously.

VIKTOR

No, he's not sick, you're just lying. The great, the indomitable, the fierce Viktor Vasco never gets sick.

Denial is definitely a big part of it. He will not admit to getting sick until he's too weak to stand, and even then he'll fight anyone who tries to get him to rest.

The boredom is somehow scarier than actual health concerns. Staying at home and being too ill to do anything except think means he'll think. And thinking leads to a whole load of other things that he doesn't want to get into.

Essentially, getting sick is a liability to everything, from his job to his sense of self.

However, good luck on trying to make him better. He will also stubbornly refuse any help that comes his way, will slam his door in the doctor's face and threaten to tear apart anyone who so much as suggests getting him medicine.

His colleagues from Lackadaisy have taken to asking Mrs Bapka, his neighbour, to administer anything they want to give him themselves (he will draw a line at punching an old woman and fellow Slovakian immigrant), or Ivy (no one can successfully dispose of Ivy and her headstrong attitude. No one.)

The last person he had actually listened to when he was sick was a certain Mordecai Heller. Needless to say, that's not the case anymore.

Maybe that's what really makes him so grumpy and reluctant.

ZIB

His immune system is either rock hard or absolute dogshit, there is no in-between. He can go through a crowd of cats with nasty 'bouts of the flu without catching it, but gets bedridden by something as small as a head cold.

Said wonky immune system may be because he tends to drink stuff cut with the most ridiculous ingredients (radiator fluid, coffin varnish, paint, water, mud, you name it he's probably tasted it)

When he gets laid up, he gets laid up hard (innuendo not intended). He has to drag himself out of bed during the worst parts of it and may not even bother, electing to curl up and shiver/cry from the pain/die where he's comfortable. His band members have to literally drag him out of there on those days and force food down his throat so he doesn't wither away

Goddammit you lanky noodle bitch look after your sick ass don't make everyone do it for you

MORDECAI

He hates falling ill with a passion. It's one of many reasons he drinks tea so often: if he does get sick, it won't hit him so hard.

He tends to try and shrug off small stuff (runny nose, mild to moderate headache, aches and pains) to go to work anyway; but he's no fool. If he really feels icky he'll stay at home and look after himself. As much as he hates to do it, he's only got one body and somebody has to look after it.

The Savoys bash/tease him relentlessly whenever he comes in sick. If the mild headache becomes something worth staying at home for, they'll go as far as to try and visit him (or get him to come to them). Is it guilt about ragging him about it, them missing him or just boredom? Hard to tell with those two.

Serafine once teased about playing as his "mama" and looking after him until he's better. Mordecai, in his sickness-muddled mind, flew off the handle at her...Though all the Savoys saw was him almost break a glass in his paws before telling them flatly to get out.

Neither one realized Serafine had hit a nerve until he refused to let them in for a few days after. Whether it was something about his past or Serafine betraying his trust to get him into her group, they let it go and pretended nothing happened once he was back in action (though there was a noticeably thicker wall between him and them)

SERAFINE/NICODEME

Meet the "clingy" duo.

They don't get sick often and have impressive immune systems, what with their past roaming the swamps and other dangerous conditions, but when they do? Oh boy...

They'll either cling to each other in private, or play it up and annoy a hapless colleague.

And by "hapless colleague", I mean Mordecai—because of course it is.

Sickness is less of an actual, preventive ailment, but rather an excuse to show off some dramatic acting skills.

"Oh, cher, I simply cannot move until you bring me some nice warm tea and chocolate!"

"If I die, tell the world I was warm and safe, because of our dear ami, Heller..."

"For crying out loud, you've both got nothing but a cold."

They'll still play it up.

Just because your nose is stuffy doesn't mean the rest of you has to be.

The show must go on, mon cher.

WICK

He gets sick really, really easily. He stays up late at night often, so he doesn't get much rest and his immunity suffers for it.

(Licking rock walls probably doesn't help with that. Muffinhead (affectionate))

He still does work and goes out when he's sick, which results in papers with shitty writing and his friends urging him to go and rest up, "we can go with you another day".

When he's not thinking straight he'll whine to Lacie about how no one wants to see him when he's sick; ignoring the fact that she's either making him food, putting a cold cloth on his head or literally came by just to say hi to him

He's a bit dim sometimes, but he's a loveable dim.

The easiest way to see how sick he is is to mention putting the work on pause or crack a joke at his expense. If he rapidly objects to not working or good-naturedly shrugs off the joke, it's a small thing, nothing to worry about. If all he has to say in response to not working is "I can't" and he tries to defend himself from the joke (or even worse, agrees with it), he's feeling god-awful.

Lacie tends to hide the alcohol away until he's feeling better. During the week or so he's really feeling foggy this actually works, since in his addled state he can't properly look for them.

MITZI (BONUS since she's been getting a fair bit of attention)

Mitzi doesn't get sick. She becomes inconvenienced.

