#words and memories just fucking bail on me under enough stress

[thisisaname-whatahappyname]

i want to be meaner to my mom but scared that i might make a habbit of it to the point of that spilling onto other people, so let's vent, near everytime i say something that challenges her belief that she's right about everything she always goes on about how i love debating her and how im always attacking her and saying she's wrong about everything, this bitch litterally fucking just told her child "you're always the villain to me" like i dont have a mountain of evidence saying that she's the one who's fucked up

look we disagree on things a lot, i disagree with her a lot, she seems to take everytime i point out she could be wrong (the first few times her response was "it's like your my mom mano po" ("mana po" is something people do to their elders) and "go work on your self first" in response to my room and my sleep schedule, like. y'know me sleeping late and being messy gives her yhe excuse to be a bad person.) now it's "you just love debating me don't you" "you always think im wrong about everything" and now recently "youre always the villain in my story" ("lagi kang kontrabida saking buhay")

because yeah sure im the villain, im the person who bullied ("idiot, lunatic, insane, you made yourself ugly, you look insane, you look like a lunatic") verbally abused (read the previous sentences, and what comes after this), hit (four times to be exact, also threathened to beat me up if i ever did that again, and later on said she was gonna smack me if i ever tried it again later on too) and told their kid they're insane and that tgey didn't care about anyone except themselves for botching their haircut

like this isn't my first time saying this within these last few days, it still holds true though, her words, the villain sentence specifically, should be directed at herself if anything, like girlie are you describing your own actions or

damn these last few days have been shit, like most days that have my parents in them aren't good, but these last few days have been horrendous, wonder if i should kill myself lol, atleast id have a botched haircut at the funeral, where a lot of the people whod know me would see, might botch it even more before doing it, just out of spite, it's just like id face the abuse that would com after anyways, i would be dead. also that whole haircut and these few days after said haircut have confirmed my theory that my parents treat me nicer when im pretty so! that's another thing! man!

like girlie really did just say her kid was the villain in her life despite being the one to hit her kid four times over a botched haircut, and verbally and physically abuse said kid for days afterwards (the verbal abuse was worse than what id written, basically just wrote a summary for the most part, just don't feel like translating it) i mean girlie really?

edit: also if you read the tags i almost forgot about that last bit, memory repression works hard ig. wonder how much shit i forgot that i never remembered.

also another edit: i think it's interesting how she used to so "oh so im the villain now" in response to me whenever i brought up her doing something bad, like that used to be a common occurance a few months near a year ago, but now she says "you're like a villain to me" after, reminding her she can be wrong, and botching my haircut. i mean. girlie at least isn't blatantly ripping off mother gothel now so that's fun.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - May 2

I know I say every week that I read a lot this week but I have been indulging in my favorite coping technique and so this list is ridiculously long. Twitter encouraged me. Blame them. 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

On the inherent homoeroticism of cake decoration by welcoming_disaster (616/8K)

“She’s matchmaking, Barton,” Carol sighed.

“We,” Thor corrected, thumping himself hard in the chest, “art matchmaking.”

“Who, Cap n’ Tony?” Clint asked, his mouth full.

“Cap and Tony,” Janet confirmed, cutting herself a thin slice of egg and gently depositing it on her whole grain avocado toast, “it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Wait, I thought they were—“ Clint frowned, glancing around the room as though to confirm. Nothing but confused faces met his questioning gaze. “Huh. I really thought they were fucking.”

“And there is the crux of the issue,” Jess licked a bit of spaghetti sauce off her lip.

“Aye,” agreed Thor, “there’s rub.”

-----------

The team tries to set up Steve and Tony. Things don't go as planned.

Baby lovers like you and me (never say die) by FestiveFerret (Old Guard AU/7.5K)

The Avengers. They'd found him frozen in the ice, told him he was immortal, of all things. And with the way he'd lived through seventy years deep in the Atlantic, he found himself inclined to believe them. They'd also been very… convincing.

Without question, they integrated him into their unit - The Avengers, a secret team of unkillables seeking wrongs around the world and making them right, supported and housed by an enigmatic billionaire named Tony Stark. Their immortality, it seemed, was a secret to everyone but him.

Ready, set, bake by ChocolateCapCookie (Great British Bake Off/11k) 

The Avengers are on a nationally televised baking competition, but nobody seems to have warned the producers that the Avengers, while they save the world everyday and put their loves at risk doing so, are a) insanely competitive, and b) absolutely terrible bakers. Steve Rogers, especially, has a competitive streak a mile wide, and he's determined to win this competition, but it's not easy when his only real opponent is also the man he's been in love with for years.

***To make flowers grow (in this barren heart) by SoldiersShield, KakushiMiko (Hanahaki AU/16K) 

“You hide yourself away in your technology, but you are just as human as the rest of them. Your heart betrays your desire to possess.” Her gaze falls to the arc reactor, and Tony's blood runs cold in his veins.

“The Earth will reclaim what we have lost,” she says, dragging a hand over the chestplate of the armor. “It is you, and your kind-- your greed that pulls life from the soil as if it were nothing. You will reap what you have sown, Stark. The avarice in your heart will strangle the very life out of you.” Arna meets his eyes once more, a serene smile on her face as she leans forward.

“I hope he is worth dying for,” she murmurs, before digging her hand into his ribcage.

(Tony Stark falls in love with Steve Rogers. A rogue enchantress ensures he pays for it.)

Shelter from the storm by silkspectred (KidFic/5k) 

Tony adopts a baby. Guess who's Majorly Fucked Up™ about it.

Keep on beating by itsallAvengers (Domestic Fluff/6K) 

There were an awful lot of things Steve loved about Tony. But one thing in particular Steve could never get enough of was his heartbeat.

The good or bad thing by petreparkour (Multiverse/10k) 

 “It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.

“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

***The tipping point by nightwalker (Domestic Fluff/7K) 

Tony has a few quirks. Steve's still trying to figure them all out.

We two, how long we were fool’d by glassessay (Soulmate AU/9K) 

Steve Rogers comes into the world as unblemished as his mother. When Anthony Stark is born, his soulmark is an obvious pattern of ink across his tiny chest.

It only takes a century, two names, and a shared love of Walt Whitman for them to find each other.

The tape in the cave by betheflame (Canon Divergent/5K) 

Steve had no idea what was happening.

“You think I didn’t know that?”

Tony was staring Zemo down as though the Sokovian was actual vermin - which, Steve reflected, he kind of was.

“You think that I,” Tony continued, not hiding the sneer in his voice, “Anthony Stark, who has more powerful technology in my literal fingers than most nations have, that I wouldn’t know everything possible about how my parents died? That I wouldn’t know it wasn’t an accident, that your silly little HYDRA Nazi knock-off pals are the ones who murdered them? Please, you are pathetic.”

Happy ending by Robin_tCJ (No-Powers AU/28K) 

 Steve is a mobile massage therapist, and Tony is a stressed billionaire. What could go wrong?

With a decent happiness by torigates (Teacher AU/16K) 

Tony Stark is Iron Man. Steve Rogers isn't, and never was Captain America.

Or, the one where everything is the same except Steve is a kindergarten teacher.

Nothing left but scars by SailorChibi (MCU/6.7K) - Reread

Steve wakes up to the fact that no one ever compliments or even says thank you to Tony, and that he has fallen into the same trap of painting Tony with a specific paintbrush.

This is how he showers a very confused Tony with praise to make up for it.

Our hearts should remember and follow by frostfall (MCU/5K) 

Steve hums. “I didn’t know you could play. Or sing. Don’t think I’ve heard anyone mention it before.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s one of the few things, skills, I don’t flaunt. Not something people are interested in, anyway. Not gonna sway any board members by playing fucking Für Elise for them. Sides’, there’s a high chance I wouldn’t even play. Well, maybe if you get me drunk enough and near an instrument. Then, I might reconsider.”

(After a dream leaves Tony rattled, he turns to the piano as a way to distract himself.)

Finally, you and me by pensversusswords (Multiverse/10K) 

Because in every layer of time, in every conceivable dimension, he was always meant to love Steve.

By some miracle, Steve was meant to love him back.

***Full disclosure not required (but appreciated) by Potrix (Identity Porn/16k) 

The one where Steve knows more than he lets on, Tony knows less than he pretends, Clint has a big mouth, Bucky is a little shit, and everyone learns why keeping secrets never ends well.

Almost never, anyway.

Heartlines by nanasekei (MCU/7.9K) 

“Let me,” Tony repeats. He regrets it deeply, so much, he wants to stick the words back into his mouth again, and it must show, in the way his voice wavers. He feels exposed, all of a sudden, as if he’s asking something bigger than what he can actually say. Let me touch you, let me take care of you. “Just… Let me do it.”

i found a way to let you in, but i never really had a doubt (marriage series) by quidhitch (Marriage Series/16k) 

Tony Stark doesn’t believe in marriage. It’s nobody’s fault. —Well, it’s Howard's fault, probably, but Tony doesn’t like to think about that for too long, finds that it dredges up all sorts of issues he’d rather keep buried under a mountain of strategically employed sarcasm, humorous self-deprecation, and the occasionally effective substance abuse.

***Hide your love away by sineala (Soulmate/33K) - Reread

Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

Break the chain (can’t live in circles again) by orphan_account (FWB/19K) 

There had been seven amazing weeks of dating Steve Rogers before Tony realised that they weren’t dating at all. And then it was a scramble to adjust to the situation as it had always been: being Steve’s friend-with-benefits.

And if Steve seemed a little confused and bewildered by the way Tony was acting, well. Tony was probably just misreading that, too.

Five times steve and tony (tried to) bail each other out of jail by Teyke (MCU/6k) 

Twice before Civil War, twice after, and once during. For very loose definitions of both 'bail' and 'jail'.

Cracked hearts under iron ribs by XtaticPearl (Established Relationship/14k)

Rhodey is away for almost six months now and comes to meet Tony after the mission. He doesn't understand the domesticity of the whole Tower and unknowingly sets off a whole truck of insecurities which make Tony crawl back into being a Stark instead of just Tony. The team is not at all happy and Rhodey joins them in trying to figure out a way to help their resident genius feel better in his skin.

The single biggest problem with communication by BlossomsintheMist (616/108K)

In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.

What are friends for? by bobertsmallismydad (MCU /2.8K) 

In which Steve is targeted by a virus. Will the Avengers be able to save him in time?

Starving by festiveferret (Vampire AU/2K) 

Steve woke up starving.

***Everybody wonders (What it would be like to love you) by SoldiersShield (MCU/3K) 

“...Is that what this is about?” He asks slowly. Steve blanches.

“Oh my god. It is.” Tony has no right looking as giddy as he does. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you jealous?”

--

Or: Steve and Tony have been dancing around each other for a while now, and Steve's rather content with it. Attending a gala together just might change that.

Re(A)d all over by brandnewfashion, MusicalLuna (Drunk Flirting/3k) 

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark can blush.

It just takes Steve getting drunk on some magical Asgardian mead for it to finally happen.

***The Do-over Proposal by nightwalker (Established Relationship/1.2k) 

Steve wants to go on a journey, Tony doesn't think it's a good time, and Bucky needs to beat some sense into both these idiots.

A Winter’s Ball by alliejowrites (Victorian AU/3.8K) 

Steve moves to London in search of a patron, so that he can finally devote himself to painting. He is not expecting everything he finds upon meeting Lord Stark. A fluffy little Victorian AU. One-shot.

What’s a fanfic by starksnack (AvAc/1K) 

Kamala introduces Tony and Steve to the world of fanfiction. There is a surprising amount of content about them being gay.

[yoonjinkooked]

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin

moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was. 

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom

Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+  Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos.  Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3  - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base.  Hope you enjoy! 

Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.

It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.

Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.

Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.

There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ‘Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.

You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.

Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.

As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.

“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.

“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”

“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.

“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”

“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”

“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”

“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”

A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.

“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”

“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”

“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.

By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.

Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.

Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.

You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.

You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.

But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.

Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.

You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.

As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood.  At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.

An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.

The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.

Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.

Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.

It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.

You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.

You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.

It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.

You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.

So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.

Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.

Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.

Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.

You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.

Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.

By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.

“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.

“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.

“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”

“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.

You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.

Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”

“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.

“Thanks, you too.”

You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.  

Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.

For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.

Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.

And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.

After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.

It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.

Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.

The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.

So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.

It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.

“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.

“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”

“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”

“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”

“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”

“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”

“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”

“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.

“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”

Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.

“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”

He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.

Why not?

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”

The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.

Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.

“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.

He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”

A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.

“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”

“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”

How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.

“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.

“Deal.”

He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.

And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.

“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”

“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”

“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.

“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”

Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.

“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”

“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.

If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.

God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.

This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.

“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.

“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.

“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.

“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.

“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?

“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”

“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.

“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.

“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.

Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”

“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”

“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”

You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.

“What else does destiny want us to do?”

You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?

“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.

First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.

It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.

He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.

You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.

And lord almighty, it is crowded.

You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.

You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger. 

Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.

It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.

For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.

He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.

The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.

It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.

Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.

You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)…  That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.

Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.

“That’s okay.”

You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.

“Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.

Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?

You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.

He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.

It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.

All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.

“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.

“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.

“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.

Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.

“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”

“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”

“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.

“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.

“Sure, let’s go.”

There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.

You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.

“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”

You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.

“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.

“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.

“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”

“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”

You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.

After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.

“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.

You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.

“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”

Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.

You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.

Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?

So you do.

You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.

Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.

You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.

You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.

You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.

You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“

With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.

It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.

You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.

He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.

And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”

Fuck everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.

Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.

You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.

You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.

Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.

He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.

The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.

“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.

The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.

Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.

“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?

“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”

“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”

“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.

It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.

“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.

“Thank fuck we’re already here.”

You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.

“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”

“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.

“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”

“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”

You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.

Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.

“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.

“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.

You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.

You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.

“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”

“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”

“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.

“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”

“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.

There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.

“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.

He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.

Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.

Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.

You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.

“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.

He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.

“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.

“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.

“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.

It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.

“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.

“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.

“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”

The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.

You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.

He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.

He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.

After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.

“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.

He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.  

“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.

“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.

“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.

“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.

You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.

No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.

“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.

“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.

You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.

Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.

Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.

You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.

“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.

“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.

“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.

You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.

Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.

“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.

He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.

“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.

“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”

It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.

The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.

You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.

You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.

His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.

It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.

You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.

You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.

“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”

“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.

“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?

“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.

“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.

“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.

“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.

“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.

“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.

“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.

You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.

“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”

With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.

You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.

He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.

“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.

“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”

“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.

“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.

Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.

But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.

Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”

You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.

How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…

“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.

“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”

“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”

“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.

You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.

“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.

“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.

Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens.  A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.

You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.

It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.

Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.

The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.

You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.

It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.

Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.

“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”

He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.

Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.

He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.

No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END

[vaniri]

Helping hand [Johnny Silverhand x V]

On their way home from Clouds, Johnny decides to end V’s life. Or help her, she is not sure anymore ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Contains all the good stuff: fingering, a bit of dirty talk (at least until V tells Johnny to shut up), Johnny being Johnny™, and public embarrassment. Does not contain: plot. Who needs that?

18+ only, obviously

As always, HUGE THANKS and I LOVE YOU to @ugh-my-back​ for helping me out with this little creation and doing the beta 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

______________________________________________________

Johnny felt almost sorry for that pathetic piece of unfortunate shit he’d been involuntarily attached to. She had a simple task – go to a brothel, get the information she needed, get laid because that’s why you go to establishments of that kind, and leave. And literally nothing went according to plan: she didn’t learn much, got fucking psychoanalyzed instead of laid, and was shot at on her way out because she had to sniff around, having the sneaking skills of a drunk teenager. Only V could have that luck.

“I said that getting off was waiting for you in Clouds? I take it back.” He mocked her, materializing in the passenger seat of her car. “Was almost right about getting offed, though.”

“Please shut up and go back to pretending you don’t exist.” Tired and exasperated after what she’d been through, she didn’t even shoot him a glance, trying to focus on the road.

“I left you there for five minutes, so you could get shagged in peace, and not only did you fuck that up but also wound up in a shooting turned massacre. You should have just fucked that doll and bailed, like any normal person would."

"We weren't there to fuck anyone, remember?"

"Yeah, and we should be. You should be. Tell me, V, is your cunt sealed with cobwebs already? Because I scoured your memories, out of boredom, and it’s been a long, loooong while since you had some action there."

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, there too.”

“You really know how to brighten the day, don’t you?”

“And you really don’t feel how sexually frustrated you are? Because I do.” He turned in his seat to face her. Being a woman was fucked up in general, he found out - all these hormones and stuff Johnny didn't even try to understand - but the level of stress she was living under was absolutely crushing. The majority of it was obviously caused by the chip and everything that was going on in V's life lately, but a part of it, not a small one, came from her sexual starvation. And lack of sleep. Or maybe her abstinence led to insomnia, Johnny wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that she – they – were constantly tired as of late. And horny. Very horny. “And I don’t like it a bit. If I were you, I’d start jerking off right here and now.”

“Please don’t.” A look of dread flitted across her face.

“I won’t. But you should.”

“I’m driving, if you haven’t noticed. I really want to get us home in one piece, and as soon as possible.” She needed a shower and some takeout to make herself feel better, and maybe a cold one too. ”So eyes on the road, hands on the wheel.”

“Fine. I’ll lend you a hand, then.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to drive a car. You’re not corporeal, you know.”

“I was rather thinking about fingering you.”

“WHAT?”

“Eyes on the road.” He chided her, visibly amused by the utter horror showing on her face. “I’m just saying that I want to help you. No strings attached, don’t worry. Treat it as a friendly favor.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Aww, V, that hurt.”

“Good. Now fuck off.” She seemed adamant, but he noticed that her hands, now gripping the wheel for dear life, were shaking a little. She was both abashed by the thought of being this intimate with Johnny and genuinely thinking about it. Considering. Imagining.

He knew her thoughts. He lived in her brain and he could read her like an open book. He knew exactly the effect he had on her and what she was thinking about him, he knew about her fascination and curiosity. And her constant denial about it.

It wouldn’t be hard to get what he wanted, never had been for him. And all he currently wanted was to get in her pants.

“Come on V, I’ve seen the thoughts that keep you awake at night. All of them. These about me too.” He purred, caressing her taut arm with his silver fingers. “I’m not going to tease you about them. Just want you to know that I know about your little fantasies. And appreciate your taste.”

“Sure.” She murmured, flustered.

“I will gladly show you that reality can be even better. If you let me.” He put his organic hand on her thigh. She didn’t immediately push it off, which was a promising sign. “So, what do you say? Will I get a yes? I may be an asshole and love sex way too much, but I would never go on someone without clear consent.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I’m serious, V. And I really just want to help. If you don’t blow off some steam anytime soon we’re both going to explode. Not the best way to go, trust me on that.”

Johnny saw how intensely she was thinking about it, processing what she had heard, weighing pros and cons. And he was waiting patiently for her answer, gently but not intrusively massaging her leg.

“If you ever mock me about it, or use it against me, I will rip both your silver arm and your cock off. Somehow.” She warned with a serious glare, finally giving up. She spread her legs a little, inviting his hand further, her face turning bright red.

“I would never. But eyes on the road, please.” He reminded her, an amused smile plastered on his face. His hand snuck past the hem of her trousers, rubbing the soft skin of her lower abdomen. “Smooth.”

“Not for you.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” His hand continued its journey down her groin. V’s breath hitched in her throat and body squirmed involuntarily when he dragged his fingers along her folds. “Easy girl, I barely touched you.”

“Should I maybe pull over somewhere?”

“And make a show for everyone passing the car by? Kinky.” Johnny leaned towards her, his lips nearly touching her earlobe. He was so close that V could feel his hot breath on her skin and smell the stench of his favorite cigarettes lingering on him. As if he was real, she thought. She couldn’t dwell on it for long though, not with his hand skillfully stroking her slit, up and down, in a steady pace. “Just focus on the road. And try not to come after five seconds, deal?”

He cupped her crotch and a breathy “yes” was the only response V managed to give.

Her pussy was just as Johnny had expected – hot and slick, already dripping, craving stimulation his fingers were so eager to provide. He had so many plans for her, yet so little time, considering how touch-starved and sensitive V was. He thought that maybe he should suggest to fuck her properly, but in their current position it had to wait. Slightly disappointing, but Johnny was fine with that. He loved sex, but watching his girls squirm and moan under his touch was even ten times better than coming himself.

“Nice little cunt you have here.” He tested the waters, slipping one finger in. “Tight and wet, definitely my type.”

“Just stop talking and do what you have to do.” V had a really hard time focusing on the road. She already slowed down, trying her best not to crash into a lamp or another car, and Johnny’s words were making the situation even more challenging.

“And where’s the fun in that?” He was already fingering her deeply, setting a fast pace. ”Without telling you how much I appreciate your body? By the way, have I mentioned that your tits are fucking great?” Johnny’s metal hand cupped her breast, causing soft gasp to escape her mouth. “Amazing. I’d cu-“

“Stop. Talking. PLEASE.”

“Alright, alright, mouth shut. For now.”

Watching V try to keep her body and its reactions under control, while his slick fingers with her juices started massaging her clit, was fun. And dosing her pleasure like he wanted amused Johnny even more. He stopped his ministrations every time V bucked her hips up trying to rub against his hand, or did anything to get more friction, a wry smile twisted at his lips when she shot him a furious glance or made a discontent sound. Yes, it was supposed to be a quick finger fuck, but how could he finish it so fast when he was enjoying it so much? How could he deny himself having his fun with her, having her all to himself like that, a little longer?

Johnny was reluctant to admit it, but truth to be told, he’d had his eyes on her almost from the beginning. V was a woman - an attractive one, there was no doubt for that - and he was a simple man. He couldn’t resist watching her when she was changing or taking a shower (she knew), or even sleeping sprawled on her bed, with that stupid smile on her blissful face. He wanted to see more of her, and sometimes he caught himself thinking of touching her, feeling her in this way. He tried to convince himself that he felt like that because of his fifty years of celibacy, that she wasn’t his type and it was just his cock speaking. But there was something about V, something that attracted him to her like corpo scums attracted his bullets.

And to be honest, did he even have a type? Pretty face, a pair of tits, willing cunt and nice ass - that was enough to get him going. And V fitted that description perfectly.

To V’s relief, and Johnny’s probably too as his existence depended on whether she was alive or not, their car got stuck in a traffic jam, huge as always at this hour in this part of Night City. Now she could fully focus on Johnny and his hand, working its magic in her pants.  

She shifted in her seat, adjusting her position to give him better access to her already dripping entrance. He immediately accepted her invitation, sliding a finger inside, one at first, then second, slowly, giving V time to get used to the stretch. He fingered her deeply, in a steady pace, reveling in the squelchy sounds his hand was making, smiling widely every time a breathy moan escaped her parted lips. Sometimes it was just incoherent babbling, sometimes a mantra of “fuck”s. But then, when she was close to coming, it was mostly his name.

“Such a good girl.” He praised her, getting back to stroking her clit. “Ready to cum?”

“Yes, fuck, don’t stop.”

“I want to feel it.”

His fingers were back inside her pussy, picking up the pace, fucking her harder than before. He was determined to give her the best finger fuck of her life, and after seeing her memories he knew that there wasn’t much to compete with. V had had several partners in her life but, obviously, none of them could measure up to Johnny Silverhand and he was keen to show her why he was so popular among women back in his days. He put his entire heart into working her cunt up and it quickly paid off. V was completely lost in pleasure; her head fell back, eyes closed, moans turned into wails.

She put out quite a show and was so busy chasing her release that she didn’t notice that the guy in the car next to theirs was watching her intensely with a mixture of concern and fascination on his face. She was sure a sight to behold: disheveled, flushed and panting like after running a marathon, and rutting her needy cunt furiously against Johnny’s hand. A hand only she could see. A sudden wave of anger surged through Johnny. Back in his younger days he was quite a fan of public sex, never afraid of being caught, and to be honest not much changed in that matter. He would gladly show this loser who V belonged to and who was making her scream, force him to bashfully avert his eyes and never look at her again. But sadly, he couldn’t, and that frustrated him immensely.

He couldn’t even show that fucker a middle finger. Being dead sucked.

“V, could you do something for me?” Luckily, he had another idea.

“What?” She opened her eyes, looking at him questioningly.

“Scream my name so loud that the entire Watson knows who's making you cum.”

She wanted to snort at his request, but her breath hitched in her throat when Johnny’s lips landed on her neck with a sloppy kiss, escaping it as a loud moan seconds later when his metal hand began working on her clit. And with his organic fingers hitting that right spot inside her, she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Never in her life had V come so hard before. She couldn't control her squirming body, nor her cussing mouth, when waves of pure ecstasy shot through her one after another. She felt her walls clench rhythmically around Johnny’s fingers, still pumping in her to prolong her orgasm, and she cried out his name, begging him to not stop. It was mind-blowing, absolutely breathtaking, and when his lips kissed her exposed neck again, she felt another kind of warmth pool in her chest.

Johnny could feel it all too. Delayed and not as intense as her climax, but strong enough to make him feel spent and satisfied. He flopped back on his seat and reached for his never ending pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a long puff, as he always did after a good fuck.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” V was slowly coming down from her orgasm high. “Holy shit.”

“And that’s all? Where’s some ‘Thanks Johnny’, ‘You were right Johnny’?”

“Thank you Johnny.”

“See? It wasn’t that hard.” He patted her thigh. “And speaking of hard, that guy in the car on our left was watching you the whole time. And he’s still looking.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” She covered her face with her hand, realizing with embarrassment that she probably gave people around her quite a show. It must have looked exceptional from their perspective. Or maybe not, maybe she looked as if she was just enjoying a BD of a particular sort. Still, she felt pretty awkward.

“Let’s get out of the car and kick his ass, wipe this stupid smile off his stupid face.”

“No.” She didn’t even want to look in that guy’s direction right now.