She's also a real bitch when she's sick. It's less of a slipping mask and more of a "I can't be nice when my brain feels too big for my skull"

She'll still grin and bear it for Rocky. He's positively devoted to her, after all; the least she can do is swallow her nasty remarks and come up with something softer for him.

Some cats swear that she never falls ill or has anything happen to her...Usually because once it does happen she locks herself in her office and won't open the door if you're not Horatio or Viktor.

If another cat somehow gets through her door, can put up with her attitude swings and goes out of their way to help her through her illness, she may very well open up a little and talk to them easier. Something as small as a cup of tea during a ravenous headache will convince the then-bitchy queen that you're not all bad-and later that since you put up with her ravenous insults and still helped her, maybe you're worth swallowing her pride for and confiding in.

[crispbeigepages]

~Too Sweet~

CW|Angst(?), Swearing, Drugs & Alcohol, Themes of Cannibalism

GRAAAGGGGHH Someone take Hozier away from me I'm f e r a l

It was late at night, a few hours after the bistro had closed. Vincent had just arrived back in his apartment after struggling to focus on his paperwork that remained scattered on his office desk.

The dark bags under his eyes had gotten more pronounced, his demeanor more irritable than usual.

He needed a drink.

Vincent usually strayed away from alcohol, given that his lack of taste only left the negative effects of the drinks in his system. Despite that, however, any good chef had a liquor cabinet for social gatherings and cooking.

A lanky arm reached up for one of the taller bottles housing an expensive brand of whiskey. Normally when Vincent drank, he'd have mixed drinks to soften the blow of getting drunk.

Not this time. This time, he wanted hammered.

Everything had been entirely normal until around 9am that morning. The bistro opened at 7am, but Vincent's newest server hadn't arrived yet, leaving him to tend to any of the early morning patrons.

It had been 9am when the server, Rody, had arrived and clocked in.

"Your second day here and you're already la-"

Vincent cut off, noticing the disgruntled state of his employee.

Rody was soaked, his hair messy and unkempt from the downpour of rain outside.

"Sorry.. I thought if I rode my bike here faster I'd stay dryer, but it turned out to be the opposite!"

Rody's explanation was followed by a sheepish laugh.

Vincent had barely picked up on what he had said, too focused on the uncomfortable, unnatural feeling in his chest. Without thinking, Vincent grabbed a towel and began ruffling Rody's hair dry.

"Why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

"I don't have one."

A flicker of surprise crossed Vincent's face. Who didn't have an umbrella of all things?

Much to Rody's surprise as well as his own, he offered his umbrella to Rody.

"But you'll get wet!"

Rody's protest made an uncomfortable chill run through Vincent.

What was going on with him today?

"I live in an apartment upstairs."

The rest of that interaction had proved irrelevant to Vincent's mind, instead thinking about how soft Rody's hair had seemed when his fingers brushed against it.

That was only the beginning of Vincent's day of turmoil.

Later in the day, around noon or so, Vincent had come out of his office to check on his employees and customers. During his rounds through the dining hall of the bistro, he overheard a conversation between customers and his server.

"Your appetizer, ma'am!"

"Why thank you! How handsome.. I can see why chef Charbonneau hired you."

"Isn't he? He's so precious too!"

Vincent had turned around intent on telling Rody to get back to work but froze.

His eyes landed on a sight that made his heart race. Rody was blushing, averting his gaze from the women doting on him.

His mouth became uncomfortably dry.

It didn't take long for Vincent to finish his rounds before returning to his office and sitting down with a sharp exhale.

His shaky hands reached into his pockets, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He had a pile of paperwork on his desk that needed filled out, agitating forms that he could care less about in that moment.

He just needed a cigarette to calm his nerves.

Various other incidents similar happened throughout the day, but they'd practically all meshed together in Vincent's brain. He gulped down his whiskey, cringing at the burn that lingered after.

His tolerance for alcohol was extremely low, so it only took a glass for him to start feeling tipsy.

The more alcohol he drank, the more he thought about Rody. His smile, his sunny personality, his blush. Everything about Rody plagued his brain like an illness, a sick obsession induced by intoxication.

Thirty minutes in and half a bottle of whiskey had gone. Vincent was wasted, his brain foggy with images of that damned server.

Vincent began to feel a deep hunger within the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol talking, but he couldn't help but feel a carnal desire to eat.

He despised eating.

Yet there he sat, an itching, burning feeling throughout his entire body.

Rody was like a precious artifact, a beautiful gem that glimmered in the sunlight. He was an art piece, that of which was too good for Vincent.

It was wrong, Vincent knew this, but he couldn't shake this feeling.

Rody was a sweet nectar Vincent couldn't stand, a flavor he knew he'd despise if he had taste.

Despite this, Vincent couldn't shake the want, the need to devour.

He wanted to fucking ruin him.