“Pussy. At least show him a middle finger or something.” Johnny immediately flipped him off with both hands. “Come on, V. Fucker deserves it.”

She sighed and reluctantly, still not looking at her accidental spectator, she did as Johnny asked.

[threadsketchier]

So I saw the prequels prior to the Originals and it always bothered me how Luke got dumped on a death planet of Tatooine considering the state of that environment and shot that when down in the previous films while Leia got a life of privilege. I was hoping Bail would argue against splitting the twins. I obviously knew why it had to go that route because it had to align and follow up with the Originals. I guess it came off that Luke wasn’t really wanted...?

I already wrote a ficlet somewhat addressing this misconception.

Also, frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of rehashing the same issue - why do people keep assuming that the Larses don’t matter and don’t have a right to be in Luke’s life just because they live on Space Australia?  Why do their feelings not count just because they’re low-to-middle-class moisture farmers who don’t live in a palace on Space Switzerland-Utopia?  Why the fuck do people assume that Luke wasn’t wanted just because the Organas have a personal preference that was obviously previously established before shit hit the fans and they wanted a daughter and Bail, as a senator and Viceroy - essentially co-leader of his planet - is a fucking rational guy who understands the necessity of making hard decisions dictated by logic over emotions?

The twins weren’t just “split up because that’s how the movies have to go,” it does make internal sense within the narrative that it was safer to hide them in vastly separate locations to prevent both of them from being discovered at the same time and thus lost together, or for their latent Force bond to make them a psychic target if they grew up together and established it, acting like a beacon for Vader and Palpatine and any minions of theirs.  It sucks, it’s painful, it has awkward consequences for them later on when Leia’s a bit too loose with her lips, but that’s why these movies have a tragic backstory.  It has to suck real hard before it gets better.

Does it seem crazy that Leia wound up raised in such a screamingly obvious position as daughter of a then-Imperial Senator and princess of a highly prominent Core world being trained to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps and become a senator herself, thus occupying a very exposed role in the Empire, right under the Emperor’s and Vader’s noses?  Yeah.  But also remember that the Superman/Clark Kent illusion can actually work in real life.  Assumption is a powerful thing.  Your average Joe Citizen would assume that someone as otherworldly as Superman, an alien with the ability to fly, strength to bench-press skyscrapers and jumbo jets, heat vision, and other amazing things, would never stoop to living as a normal, humble, inconvenienced human being.  It’s not merely the hiding behind a pair of glasses and hunching over a little with a nerdy tone and habits - it’s the entire idea that a Clark Kent could even exist in the same person of Superman.  They don’t understand that he was raised as a human and actually desires this life, and doesn’t feel the need to lock himself away permanently in his dope Fortress of Solitude and never interact with the very people he wants to save and protect.

Vader was lied to by Palpatine about the nature of Padmé’s death, but there was no disputing that she actually died.  In his crushing despair, Vader accepted with heaps of self-flagellation that his child was dead.  He didn’t even know he had two children.  In his mind, whenever he saw Leia - surely they were in each other’s circles at least at a distance before Rogue One and ANH - even if she reminded him of Padmé six ways from Sunday, he would not assume she was his daughter, because as far as he was concerned his child was dead.  The OT establishes that latent Force-sensitivity also does not automatically make two related Force-sensitives consciously aware of each other until they mutually know one another as being related and Force-sensitive, so not even torturing Leia revealed this to him.

But I’m going off on a tangent.  Let’s break this down:

Tatooine is nothing but a source of anguish for Anakin and his personal loathing for the place made it ideal as a hiding place.  And no, I’m not just haha joking about sand.  He was a slave there and buried his mother there after slaughtering an entire village of natives he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have.  It holds nothing but misery and failure for him.

Yes, Tatooine is abso-fucking-lutely a galactic cesspit.  It’s ruled by the most vile mob boss in the galaxy, is rife with nasty wildlife that’s out to kill you, and is haunted by the troubles brought about by strife between colonizers and the native population.  It is indisputably a dangerous place.  But it wasn’t Tatooine that killed the Larses.  It was the Empire.  Just because they look like Soft Folks™ doesn’t mean they were - Owen and Beru knew how to take care of themselves, and they certainly knew how to take care of a child in this environment.  They survived to middle age just fine, and would’ve kept going if it wasn’t for those fucking stormtroopers.  Just because they didn’t live a life of luxury also doesn’t mean they were dirt poor either.  When we meet Luke in ANH, he’s a healthy young lad who still has the privilege to fuck off with his buddies around his farm duties.  Life may be tough but it’s not squalor and deprivation for him.

But honestly, even if they WERE dirt poor, they’re still Luke’s family, and they very obviously loved him.  I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to restate it, but I will: Owen and Beru loved Shmi, and upon hearing that Anakin died and left behind a baby son, why wouldn’t they be moved and compelled to take Luke in, and why wouldn’t they deserve to have the chance to raise him in their memory?  Even though they’d be sad that Luke was orphaned, they might even see this as a blessing to be able to raise Shmi’s grandson and Anakin’s son.

As much as he bitched about chores as a teenager, Luke learned damn valuable skills growing up on a Tatooine moisture farm that, coupled with the Force, saved everybody’s asses at the Battle of Yavin, and went on to make him an ideal squadron leader.  Wealth and privilege are not always the best foundation, or at least certainly not the automatic one, for a person to learn good character either.

The Organas are human too.  Faced with a difficult choice, they decided to take this poignant opportunity to fulfill a dream they’d been deferring for some time.  Sometimes parents wish for a specific child, and that’s their prerogative (except IRL they don’t actually get to pick, they get whatever kid they gestate).  If they’d taken Luke and let Obi-Wan take Leia, we’d be having the same argument about Leia growing up on Tatooine.  There was no inequality in this decision.  Bail and Breha wanted a daughter, there was a daughter present among the twins, so they chose her.  This does not mean they valued Luke any less.  Since the twins couldn’t be raised together for their own safety, it might as well have come down to a coin toss.  Bail isn’t evil for exercising a shred of his personal emotions and desires in a situation where he otherwise knew he’d have to restrain himself.  Also, he’d be smart enough to respect the fact that both children had actual family elsewhere in the galaxy and wouldn’t think any less of the Larses just because they live on Tatooine.  The only way his decision would be careless or heinous was if he knew Luke was being taken to people who were abusive or so destitute they couldn’t even care for themselves, much less a third person, and he did nothing about it - but we know this is not that situation.

How do you feel about non-wealthy people living in harsh places here on Earth raising their children?  Would you expect all the rich people in the world to go take those children away from them and adopt them just so they could grow up “privileged” instead?  Think about how that sounds for a moment or two.

Honestly, if Bail had tried to argue about taking both twins because he felt taking Luke to his legal family on Tatooine was “cruel” or “neglectful” because of the planet’s “risky environment and poverty,” I’d hope either Obi-Wan or Yoda would have enough sense to smack him upside the head for being so thoughtless as to insult these people for being seemingly beneath him.

There is more to life than money and power/prestige, and Leia’s upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  She was no pampered, air-headed royal spending her days sitting idle being hand-fed space grapes while her “poor” brother ate sand cookies.  She had to undergo intensive academic, political, and physical training from young childhood in order to prepare her to become a covert Rebel agent while she was still a teenager, as if being a child senator wasn’t already stressful and demanding enough.  Sure, she never lacked for anything, but that is an incredible amount of responsibility to saddle on someone who wasn’t even an adult yet (like her bio mother).  Luke was blessed with far more freedom and peace in his childhood than his sister.  And him living on Tatooine with his father’s surname wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Leia existing within the heart of the Empire while actively engaging in Rebel activities that could have cost her her life, even without getting into the whole “daughter of Anakin Skywalker” business.

Also, just because we joke about Tatooine being Space Australia doesn’t mean every single day of Luke’s childhood was THAT eventful.  It was more likely 80% dull farm life and 20% mayhem, and that 20% would be mostly Luke’s fault for being a crazy nut like his parents and getting himself into trouble he could have avoided in most cases.  In other words, growing up there might not have been nearly as “deadly” as we make it out to be.

[dyde21]

Learning 2

Read on AO3 HERE

Summary: MJ is worried about Peter, and when she goes to check on him the next day she finds things are worse than she feared. Now can she help him see he needs help?

Michelle Jones was a bit scared by how easy it was to love Peter. What had started out as a simple fascination with an honest nerd with a bright smile turned into a school girl crush, and ended up with them falling in love and being happily together in college. Growing up, MJ never expected herself to end up in a gushy romance story. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she would fall in love, she just figured she’d be older and have a more mature, graceful descent into it.

But life didn’t care about her plans and she found herself lost in Peter’s smiles and safe in his arms. Something she honestly never expected was that her boyfriend would be an actual superhero. That really was less of throwing a wrench in her plans as much as blowing them up all together. But she was Michelle Fucking Jones. She could handle it. She’d learn, make a plan, and deal with it just like everything else in her life.

It definitely wasn’t easy at times. Having to learn basic first aid to help treat him when he stumbled into her apartment beat half to death, learning to keep up to date on all sorts of crazy villains so she could help him when he needed it, whether or not he asked for it. Having to accept that choosing to stay with him meant that there would be an unfortunate number of missed dates, or early departures. A constant worry that he might face a threat he wouldn’t be able to overcome, and the acceptance that her life may be thrown in the crosshairs eventually too.

But that didn’t matter to MJ. Not as much as he did. The way he listened to and absorbed every word she said, earnestly caring about what she was passionate about. The way he did his absolute best to be there for her when he was able to, and almost never blamed her for being upset with him. The way his eyes would crinkle when he laughed, or he’d see past her harsh words or thinly veiled lies to see what she truly meant and was scared to say. His understanding of her defensive habits built up from a rough childhood, and his patience to get through her walls. The way he gave himself for the city, while never asking for anything in return even when he deserved so much more than he had. 

Her biggest gripe with him was probably that he tried to shoulder everything on his own. He had lost so much in his life, and she knew he felt like if he tried to reach out too much for someone, he’d only lose them too. He didn’t care about taking care of himself because there was always someone else he could help first, and he saw that as more important. She admired how selfless he was, but it also frustrated her because it went beyond being humble into being neglectful of himself and harmful. But he didn’t seem to be able to accept that fact no matter how hard they all tried to get it into his head. It hurt to be with someone like that, especially because of how much she loved him. But Michelle Jones was not a quitter, and nothing was going to get in the way of them. Not her own defensive nature or his self destructive habits, they’d learn together. 

When she heard a knock on her door early on Saturday, her first thought was to look around the room to find a blunt object to bludgeon them with in return. Pulling down the hood of Peter’s hoodie that she had stolen, and needed to replace soon because it was losing his smell, she shuffled her way to the door.

Opening it, she was surprised to see her golden retriever of a boyfriend standing there looking shocked that she answered the door. She realized it had been the first time she had seen his face since he had bailed on their dinner to fight the Rhino. She couldn’t help the flash of frustration that boiled up. She had gone into the night expecting to be disappointed, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still sting when she had to send him off to save the city. 

She knew, she knew perfectly that he really didn’t want to leave. She saw him starting to resign himself to staying with her. But she also knew that if someone died because they were having dinner, it’d destroy him on the inside, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty too. Reasonably she also knew that it wasn’t their fault. Neither of them had an obligation to drop everything, always, to deal with every problem. It was impossible to solve crime in New York completely. But she also knew he had to try, so she had sent him off and tried not to let the disappointment sting too much as she paid for the dinner and left, head hung high in defiance.

Then she saw his face though. The way his cheeks seemed a little more sunken, his beautiful brown eyes seeming just a little bit dimmer. Beyond just nerves, he was seeming even more ragged lately, and she doubted it was just because of the dinner. She felt concern growing in her chest at his state. But she was at least glad to see him. She really did miss seeing him, even if they were busy. Even when they were tense around each other, the first person she always wanted to go to for comfort was him.

“Hi.” She offered, seeing as he was still seemingly reeling from being pulled out of whatever internal spiral he had found himself in. 

“U-uh hi. Yeah. I just…” He rambled, making her raise an eyebrow. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

“I’m kinda busy.” She said, before wincing. That didn’t come out right. She knew he came over here to properly apologize, and probably had something else to tell her. It wasn’t that he was unwelcome, she just had a lot of studying left to do, and the lack of sleep and stress had made her snappy but she didn’t want him to think she was still angry about the dinner. That fight wasn’t worth it, and she had been the one to give him permission to go instead of making him choose between them that night. Ugh, emotions sucked sometimes. 

“Right! I know.” He cleared his throat. “I know. I promise I’m not here to bother you. I just… here.”

Peter offered her one of her thermos he had borrowed one night. She took a sip a bit confused until she felt the familiar taste of her current favorite tea. She couldn’t help but smile as she knew he remembered her favorite tea, even if she had a habit of changing it monthly. He still always listened and committed it to memory as if her preferences were something he needed to know more than the material for his midterms. 

“Also these. And an apology. I’m really sorry. I know I say that a lot. And it sucks. But I am.” Peter added as MJ found two boxes shoved into her arms too. Looking down, she was surprised as she saw they were boxes of that tea as well. Even when things had been tense, he still went out of his way to bring her a thoughtful gift he really didn’t have to. She wasn’t even waiting for an apology or some sort of peace offering. He had apologized plenty before and after he had left, but he still felt determined to make up the perceived slight to her.

She saw his gaze fall to the floor and she could practically see the crushing guilt he felt for literally saving people’s lives. He really was too kind for this stupid city that did nothing but chew him up and spit him back out. Moving forward, she tilted his chin up after moving her thermos to her other hand and shared a kiss with him.

After the kiss, he stared at her with that adorable slightly dazed expression he always had after they kissed. “I know you have work so I won’t distract you. I just… wanted to give you a little care package, and say I know you’ll rock this. I can proofread your article if you need me to too. Or just to get an opinion.”

Jesus, how did she end up with someone so sweet? He knew she was busy, despite being incredibly busy himself, and just wanted to support her without getting in her way. He also knew she liked getting a second opinion on her writing, and wanted to be there for her despite everything on his plate. Moments like these made her want to ask Stark for a suit just so she could beat up anyone who would dare hurt this man, just so she could keep him safe and give him the world.

“Thanks, Tiger.” She said. She couldn’t get past how ragged he looked though. The bags under his eyes were getting worse and his shoulders were sumping lower than they usually did. “Are you okay though?” She asked as she reached out to gently turn his jaw to get a better look at his profile. What normally made her heart flutter (he was <em>very</em> pretty) was now just making her concerned. His cheekbones weren’t normally this pronounced either, she had sketched them enough times to know for sure.

“Have you been eating? Sleeping? You look like shit.” She called him out, reading his expression to look for any of the rather obvious tells he had for lying. It really was a miracle more people didn’t know his identity because he sucked at lying. Or she had just spent too long staring at his face that she could read him like he was her favorite book. (He was)

“Oh, ouch.” She rolled her eyes, that little shit. He knew exactly what she meant. “Midterms.” Peter brushed off her concerns with a shrug. “Happens to us all. I mean you always look beautiful. But you also look a little less beautiful. Only stunningly gorgeous today.”

He had the audacity to look smug while trying to flatter his way out of her interrogation. No matter how sweet he was, she wasn’t that stupid. She gently shoved his shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to make myself look nice hoping you’d drop by unannounced.” She replied in a dry tone. “But Gwen and I are making sure we take care of each other. You’re still living alone since Ned moved in with Betty. I’m worried.”

MJ was straightforward like always, knowing beating around the bush with Peter didn’t usually lead anywhere. They resolved things better when they got straight to the point, that’s how they functioned as a couple. Peter would be too flighty if you let him when he was trying to hide something. His solution to hiding something was to leave, which always only made it more glaringly obvious.

“I’ll be fine. Just gotta get a lot done this weekend. Then I’ll rest next week sometime. Maybe we can have a night in, no suit, no alerts.” He said with one of the fake smiles MJ <em>hated</em>. She hated seeing him bottle up what he was feeling, and she was pretty sure even he knew she wasn’t fooled by them. 

But she was also a little startled by the desperation she could see in his eyes. She was used to seeing some sort of exhaustion, all college students had it. Even the non-super powered ones. But this almost scared her a little. Like the light in his eyes was flickering out and he was desperately searching for something to hold onto. A sort of lifeline to keep him going. 

“Yeah. Sounds nice. I’d like that.” She said, honestly meaning that. She wasn't sure if they’d actually get to have that night, but she was desperate to give him the comfort he so clearly needed right now. 

She leaned in for another kiss when her eyes saw his collarbones. “Pete, you need to eat. You’re losing weight again.” She scolded. She had also drawn his collarbones to know that they weren’t usually that pronounced either. (She drew him a lot, okay?)

She could see his own walls starting to form as he was rejecting the truth he was running from. That he needed help, like every person on this freaking planety did. “I will! I bought stuff today.” he offered, and MJ was not impressed.

“I can’t wait to read your article. You better send it to me!” With that he was off down the hallway, leaving MJ to watch him leave and lean against the doorway with a sigh. Her thoughts were now on him, and she could tell he was falling into a rut again. This happened occasionally when everything in his life seemed to pile on. 

Stepping back in, she set the tea down and texted Ned. 

<em>Peter just brought me a gift and offered to help me with work. Lemme know if our little santa shows up at your place next.</em>

There was a beat before Ned responded. 

<em>Oh shit, is he doing rounds again? He’s not Mr.Stark he can’t afford to give gifts every time he’s stressed.</em>

MJ knew that was true and walked back over to her work station, chewing her lip. Stressed out Peter around midterms was bad. But he was also left alone now, which meant it was even easier for him to push everyone away with his bad habits. MJ knew she had to talk to him tomorrow, check in just to make sure he was actually okay. Even if just for her sanity. She’d really rather find out she was reading too much into the situation and be wrong, than realize she was right. 

But that meant she had to finish her work tonight, so she could focus on him properly tomorrow. She didn’t moonlight as a vigilante, and she was a good student, so she was actually not too worried about her midterms, she had been studying properly. She just had to finish this article and she’d be good. Though some of that credit went to Gwen cause while it kinda sucked to keep yourself on track, it was easy to keep someone else focused so they worked together this term. 

When she got the text from Ned a little later, that he had indeed shown up, MJ felt more fear creep into her heart. That meant he was doing his rounds. This wasn’t just thoughtful Peter, this was panicked Peter. She just hoped he would take care of himself and get through this weekend in one piece.

MJ had to employ every trick in her book to stay focused to get through the article and not let her day be wasted worrying about Peter. There wasn’t much she could do right now, other than set herself up to be in a good position to help him.

When she finally heard Gwen come home a little later she looked up and offered a smile.

Gwen turned, one earbud in as she sang along to the music in her ears. A song her boyfriend Miles had shown her recently she recognized. She paused when she saw MJ, and her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with Peter?” Gwen asked, setting down her stuff and moving to sit across from MJ.

Scowling at being read so easily, she crossed her arms a bit defiantly. “What do you mean?” She asked, just to be a little difficult. 

Gwen rolled her eyes, not impressed with MJ’s show of bravado. “You have your Peter scowl on.” She explained simply.

“I <em>don’t</em> have a Peter scowl.” MJ replied.

In return, Gwen gave MJ the flattest look she had ever seen on the girl. “You’re chewing your lip, your shoulders are hunched and you keep glancing at your phone. You wouldn’t look at the phone if it had to do with your work, and Peter would be over here too if it had to do with Ned. Seeing as I haven’t gotten any major news updates it means Peter’s not kicking butt right now either, which meant something is wrong with him.” Gwen reasoned annoyingly well.

MJ just sighed. “I hate you sometimes.”

Gwen shrugged, a cheerful smile on her face. “You’re not that complicated once someone gets to know you. But what’s up, is he okay?” Gwen asked, leaning forward.

MJ thought about being stubborn for a little longer, but realized she was just being moody because she was in fact worried about Peter. “I don’t know. He’s doing his rounds again.” MJ said, motioning to the tea boxes on the counter.

Gwen looked over before she sighed. “Ah, I see.”

It turned out Gwen and Peter got along pretty well, and she had joined the Friends of Spider-man club pretty quickly. In true Parker fashion, it had been an accident. He had climbed into her window one night after a fight with the vulture, half dead and bleeding. Gwen had heard the thump and MJ’s freaking out, and came to investigate. The blonde had thought she was killing Spider-man until she saw who it was with his mask off. Since then, MJ was actually grateful she had someone else to freak out with when stuck watching the news during a nasty fight, or someone she could openly complain to when it came to the more difficult aspects of dating a superhero. 

Peter had apologized about potentially putting Gwen in danger by knowing and Gwen shut that shit down hard, scolding him almost as bad as MJ had about not getting to choose whether she stays involved with him for her. That was when Gwen had cemented herself as MJ’s number one female friend.

Gwen leaned back on the chair, twirling her hair as she thought through the situation. “I assume May is okay?”

MJ nodded. “He doesn’t hide stuff like that. If she was sick he would have told us straight up. I don’t think it’s Avengers related either. He’s gotten better about telling us when he can’t give us specifics.”

Gwen nodded, sighing. “Maybe it’s just midterms? We’re all kind of a mess right now.”

MJ sighed, running her hand through her hair with frustration. “Maybe. I don’t know. He hasn’t been sleeping and he’s lost a lot of weight. Again. The idiot is also trying to hide it.”

Rolling her eyes, Gwen stood up. “Like he’s good at hiding things.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at MJ. “Come on, you need a break. I’ll order some chinese food, you choose a movie. You’re not going to get any work done like this, and I’m putting off studying.” She replied cheerfully, making MJ laugh. 

“Fine. Fine.” MJ reletened, saving her almost done article and closing her laptop. She needed a distraction and to process the new problem in her mind so she could get back on track.

By the time Gwen had finished ordering their usual MJ had chosen a movie and was curled up on one end of the couch, clutching the pillow close as she stared at the TV. 

“Aww, you don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?” Gwen said, sitting on the opposite end and nudging MJ’s thigh with her foot.

Returning fire with a confused look, MJ tilted her head slightly. “What?”

Pointing at the pillow MJ was clutching to her chest, Gwen waited. 

Looking down, MJ saw that she was clutching the Spider-man throw pillow Gwen had gotten her as a joke gift for her birthday after she found out about Peter. Petulantly, she turned her head back towards the movie, but made no attempt to hug the pillow less. She did however scowl when Gwen’s laughter rang out. 

When her phone let out the jingle set only to Spidey news, her heart sank. “He’s not stupid enough to go out this weekend, right? He has midterms and he looked like he was barely holding himself together. He’s not that fucking stupid, right?” MJ asked herself mostly as she dove for her phone. Sure enough news reports of Spidey fighting the Rhino were at the top of her notifications. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” MJ said, glancing at Gwen who had already paused their movie and was turning on the news.

Gwen winced as she saw Rhino throw the car at him. “Looks like you might have to get in line.”

“GWEN!” MJ shrieked at her, still staring at the screen. 

“Sorry, wrong time.” Gwen offered, her eyes glued to the shaky footage. 

They both gasped as Peter was slammed against the wall by the car then the Rhino and from the helicopter footage there was a heart-stopping moment where it looked like he had been impaled. Before MJ could even begin to process that horrible reality Peter had kicked him off and continued the fight. 

When Rhino was finally down MJ felt like she had lost another year to her life. “He’s so freaking stupid. I’m switching majors and becoming an architect so I can build him a special prison so he can stay there and be safe. I’ll build him a fucking jungle gym so he can still feel like Spider-man if he wants to. I’m never letting him go out into the fucking streets again.” MJ ranted as Gwen rubbed her back. 

Then they saw the cops pointing guns at Spider-man and MJ was on her feet. “Are you serious? The fucking cops are going to shoot Spider-man because they can’t do their goddamn jobs? That they have to let a student clean up the messes they can’t with their defense fund of a budget in this freaking city?”

Gwen stayed silent. Her dad was a cop, and she knew most of the cops did like Spidey, but she also knew that orders were orders. She was also aware MJ was still in one of her spidey-panics and not actually looking for a calm rational debate about police funding.

Luckily they watched Peter vanish and they switched back to the movie, Gwen stealing glances occasionally as she saw MJ slowly come down from the rush. They finished their movie and food and both went back to work. 

By the time MJ had finished her first draft of the article she felt like she had calmed down. She knew Peter would be back from patrol by now, and hopefully eating and taking a rest so she sent him a text.

<em>Saw the alert. You okay?</em>

She knew he was probably fine if he hadn’t come crawling in her window asking for help. Which was good news. But she also always wanted to just pull him into a hug and keep him safe after she saw him on the news which she didn’t get to do when he was back at his place.

<em>I’m fine. Nothing broken this time. Promise.</em> Was his response. She stared at it for a moment, as if the text on the screen would reveal more information if she intimidated it enough. She was pretty sure he was telling the truth this time at least. “Nothing broken, he says.” She relayed to Gwen, who let out a sigh of relief.

<em>You better not be lying. Wanna read my article? Are you caught up on midterms?</em>

She responded, already pulling open an email to send it to him. She knew his response before he even typed it.

<em>Yeah, doing surprisingly well. I can use a break. Send it over.

Thanks, Tiger.</em> She responded and stared at the body of the email, debating what to say. 

Part of her wanted to scold him for going out when he had so much on his plate. Wanted to tell him he was being reckless. Another part wanted to praise him and leave him a sweet message. Hopefully give him something to smile about when he saw the message after the long fight, but that felt too cheesy.

She typed some stuff, staring at the blinking cursor. 

<em>Here’s the essay. Lemme know your thoughts. Make sure you drink water tonight, and go shower. I know you’re lazy about it after patrol.</em>

She chewed her lip, hovering over the send button. Was she too pushy?

“Oh my god, just hit send.” Gwen said, not even looking up from her own laptop. 

Reflexively MJ hit the send button before she even realized she was. “How did you know?”

“Because if you stared any harder at the laptop without typing anything it was going to catch on fire.” Gwen said, only glancing up to give her a smug smirk before looking back down. 

MJ flipped her off, which Gwen cheerfully returned.

Managing to review a few chapters from the notes she had, she finally got the email back from Peter. Scanning through it, she couldn’t help the smirk on her features. Sometimes fighting crime in spandex and geeking out over the newest electronic thing Tony made made MJ forget how smart Peter was in other fields as well. His points were well reasoned, and his critiques honest but fair. She found herself agreeing with pretty much every point he made, and almost felt dumb she didn’t catch them herself. 

“I take it he sent back useful notes?” 

“Stop reading me, Gwen.”

“Then make it at least a little bit of a challenge.”

MJ just scowled but texted Peter.

<em>Thanks Tiger, you’re the best. You actually made good points, I’m impressed. Need me to check over your essay?</em>

She couldn’t help the smile as she doodled a little spider in the corner of her notebook, spinning a web in the shape of a heart. 

<em>It still needs some work before I can show it to anyone. I’m good, thanks though. Love you.</em> Her phone buzzed. 

This made MJ frown again. “Needs some work” was his slang for not done at all. He wasn’t shy about showing her unpolished writing. He was shy about showing <em>unfinished</em> writing. That meant he was behind. And he still went out fucking patrolling. MJ threw her pen down, leaning her head back and rubbing her face. Was he trying to stress her out or was that a natural gift that came with the spider bite. That meant she needed to make sure he actually got some help with his essay tomorrow so he could get some much needed sleep.

<em>Love you too. Get some sleep, okay? I know the Rhino is annoying and I saw you get hit with that car. I can help you study tomorrow so get some sleep.</em> She practically ordered him. She knew the chances were slim, but she hoped just once he’d be a good little spider and listen to her when she was making sense.

<em>You still have studying to do too, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.</em> So much for that. She couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t end up with them arguing with each other over text so she just set her phone down. His inability to accept help was seriously a problem and she was going to have to confront him about it after midterms. She’d drag in the whole FoS group if she needed to, because this wasn’t healthy. She knew he knew better, and she really didn’t want to date someone who couldn’t take care of themselves. Especially when she knew he could, but wouldn’t. That was the most frustrating part of it. 

Gwen must have read she was at her wits end because she closed both of their laptops. “That’s enough for tonight. You look like you’re about to kidnap Peter yourself and I stopped caring about my grades about an hour ago so we should sleep. Tomorrow we can figure out how to download the latest update of common sense into Peter, okay?”

MJ nodded, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks Gwen.” She got up and pulled her friend into a hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Gwen returned it and shrugged. “Either kill Peter, or kidnap him and put him in a zoo for safety, probably.”

MJ laughed. “We have some unused space here. We could build a nice little enclosure for him.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know whenever he’s over here he stays in your bedroom.”

MJ flushed red. “Shut up!” 

Gwen just laughed and walked away, waving her hands as she disappeared into her room.

MJ made sure the apartment was locked up safely before she went to her bed, pulling the little Spider-man plushy she had gotten to see the reaction Peter would make when he saw it a little closer, and was out within minutes. 

XxXxXxXxX

The next morning MJ found herself making the trek to his apartment. She had her backpack with her work in it, one of his favorite coffees and some bagels for breakfast. She thought it might be a little early, but also knew that he was probably already up because he was allergic to sleep even when he didn’t have nightmares. What she didn’t expect to see when she made her way up to his floor though was a couple of neighbors standing nervously in the hallway.

She approached a little faster. She quickly made her way to his door, knocking on it. “Peter?”

She tried knocking again when one of his neighbors approached. “You’re his girlfriend right. Is he okay? We heard shouting and a loud crash.” They said a bit nervously. MJ’s heart kicked into overdrive. Peter almost never shouted and crashing in a superhero’s house usually meant very bad things. 

“PETER!” She called out, fishing out his spare key he had given her and unlocked the door, closing it behind her to keep out prying eyes just in case. 

Setting down her bag, she looked around and felt her stomach sink lower and lower with each thing she saw. His place was a disaster, but it didn’t look like a fight had happened. It just looked like a mess. But even just a messy apartment, it was worse. 

Then she saw the pan sticking out of the broken cabinet and she gasped. Peter <em>never</em> abused his super strength. He was also so careful with it, always terrified of hurting or breaking things. 

She finally found him next to the counter on the ground, violently shaking and she could see the tears streaming down his face. “Peter?”

“MJ…” His voice sounded so broken she felt her throat tighten at the sound and it terrified her to her core. Even injured she had seen him with more life than this. She rushed over to his side, trying to find any injuries before she touched him but he seemed fine physically.

But this apartment… she saw the pile of trash, the dirty dishes, the laundry. This wasn’t a healthy space to live in, and was way worse than anything she had ever seen before. Peter was normally a bit of a mess, but all genius’ tended to be. This was different, this was scarier. They often said a person’s workspace is a reflection of who they are as a person, and she prayed that wasn’t true in this moment because she was terrified for Peter if it was.

“Are you okay?” She asked gently as she saw him, still shaking, still crying. MJ knew just how much he hated her seeing him like this, but he wasn’t even able to put up a front. Just what was going on?

“No…” His voice confessed and MJ pulled him into her chest, hugging him as tight as she could. She kissed the top of his hair, just holding him while he shook in her arms and she tried desperately to stay in control of herself. 

How much did Peter have to be hurting to fall this far? What kind of hell was going on in his head that led him to this situation. A part of her wondered how she hadn’t noticed the signs earlier. What kind of girlfriend was she if she couldn’t even tell her boyfriend was falling apart at the seams?

She forced those thoughts deep down inside. Now was not the time to dwell on insecurities. Peter was falling apart right now and Goddamnit she was going to fix it. She was going to help him fix it himself. Peter needed help, and there was no force in the world that would stop her from getting him the help he needed. Whatever it was, whoever it neede to be, MJ vowed as she held her shaking boyfriend that she was going to make sure he got what he needed and what he fucking deserved.

But she needed a plan. This entire situation was almost overwhelming, but she had to get a grip on things right now. Help him get his feet underneath him, so they could start to rebuild.

“S-stove…” He choked out.

MJ nodded, kissing the top of his head one more time before she stood up and turned off the stove that was emanating heat. She felt his hand resting around her ankle, desperate for contact still and a lump formed in her throat. How the hell had he gotten so low without anyone noticing?

She crouched down next to him, seeing him shaking still. She recognized that too now. It wasn’t just sadness, he had gone into a full blown sensory overloaded, because of fucking course Peter wasn’t in enough hell right now. 

“Peter…” She whispered as quiet as she could, knowing he would hear her just fine. “I’m going to turn off the lights then I’ll be right back.”

“I-I fi-” She cut him off with a brief kiss to the lips, staring directly into his eyes. 

“I love you so much, Peter. But I swear to God you are not allowed to use that phrase for the next week or I’m putting on the Rhino outfit and kicking your ass myself.” 

Thankfully her little threat got the tiny smile she was hoping for and she quickly made her way over to the light switch, flicking off all the lights in the apartment so only some light filtered in from the windows. She saw the pancake on the ground, and the plate on the edge and was able to piece together what had happened. She gently picked it up and set it on the plate before she sat down next to Peter again slowly wrapping an arm around him and letting him lean into her. 

MJ could feel his fists balling up in her (his) sweater and he continued to sob into her shoulder. She whispered the quietest reassurances and just let him get it all out. She knew how cathartic a cry could be, and she wanted to just let him ride the wave and let out whatever had been building up for so long. 

“It’s okay, Tiger. Let it all out. I got you. You don’t need to be strong right now. I got you.” She reaffirmed, kissing his head again.

MJ wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, and honestly she didn’t care. He needed her in that moment, and that was where she would be.

Eventually though it seemed like Peter was able to slowly piece himself back together enough for the sobbing to become occasional sniffles. He started to move back, but she held him in place for just a moment longer, not wanting him to rush into putting up any walls. They clearly needed to have a talk, and it was going to happen now. 

Scooting over, she sat so she was in front of him, letting her legs spread on either side of his legs so they could sit opposite in the tiny area between the island and the counter.

He stared at her for a moment, and she saw him open his mouth once or twice to say something before he closed it. 

She raised three fingers. “3 rules, okay?”

Peter seemed surprised, but a little grateful for her making the first move. He nodded after a moment, still quiet. 

“Rule 1. No apologies. Not right now. I love you Peter, and I’m here to help. I know you feel bad, but you do not need to feel sorry for crying, or for needing my help. You can make it up to me later, deal?” She offered, watching his reaction very carefully. She knew Peter, and she was pretty sure what he needed right now was some structure and order. If she felt like her approach was wrong she’d stop immediately, but she slowly saw him nod.

“Okay.” 

MJ beamed at him, squeezing his knee reassuringly. “Good. Rule 2. For the next week, you are not allowed to say the phrase ‘I’m fine.’ I don’t care if you are, in fact, fine. You can’t say that. Be more descriptive, and be honest. I won’t use that phrase either, deal?” She offered, waiting, watching.

He looked at her for a moment, before he nodded again, another small smile. “Okay.”

MJ grinned and reached over to hold his hand on the floor, entwining their fingers. 

“Good. Rule 3. We’re talking. Right now. About everything we can. No running away, no getting mad, no assigning blame. Either of us. Nothing else matters right now. Not midterms. Not Spider-man. Not even the next season of the Great British Bake-off. Just us. Right here, right now. I’ll be honest with you, and you be honest with me. Deal?” She asked. 

She could see the battle in his eyes. The desperate struggle between asking for the help he needs, and his desire to avoid being a burden to others. 

She waited patiently, but continued to squeeze his hand and beg him to reach out. 

“Please, Tiger. Let me in.” She said softly. 

She saw another tear escape him as he nodded. 

“Okay.”

Getting up awkwardly, she managed to lean over and share a quick kiss with him. She tried her best to convey how grateful she was, how much she loved him. Eventually she sat back and watched him carefully. “I’m proud of you. So much. I know how hard it can be, but you’re not alone.”

Peter nodded, resting his head back against the cabinet. 

“How are your senses?” She asked, still in that same barely audible whisper. 

“They’re better now. You noticed right away.” He offered with a small smile that brought just a little bit of light back into MJ’s life right now.

“I always was observant.” She offered, earning a bigger smile from him. 

MJ gently knocked her knee against his. “So what is going on?”

She could see the battle that raged in his eyes. Years of desperate self denial warring with the knowledge he needed help. 

“Peter, you know I love you right?” She offered and he nodded. 

“I can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t date someone who won’t take care of themselves.” For the briefest moment she saw something she almost never saw on him. Pure, unadulterated fear. She’d seen him stare down villains with more tech than him and a single desire to kill him with less fear. Stamping out the flames of <em>any</em> doubt she had just caused with her point she rushed on. 

“Peter, listen. I love you. And I am <em>never</em> letting you go. Not now, not ever. But you need… help.” She said carefully. She felt like she was walking a tightrope. There were a million ways this conversation could go, but she knew it had to happen. It was probably long overdue too.

“I can manage…” Peter tried weakly, and she could still see the warring desperation on his features. That was one look she never wanted to sketch. 

She gestured around a bit. “Tiger, things look a little… rough.” She squeezed his hand, trying to pour as much reassurance as she could into him. “We all need help, Pete. If I called you crying because the stress of finals was too much, would you break up with me?” She asked patiently. A little smirk came to her lips as she saw the instant call to action as he almost looked offended at the suggestion. 

“Of course not! I would nev-”

“See?” She asked, knowing this point had been made before but hoping it stuck a little better this time. “Tiger, you have more on your plate than anyone else I know. You save the city nightly, you’re taking advanced chemistry classes, you’re dating a high-strung girlfriend, and you’re living alone. We can’t do everything alone.”

He was quiet, letting the words sink in. 

“I’m not alone…” He replied in a soft voice.

“Exactly. But you act like it.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at her for a moment, and she could see thoughts forming and bursting in his head as the realization set in. She gave him the time he needed to process it. She wasn’t trying to catch him off guard, or trick him into accepting anything. She needed him to understand and accept the truth he was hiding from. The truth he thought he had to reject.

“How do you feel right now? Before I showed up.” She asked once she saw him relax a little. 

“...tired. I’m so fucking tired, Em.” He confessed after a moment. MJ knew <em>exactly</em> what he meant. It was beyond physical.

“That’s fine, Peter. You deserve to be after all the work you do. It’s normal to feel tired. But it’s also normal to do something about it.” She said and MJ could see it happening. She could see him slowly accepting the truth, slowly reaching out for the help he needed. 

MJ knew Peter’s struggles weren’t unfounded. They weren’t from a sense of laziness or pure stubbornness. Like her own struggles with emotions and letting people in, they were formed as a natural response to years of life battering the lesson into them. Losing his parents, then Ben. Having to hide his identity from the people who loved the most in order to keep them safe because there were people out there who would use them in a heartbeat to get to him. 

Peter’s walls weren’t just him being stubborn. They were a desperate survival instinct to prevent him from losing anyone else. But that had to end. He had some many people in his life who loved him who would be more than happy to help him out just a little of the amount he helped them. He just had to let them. 

“... I don’t know what to do.” His voice was a little louder, as if he was accepting the words finally. “MJ, I promise you I’ve been trying. There’s just so much. There’s just so fucking much right now. I swear I wasn’t trying to let you do-”

MJ silenced him with a kiss, knowing he was on another spiral. She leaned back after a moment, making eye contact with him. “Peter. I know you have. I’m so fucking proud. I know you have been trying. You’ve done so much Peter, I know that. You’ve managed more than what many people could with half of your responsibilities. You’ve always been my hero.” She said with as much conviction as she could possibly muster to get the message across.

 Because she was so fucking proud of him. For both trying as hard as he did, even if it had been a little misguided. She knew how earnest he was in trying to do what he thought was right, and that was what mattered. But she was also filled with pride for him accepting that he needed to change too.

Peter lowered his legs and MJ sat on his lap, straddling him. “It’s okay to not know what to do either. I don’t either. Gwen is half the reason I haven’t dropped out of my classes, and you’re the other half. Peter, you’re the reason I’ve been able to make all these connections in my life. Because you had the answers I needed about opening up, and you helped me.” She admitted, kissing him again. “Peter, you’re the voice in my head when I’m filled with doubt. It’s your red and blue spandex butt that gives me the kick I need.”

Peter laughed, but his eyes were shining at her, like she had just told him the secret to the universe. God, she was so hopelessly in love with her dork.

She pressed on just a little more, knowing they were finally there. “You know what needs to happen next, right?” She asked, reaching up to cup his cheek and give him the permission she knew he was still desperately seeking. 

“I…” He trailed off, chewing his lip. “I need to ask for help.”

MJ kissed him. Hard. God, she was so fucking proud of him. It was such a simple statement, and the farthest thing from a secret. But she knew how hard that statement could be. She knew how hard it was for her when she found herself in college still pushing away anyone who attempted to get close to her and clinging to Peter. Putting yourself out there was one of the scariest things a person could do.

When she pulled back, she gently wiped away some of his tears. “Correct.”

Peter laughed, his arms sliding to her waist. “I should be correct more often, then. If that’s how I get rewarded.”

MJ felt her heart soar that he was making jokes again. That he was slowly pulling himself back together.

She felt his fingers fidgeting on her side. “Do… you think they’ll still help me? I don’t know how much help I need but I’m worried it’s too much…”

MJ couldn’t control the laughter that escaped her as he stared at her, utterly bewildered. 

“Peter…” She said, slowly regaining her composure. “You sweet summer child, you have no idea how many people are in your corner and ready to help you.” She said, reaching her arms up to his shoulders and rubbing her thumbs over his collar bones. “We’ve been waiting for you to ask us.”

Peter’s eyes brimmed with tears again as he nodded. She could see there was still some disbelief. She didn’t blame him, it wasn’t like you could completely change years of habits in one conversation. But she could see his determination there, to make a change. That was all that was ever needed. 

“Peter, I’m pretty sure you could declare war on a country and you have enough people to overthrow it on your side.” She teased, only half joking though. She’d been around the Avengers enough with him to know they would literally walk through hell for him.

“I have had my eye on Canada…” He muttered and MJ laughed again, maybe a little harder than the joke deserved but the rush of endorphins of this conversation and breakthrough had her on an emotional high.

“So what now?” He asked, and she could see the yawn escaping him. She knew just how tiring emotions could be, let alone the fact he clearly had been putting his body through hell if that bruise that she had been doing her best to ignore was still that bad. 

MJ’s mind was already off to the races though. Plans were forming, she knew who she needed to reach out to. The love of her life needed help, and finally, finally asked for it. She was going to make sure he fucking got it. She knew he had to be in control, he had to make the choices if he was going to learn, but she was going to give him every fucking option out there. 

MJ saw him watching her patiently, a slightly goofy smile on his face as he must have known she was deep in a plan.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, MJ knew it was show time. “Okay, how much can you trust me this week?” She asked, a fierce determination in her tone.

Peter cocked his head to the side like the fucking golden retriever of a boyfriend he was. “Completely.” <em>Jesus</em>, how did he answer that so quickly and so honestly like that? He was way too good for this hellhole of a city.

Not even bothering to hold back the smile that she was pretty sure was most of her face now, she nodded. “Okay. You’re in complete control this week. You get the final say in everything, but I want you to just listen to me for now and I will do everything I can to help make things better anyway I can.”

She saw his eyes regarding him, flickers of an old doubt creeping in.

“You’re busy with midt-”

“Neither of us will fail our midterms either. I promise you this won’t be putting me out, deal? Let me help you, please. I promise you I want to be doing this, more than you know.” God, it was true too. She finally had a chance to give him just a little bit of the world he deserved, something MJ had been wanting to do for years.

Peter slowly nodded. “Okay, I trust you.”

She gave him a quick kiss before standing up, taking his hand and helping him up. 

“Okay. First things first, this place needs… help.” She said gently, and Peter laughed. 

“That’s an understatement. MJ, I appreciate you being gentle, but your snark won't scare me off. Promise.” He said, squeezing her hand. MJ couldn’t help but smile in return. Even when she was trying to be accommodating to him, he was still trying to reassure her that she didn’t need to change for him. 

“Okay, this place is stressing me out just standing here. You need to survive midterms and you’re not going to do that here. So pack your duffle bag you use for trips with some clothes, and bring all your Spider-man stuff too. You’re staying with us this week.” She ordered.

Peter’s eyes widened but he slowly nodded. He moved to his room to start, but he emerged a second later, eyes downcast. “I… my clothes… laundry…” He muttered out, and MJ could see the shame rolling off of him. She walked over, nudging his shin with her foot until he looked up at her. “We have washing machines too, dork. Just bring some stuff, preferably whatever doesn’t have your blood on it.” She offered with a smile. 

He slowly nodded and went back to packing. MJ was hardly going to fault him for not doing laundry. She understood how with everything piled up, it could just be another knife of shame in his gut, but it wasn’t like she had never had to steal Gwen’s clothes because she had nothing clean.

MJ glanced around the apartment while she waited and felt the lump come back in her throat. She wasn’t grossed out as much as sad. She knew that for it to get this bad, everything really must have piled on. He was usually pretty good about cleaning, from helping his aunt while growing up. The place was also barebones now. It hardly looked lived in as much as just where he crashed between activities. But she already had plans on how to help turn this into more of a home, and knew two women who would be more than eager to help him. 

When Peter returned with the duffle bag she saw him glance around. She could tell he was hating himself again so she stepped up. “Now get all the stuff you need for school, okay?” She ordered, snapping him out of his monologue as he nodded and started to gather his laptop and textbooks. MJ walked around, making sure nothing had to be unplugged or was left on, knowing he wouldn’t be here for a while.

A couple of minutes later and he was done. He stood near the door with his two bags, looking at the pile of dishes with unbridled disgust. She stepped into his line of sight, smiling at him. “Everything Spidey is hidden?” He nodded. “Good, now come on. Don’t worry about this place, I already have plans for this, okay? You’re not the only college kid with a dirty apartment.” 

Peter looked at her a bit wary of her plans but nodded with a smile. “Thanks MJ. I’m s-”

“Rule 1.” She interrupted, crossing her arms. 

He rolled his eyes but nodded. “Thank you for helping me, MJ.” 

“Better.” She offered, kissing him before turning him and shoving him out the door. “Let’s go, we still have work to do and my place smells better cause Gwen is obsessed with those air scent things.” 

Peter laughed, and they were able to make small talk as they made the trip back to her place, as she sent a text to Gwen.

<em>Peter is staying with us for the week. He finally asked for help. Time to rally the forces.</em>

A block later she got a text. 

<em>Thank God. He can learn! I assume you have plans? We’ll have a war council later.</em>

<em>So many. Operation Fuck-Parker-Luck is a go.

I’ll leave the fucking to you.

Gwen! I hate you. So much.

Love you too, I’ll bring home his favorite pizza tonight.</em>

MJ rolled her eyes, but glanced back at Peter who was looking at her confused. 

“Gwen is getting Pizza tonight for us.”

“She doesn-”

“Peter, do you really wanna tell Gwen not to help right now? You’re gonna be locked in an apartment with us for a week, I think you’re better off staying on her good side.” She offered and saw Peter let out a defeated sigh. MJ just smiled and squeezed his hand. “Good boy. I really don’t wanna listen to her yelling at you again.”

“Me neither.” Peter said, but she still saw the smile on his face. She knew Gwen was probably the best person to counter his chaotic energy with her own. MJ was probably the most stubborn out of all of them, but Gwen definitely was the more fiery. She remembered one time after a stupid fight she had with Peter, where it had really boiled down to her taking out frustration with school on him, and Gwen had literally locked her out of the apartment until she went and apologized to him.

By the time they made it back to the apartment, Peter looked practically dead on his feet. When she had done her check of his place to turn stuff off she saw how little food he had. She knew his physical state had to be awful as well. 

Ushering him into her room, she let him store his stuff while she moved back to their kitchen and made a quick sandwich. She knew he needed to sleep but wanted him to get a little more food in him first. She could worry about stuffing him full of food properly later. At least this week would give her plenty of time to try out the new recipes she had been collecting.

She knew the first problems she would tackle if she was going to get help for Peter, so while her zombie munched away on the sandwich with his eyes closed, she sent texts to Nat, Wanda, and Pepper. Just to give them a heads up that Peter had to talk to them later. She wasn’t going to make choices for him, but she knew the opportunities he had but was refusing to see so she just had to present them for him. 

By the time she had shuffled Peter back to her bedroom and into comfier clothes she had gotten back affirming messages from all of them to meet later. For now though, she got Peter to lay down and cuddled next to him in the bed, pulling his head against her chest as she carded her fingers through his hair.

“My paper…” he mumbled out, barely conscious. 

“Just sleep for now, Tiger. I got you. Everything will be fine.”  She muttered, kissing the top of his head.

“I know.” He muttered, pulling himself a little closer and he was out cold.

MJ just continued to run her fingers through his hair, so proud of him. So ready to help him. So full of love for him. She knew she had a long week ahead of her, but with him in her arms she never felt more ready for it.

[northcarolinanative]

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗/𝙲𝚑 𝟷𝟹

Chapter 13: Don’t Remind Me 

A/N: I am so sorry for the late update. I haven’t been feeling particularly motivated the past week or so, but hopefully, I am back and will be writing more:) thank you guys so much for reading my stuff, it means the world really. As always my asks/requests/messages are open:) 

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. Her and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up?  Full Collision Masterlist

JJ insisted that we both text Kie and Pope about the previous encounter with Barry. He wanted to make sure that they were aware of the situation, and were looking out for Rafe. If anything, after the way Rafe looked when I saw him, Pope should be scared. JJ was getting frustrated, repeating what we had to do to me. He kept pacing through the kitchen, clearly still on edge from the encounter with Barry. 

“Deny, Deny, Deny,” I spoke cutting JJ off. “I know,” I spoke standing up and walking to the opposite side of the bar that JJ was leaning against. “We don’t know anything, the hot tub was a gift from uncle T, felt bad for leaving JB here alone so much right?” I questioned him. 

He shrugged his shoulders before nodding. “I need to get 50k quick, Y/N.” He said again. “How the hell am I gonna do that? I mean Pope said he’d help me pay back the restitution, but I can’t ask him to do that.” He shook his head. 

I hated how JJ was so stubborn, especially now. “Hey, you didn’t pull the plug on Topper’s boat yourself right?” I looked at him raising an eyebrow, the stern tone of my voice was evident. 

“I talked him into it though. You and I both know Pope would not have done that if I wouldn’t have been there.” He fired back. 

“Well, he still did it JJ, which is why I think that you should let him help you pay back the restitution. You put this on your record, this isn’t just a fight on the point or shoplifting JJ, you took the fall for a felony.” I said emphasizing what he did. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I really needed a reminder of that” He spat out, pushing himself off the counter turning and pulling his hands through his hair. I could tell that I was getting under his skin, but he needed to hear it. At least that’s what I was telling myself. “You gonna remind me that I also stole money from a drug dealer, or that the cops could come banging on the door because Rafe was found innocent and I am an accomplice to murder, or that just lost my best friend searching for a damn ship?” He said turning around, his voice rising with each point. 

“Oh don’t even go there JJ,” I said warning him about his last statement, standing up from my seat. He scoffed and shook his head.

 “I lost my best friend, and you lost your brother dude. The guy who’s guilty just beat you in front of the other fucking kooks. How are you not pissed?” He asked as he moved closer to me. I could feel the anger radiating off his body. I was almost always the one to stay calm when the boys would get hot-headed. I was always the level headed one, especially last summer when Kie wasn’t around. “We’re alone Y/N. How are we gonna do this?” He said. While he fronted the statement with rage and anger I heard the pain behind it. We didn’t have parents to run home to at night, or a rich family to bail him out, we had us and the small hope that John B and Sarah were alive. Alive in Nassau. 

“JJ, take a deep breath alright,” I said trying to calm him down. I didn’t want him to break. I felt it coming, with all the pressure that he was feeling right now, I could sense that a breaking point was close. “Please,” I whispered to him, putting my hand on his bicep trying to get him to look at me. 

“No, Y/N, I won’t calm down.” He said shaking my hand from his arm. “I’m fucking livid and you should be too.” He said before storming out of the house. 

“JJ please wait.” I yelled as I stepped out onto the porch, but it was too late. I heard the familiar sound of his bike as it revved and the cloud of sandy dust was kicked up behind him. 

I sighed, leaning my head against the door frame leading outside. I had been through this before, but it was different this time, this time it was JJ instead of John B. After the disappearance of our father John B and I would stay on the phone for hours recounting memories and talking about what he could have been doing. Neither of us was ready to think of the alternative, so we would say that he fled into Canada, or that he was on some island he bought with the gold. We made up crazy theories and laughed but the conversations almost always took a turn to JB recounting the last few moments he had spent with his father. I could hear the guilt that he felt for what he had said to him. Even after months, during our last phone call, he was angry, talking about how DCS wanted to move him because Uncle T was off somewhere and JB couldn’t get to him. 

When I offered to get to reach out he said he didn’t want her help. While mine and my mother's relationship was definitely not something I bragged about, her relationship with John B was worse, almost nonexistent, but with a heavy seasoning of hate. John B blamed her for the divorce, saying she could have stayed on the Island, saying that she ran away from her mistakes. Both John B and I were too young at the time to understand what had happened between our parents. All we had been able to piece together from the two of them was that our mother had an affair with someone from Figure 8, causing their divorce. 

I looked out over the yard, seeing the hot tub as the sun reflected off the still water, my thoughts made their way back to JJ. I understood why he was mad. He had 30k in restitution, while Rafe and Ward Cameron walked, untouched by the law, for killing the sheriff. I wanted Rafe to rot in a prison cell, but knew that mine and the pogues' statements held nothing against Ward's “eyewitness testimony.” 

I was shaken from my thoughts as a loud knock echoed through the house. I was startled, about to make a run for it when I heard it again followed by a loud male voice. “Kildare County Sheriff’s Department.” I froze walking into the house looking for anything incriminating that they might try to take from us. Another knock echoed and seemed to shake the house with it.

 I made my way to the door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and pulling the door open, just enough for them to see me and my face. “How can I help you?” I stated, putting on the friendliest smile that I could muster up. 

I recognized the officer as Shoupe, but the other was a female, had a few old cuts, and bruises littering her face. Shoope looked at me and then back to the officer to his right. I could see him putting the pieces together. Why did I open the door? I knew this was gonna happen eventually. “I knew you looked familiar when I saw you at the point the other day,” Shoope said as he finally put it all together. His partner had a look of confusion covering her face as she looked between the two of you. “Y/N Routledge” He spoke, the officer’s eyes widening as she looked over me. I nodded sarcastically in her direction, letting her know that I was not satisfied with her facial expression. I looked over at Shoope the same expression towards him, letting him know I was not happy with him. “You here by yourself?” He questioned, trying to look past me in the doorway. 

“No, My mom went to get some stuff from the mainland. We’re cleaning out, going back and forth.” I said quickly. It was a vague enough lie that I hoped he believed. The last thing I need is DCS here, starting the cycle over like it was with John B. 

Shoupe nodded his head but scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “Is there something I can help you with or where you just coming to check up on me?” I said leaning against the door frame. 

“We’re looking for JJ, got a few questions for him. He here?” Shoup cut straight to the point. 

I shook my head. “JJ isn’t here,” I said plainly. Technically it wasn’t a lie. Shoupe gave me a questioning look. I shrugged my shoulders, last time I saw him was yesterday morning, he was making deliveries to someone over on Figure 8.” I lied again. This one seemed to please Shoupe as he nodded before stepping back from the door. 

“Thanks, Y/N.” He nodded before moving down the stairs, followed reluctantly by the other officer. He turned one last time and spoke, “We’ll be back to talk to you, your mom, and the rest of your friends.” He smiled, but it just caused my stomach to turn at his words. I watched as they looked back over to me while backing out of the driveway. I smiled before waving to them. I closed the door behind me, sliding my back down until my butt hit the ground. I let my head fall in my hands. JJ was gone, god knows where and the police were looking for him? I slipped my phone out of my pocket, sending a quick text to the other’s saying that the police were sniffing around the area, to lay low. 

I hit my head back against the door and let out a long deep breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. I was starting to stress out as the day's events seemed to just keep piling up. It was barely 7:30 but I was exhausted, from my encounter with Rafe to the Wreck to Barry to JJ to the cops. I needed a break. 

I made my way over to the bed in the living room, slowly sinking down into it. I rolled over, close to JJ’s side. I wrapped myself in the blanket that somehow managed to smell like him. I laid there, happy for the calm and quiet. One thought kept circulating my mind though. JJ was right, What the fuck are we gonna do?

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[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Grilled Cheese & Cereal Deaths

Dean unlocks the door to his apartment, his forehead resting against the wood and eyes closed in a calculative fashion as he turns his key in the lock.

He’s opened this door thousands of times before, and has collected enough data to reach the conclusion that he does it better when he’s not looking at it. His fingers know exactly what to do, relying on muscle memory and the grooves of the key; but when he’s looking, it takes him a minute to figure out which key is for which, since he’s got every key he owns attached to his purple-pink, rubber ‘I want to break free’ keychain.

Having to not pay attention as he’s unlocking the door allows him to start thinking about Cas again, as if he hasn’t been doing it all four hours of his drive back from Kansas. Cas should be awake right now, it’s only ten, but then he knows this is Cas, infamous for sleeping the weirdest hours known to man. One day, he’s snoring by five pm without a trace of dinner in him, and the next, he’s nudging Dean awake at three am for pancakes.

The lock clicks, and Dean straightens.

It’s only been three days since he’s seen Cas, but he misses him. He considers surprising him, because their door has a silent lock, which Cas wouldn’t have heard unless he’s in the living room - which he never is, unless Dean barters cuddles on the couch in exchange for a Dr Sexy watching partner. Cas is more of a bedroom person. Occasionally, a balcony person. Or, weirdly, sometimes, a hallway person.

Dude just settles cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of the hallway, with his book on his thighs and elbows on his knees, and doesn’t move until Dean almost trips over him, hence finding him, and nagging at him to at least sit on something with a mattress.

Fuck, he misses him.

Dean swings open the door, deciding not to think anymore, and just get to his boyfriend and kiss him and - he steps in. 

“I’m back!” He sings exaggeratedly, hands on his hips, giant grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

“Dean!” Cas yelps, his voice the kind of heavy only sleep deprivation can cause. Dean takes a moment to scan his face, the bags under his eyes and his slightly unfocused eyes. 

Cas’s eyes blink wide and lips completely pursed, like the child who was caught with his hand in the candy jar. But here, the proverbial jar is a stack of books so high - they come all the way up to Cas’s hip, beginning from a two-feet-high table, and the proverbial child is a panicky IT major who knows exactly how long ago he should’ve taken a nap.

Dean sets down his bag next to the door.

“Come here.” Dean lifts his arms, beckoning with a soft voice.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Cas starts to argue, from five feet away. The idiot is in the living room, after all. How could Dean forget? He can also be found at the living room when he’s having one of his truly bad, must-do-everything-at-once episodes. “I swear, I just took out all of these books an hour ago, there’s just this thing which came up -”

“Come here.” Dean says, his mouth a straight line.

“You’re wrong if you think I haven’t slept in 24 hours, Dean.” Cas whines, his resolve lessening. “But I just had so much to do, and there’s this deadline, and there’s not even -”

“Come here.” Dean repeats.

Cas yields, giving up with a little huff, and dragging his socked feet across their living room.

He tucks his head under Dean’s chin, once he’s wrapped his arms around his middle, and Dean’s arms automatically move up to hold him close.

Most times, Dean doesn’t think it’s fair that Cas gets to alternate between being the larger in the two of them, with his wide-ass shoulders and his frigging arms; and the next instant, the adorable little snuggler who’s burying his face in Dean’s shirt.

But at the moment, Dean doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he doesn’t mind it so much, that he stops thinking about everything else and spontaneously decides he wouldn’t mind if Cas never pulled away.

He squeezes, exhaling happily.

Cas lets out a content little sigh, melting into him, and Dean stops smiling for a moment when he realizes Cas is leaning all of his weight on Dean. And it’s not the fact that Cas is six feet tall, and built completely of concentrated snark and runner’s muscles, and that he’s heavy - but that Dean suddenly remembers that Cas hasn’t slept in 24 hours.

As he conveniently just confessed to.

“You need to sleep.”

Cas makes a disgruntled sound, possibly scrunching up his nose.

“I need to shower.”

Dean sniffs the air dramatically, and shrugs. It’s nothing he can’t handle. He doesn’t really think Cas has been up to jogging lately, and staying holed up in your second floor room with two semester worth of books for a project doesn’t exactly make you sweat, it’s not too unpleasant. Sure, stale clothes have a smell, but this one’s mostly just Cas.

“You need to eat.” Dean counters, and it’s probably a strong point he makes, since Cas doesn’t have a retort to throw back at him within the first second.

“That reminds me. We’re out of coffee,” Cas mumbles, in a little voice. “Didn’t know how I could text you to buy Nescafe when you were driving home two hundred and fifty miles.”

“What about the emergency stack you keep in the bedroom?”

Cas shakes his head. “I forgot to replenish that after the Great Scare of Preponed Papers, in September.”

“You’re every inch the college boy my mama warned me to look out for.” Dean teases, wriggling out of the hug, so that he can stare at Cas.

“And yet you’ve been living with me for years.” Cas returns, turning around and walking towards the kitchen. He plops down on a dining table chair, facing Dean.

“What can I say? You make me a rebel.” Dean scoffs, following Cas’s tracks to the kitchen, after he’s taken off his jacket and deposited it on the couch.

“Ooh, I’m even worse than I thought.” Cas deadpans, crossing his arms. And that ends it. Because there’s more important things to do, right now.

Dean opens the fridge, and starts to rummage through it.

“We’re out of honey, too.” Cas tells him, his chin propped in his hands, as he stares at a busy Dean.

“I can see that.” Dean rolls his eyes, and the almost empty milk carton is the only thing which sympathizes with him. “What kind of meals did you even have since friday, Cas? Honey and coffee? Or maybe, coffee and honey?”

Cas nods. “And ramen.”

“Fucking dumbass, with a 3.9 GPA to show for it.” Dean rolls his eyes again, done with going through the fridge, and closing the door with his elbow as he holds bread and cheese in his hands. “Well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m back. What do you want now?”

And before Cas could answer, Dean went on in a typical five star restaurant voice. “We have grilled formaggio. And grilled queso. And the chef’s recommendation, the grilled cheese.”

“Could I have grilled syr?” Cas asks, innocent.

“Lemme guess, Russian for cheese?” Dean confirms, in a dramatic stage whisper.

Cas’s eyebrows dance. “I missed you.” He mockwhispers back.

“You know what, I’ll have to pull some strings, but I think the chef will be able to manage that.” Dean returns to his grand waiter voice. And starts to unwrap the bread and pick out plates from the drawers, while Cas surprises him by beginning to talk.

“It’s a group project.” He begins, not sounding a tenth of the pumped up and clever from before. “For Professor Naomi Novak.” He groans, his head falling on his arms folded on the table.

“Okay?” Dean urges him to go on.

“And Balthazar bailed on me.”

***

Dean listens, as Cas eats. He occasionally offers words of sympathy, or those of righteous annoyance. He stares at Cas, wolfing down the sandwiches like they’re the best thing on the planet, and looking more and more okay as he finishes what’s on his plate.

Dean had had his dinner during what was supposed to be a fuel stop, at a motel who advertised their pies on unmissable banners hannging on every surface of the gas station. He couldn’t resist the temptation.

Thinking about that reminds him that just about an hour ago, he’d been in the last quarter of his drive, tired, but excited to get home. To Cas, to his shower and of course, to his mattress. Now, he doesn’t feel exhausted at all. Or perhaps, there’s just more important things around him. All in all, he knows he isn’t going to bed himself until Cas is going with him.

“Dean.” Cas interrupts his reverie, and Dean looks up to see him pushing away his plate, completely clean.

“Yeah?”

“Everything in the world except you and this grilled cheese sucks.” Cas declares, solemnly.

Dean grins, refocusing all his attention on Cas. “Oh?”

“Definitely.” Cas nods. He licks his lips, and rests back in his chair. “I mean, I know this’ll come as a surprise, but I think I was hungry or something.” He adds, feigning innocence, and Dean snorts. “I don’t know. Must’ve been the stress of the project I’ll never be able to complete in time, that made me overlook it.”

“Cas, listen to me.” Dean begins, reassuring. “The project will be done, Novak will not freak out, and you’ll ace through her class too. Everything’s going to work out.”

“How?” Cas asks, not as much ridiculous as it is desperate.

“You see,” Dean answers, his tone smooth. Well, sarcasm’s always been their language. “I have a brother.”

“Congratulations?” Cas squints, in a confused monotone.

“Nah, he’s not a pleasure to have or anything,” Dean shrugs, a grin on his hips. “But he’s dating someone.”

“Congratulations to him?” Cas offers.

“You don’t get it, smartass. The guy my brother’s dating, is Balthazar’s flatmate.” Dean waits for Cas to catch up. “So, all I have to do is talk to a few people, and I’ll know where to go find this weird-name guy.”

“Fuck.” Cas exclaims, stunned.

“No, Balthazar.” Dean smirks, and Cas is starting to smile much wider. “So, I’m going to get this jackass do his part of the job. And I’m sure as hell going to make him call you.”

“Oh!” Cas squeaks, eyes wide again. His face lights up with a smile, and it’s one of those genuinely gummy ones which make his eyes shine. Sonuvabitch, Dean loves him so much.

“So, yeah. I’m going to go call Sam, and get Baby out.” Cas practically radiates relief at this point, and happiness, and Dean has never been prouder of himself. “But,” He adds, before he forgets. “I have a condition.”

“What?” Cas cuts him off, abruptly. “And please don’t say you want me to go sleep, because I won’t be able to sleep until this is done, I’m too restless, and -”

“Fine.” Dean folded his arms. “Then eat.”

“I just did?” Cas motioned to his empty plate.

“Those were two sandwiches, Cas.” Dean huffs. “I need you to promise me you’ll eat the entire time till I’m back.”

“I don’t want to cook right now, I have to revise -” Cas starts to whine, and on another day, this may have been the moment Dean shut him up with a kiss, because he was being too annoying about not doing things for himself, but right now? This is a different Cas - a sleep deprived, fretty Cas, who needs to be handled in a different manner.

“I’m not asking you to cook.” Dean stands up.

Cas follows. “Huh?”

“I was just in the kitchen. We have cereal.”

“No.”

“Come on, Cas.” Dean argues, indignant. This is where they always end up. Debating on cereal. Dean’s got his facts clear. “Cereal’s a snack.”

“No, Dean. You’re a snack. I’m a snack. Arguably, Dr Sexy is a snack. Cereal is not a snack.” Cas throws back.

Dean glares at Cas. “You’ll eat your goddamn cereal until I’m home, Cas, or I swear on your coffee-freaky, sleep-deprived ass -”

“Okay.” Cas gives up. He takes a step back, puts his hands in the air, and lets out a breath.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll eat it while I reread my notes.” Cas says, his eyebrows curved. There’s still a smile on his lips, though a more annoyed one.

Dean hums, unsatisfied.

“What?”

“Cereal needs your attention.” Dean postulates, tongue in cheek. “I really can’t have you choking on Honey Nut Cheerios.”

Cas levels him with a look, which would’ve been more effective if it wasn’t leveled at him through dark-circled eyes.

“That’s the opposite of an honorable death.” Dean goes on, sweet.

“Then in the obituary, let it be said that it was Cap'n Crunch.” Cas scowls, and Dean breaks into a laugh without meaning to. “And eating cereal isn’t a singleminded task, believe it or not.”

“Fine.” Dean lets it go, knowing it’s the best deal he’s going to get.

“Fine?” Cas says, like Dean had before.

“Fine. One for me, one for you.” And with that Dean throws his jacket on again, and starts to walk out, with a pleased smile. He’s going to make this work. And as he deals with Balthazar, Cas will keep eating. Two birds with one stone.

“Though,” Cas starts speaking, and Dean looks back, surprised at how soft his voice is. Cas is looking down at his feet. “This is more like, all for me, none for you.”

“Cas.” Dean shakes his head, returning to the dining table, and putting his hand on Cas’s.

“I mean,” Cas goes on, his voice shaky. “You literally came home after three days. And instead of talking about your trip, and your family, and taking a shower and getting in bed and resting after your four hour drive - you’re already completely immersed in solving my problems for me. I’m - I’m sorry.”

Dean purses his lips. He has not thought about it like this at all, and doesn’t want Cas to, either. “Cas, no -”

“No. I’m selfish and horrible, and I didn’t even stop you when you offered to cook for me and go get Balthazar to get in touch with me, or any of it - I’m just -”

“Cas.” Dean repeats, sterner. “That is not the case. I’m fine, okay? I’m absolutely fine. And you needed to eat, and you need this now, and I want to do it for you. You aren’t making me do this! And what the hell am I here for if not to be there for you, when you need it, Cas?”

“But -”

“And do you really think you telling me to not go would’ve stopped me from wanting to help you out?” Dean cocks his head, challenging Cas to agree.

Cas shakes his head.

“Exactly. In fact, you’re showing that you trust me enough to let you know when I’m tired and pushing my limits. You’re showing that our relationship has come to that kind of level, where though we mean the gratitude, concern and appreciation entirely, we aren’t always required to keep repeating it, and that’s growth, Cas, and I’m -”

Cas waits, his eyes starting to haze.

“I’m proud of us.” Dean finishes, swallowing. He feels his own throat start to clog up. Must be from watching Cas get teary, because they don’t usually end up crying every time one of them does something nice for the other.

“You’re everything I’ve ever needed.” Cas tells him, matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t pierce Dean through the heart in the best way to hear it.

“You’re pretty perfect, too.” Dean says, trying to avoid getting as sappy as Cas has already gotten. Cas gets to blame the lack of sleep later, what does Dean do then? “And please, please don’t feel guilty about me trying to be a good boyfriend, next time?”

“I’ll try?”

“We’ve come a long way.” Dean teases. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll try to stop feeling guilty about it too, whenever you help me out with, I dunno, professors, college papers, buying durable things online, choosing gifts for friends, ice cream flavours I don’t like -”

“That’s enough.” Cas grins. “And, thank you.”

Dean slid his arm down from Cas’s forearm, to rest on his hip. His other hand snaked around Cas’s waist.

“Thank you for everything.” Cas says, like he’s tried to soak the meaning out of all the words into his voice, and it works.

“Yeah, yeah.” They just had a chick-flick moment, and Dean isn’t prepared for another one, so soon. So he does what he does best, and deflects, rolling his eyes dramatically. “People don’t call me the awesomest-roomate-ever-slash-ideal-bestfriend-slash-your-knight-in-shining-armor for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that.” Cas snickers, putting his arms loosely around Dean’s neck. He’s doing that thing again, like the flipping of a switch, and now it’s Dean who’s probably going to end up with his face in Cas’s neck. Kissing him, though, this time.

“Hey!” He pouts, pulling Cas in closer from the waist. “I call myself that.”

“Yeah, I have no idea why you do that.”

Remember how before it wasn’t the moment to shut him up with a kiss? Dean repeals that statement now. It’s no longer valid, because Cas is being a little shit again. Plus, he’s being a little shit who doesn’t kiss Dean yet, just teases around it, and that’s not fair, right after they’ve had such a romantic moment, is it?

So Dean takes matters into his own hands.

“Shuddup, you overworked little asshole.” And leans in to capture Cas’s lips with his, and straightens with Cas following him, planting breathy kisses on every inch of Dean’s lips, while Dean tries to return the equivalent of the favor by running his hands over Cas, under his shirt.

Cas tastes like grilled, uh, keso - ignore them, that’s a game they’ve been playing for years - and love, though knowing Cas, that’s probably just honey - and in that moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

In that moment, Dean thinks to himself, kissing Cas with every fibre of his being; everything is perfect.

[ripspaghet]

bff | 05

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 |

→ pairing: yoongi x reader

→ word count: 4,702

Prologue Summary; Your best friend's boyfriend takes an unhealthy interest in you and just as he shows up something from your past starts to creep up on you again. Could this strange and mysterious man have something to do with it? And should you trust him, or your instincts to run far, far away from him?

→ warnings: angst, swearing, alcohol, mentions of smut, cheating

The very next day the weather finally starts to lighten up. The sun is out with not a cloud in sight, although the air is still chilled. You've become eager to get back to your classes. After having Jimin take care of you a full day, you feel you might murder him. He's been teasing you constantly, trying to feed you like you a helpless baby, and let's just say you didn't really appreciate it. Still, you thank him several times over, promising to make it up to him, which he's sure to take full advantage of.

"Party? This weekend?"

You sigh, kicking a rock as you walk along the corridor, leading to your next class, "Why does it always have to be a party with you? You never even hang out with me when we go. You ditch me for those two idiots of yours."

"As I recall when you first met one of those idiots you called him hot and said you'd-"

"Okay!" Your panicked tone reaches an all-time high, not wishing to recall your first impression of a particular frat boy.

Jimin laughs at you and stops walking just before reaching the lecture hall, "So, you'll go with me?"

"As if I have a choice."

"Great! Tae said he-"

"____? I heard you were really sick." Mina approaches the two of you, her boyfriend not too far behind her, his eyes already fixed on you. Great.

You watch as he comes up closer to Mina, placing his arm around her waist and pulling her into him as his gaze bleeds into yours, "Glad to know you're feeling better, ____." 

His cold voice makes you shift your eyes away immediately, your face turning a shade of red that's starting to become all too familiar.

"Yes, I made her all better. Didn't I, honey?" Jimin leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, which you respond to by pushing him away and slapping him on the chest.

"Don't put your lips anywhere near me."

He frowns and whines as you turn away from him, "Why? That's not what you told me to do yesterday."

"Are you drunk? Stop making stuff up and get to class." You don't bother turning around this time, heading into the lecture hall.

"Yah," You hear Mina slap Jimin, "what did you do to her?"

"Ah! S-stop hitting me! She's been like that since yesterday, it has nothing to do with me!"

The rest of the week carries on relatively fast, as you do nothing but study and go to your classes. Anytime Mina, Jimin, or anybody offers to hang out you decline. You haven't been in the mood and your reasoning was that same indecipherable feeling that still burned in your chest. Your nearest guess was that it had something to do with that damn piano Yoongi made you sit at, last Sunday. Bad memories resurfacing is enough to put anyone in this kind of mood, right? You can't even be bothered with the dozens of missed calls on your phone. You hadn't spoken to him in a year and you weren't about to break that record when simply seeing his name light up your phone filled you with dread.

"You're still coming?" Jimin raised an eyebrow at you, utterly surprised.

"I'm standing in front of you fully dressed and ready for a party and you're asking me if I'm bailing on you or not?"

"It's just, you haven't been in the brightest of moods this week. I thought, maybe you were having second thoughts."

You roll your eyes and push him out of the doorway so you can shut the door behind you and lock it. "Since when do you care if I have second thoughts about a party?"

"Since you don't seem okay," He whispers this time, a genuinely concerned expression dulling his features.

You put your arm around his and try to pull him along only to have him stop you, "I'm fine. Let's go have fun."

"Did someone break your heart, ____?"

You swivel your head back around, "What?"

"I don't know?" He scratched his head, "You seem so different lately. I mean you just said, 'Let's go have fun.' Normally, you hate being dragged to parties. You complain the whole time and ask me to take you home every five seconds."

You laugh and raise an eyebrow at the ridiculous assumption, "So, you think someone has broken my heart, simply because I'm taking your advice to have fun?"

"You-" He's cut off when your phone goes off. You pull it from your purse and quickly reject it.

"Telemarketers." You lie.

Looking at you seriously Jimin sighs, "I'm just worried. I don't want to take you to this party and you get super drunk and do something stupid cause you're sad." 

With a sigh and nod, you speak with an understanding ton, "I appreciate that you worry about me Minie, but I'm fine. I've just been stressed lately because of exams. I want to blow off some steam."

He looks at you hesitantly before nodding, not sure if he should believe you or not.

Jimin really is such a good friend. He genuinely cares so much, even for the smallest of things. But, despite what he thinks, this isn't your first time indulging in a party like this. Back when you were a freshman all you did was go to parties. Which is, for the most part, what made you hate them so much. You always did dumb things and alcohol didn't make your decision-making skills any better. You'd even started a pretty bad reputation for yourself, that you erased through the years of becoming a shut-in.

After arriving at the party Jimin led you to the drinks and the two of you had at least two full cups together before you decided you wanted to dance. The logical part of your brain was screaming to go home before doing something you'd regret, but that stinging feeling in your chest demanded it be fed and you didn't want to feel it anymore. You sure as hell didn't want to hear your anxiety ramping up because of it, so you drank just enough to null the noise.

You pull Jimin towards the dance floor, taking him by surprise, and making his drink sloshing in his cup, "Wait, I-"

"Since when does ____ dance?" A husky voice interrupts the two of you, making you turn your head, "Or know how to have fun for that matter?"

Tall, tanned, and handsome to the point of being downright beautiful, stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching you with an unreadable expression is Taehyung. You have to force your mouth shut to keep from gasping at the sight of him. Any other day, you'd duck your head and run at the sight of him - although, unfortunately for you - you've already consumed a hefty amount of alcohol.

"Whole new ____, right?" Jimin smiled, composing himself before patting your head and, to your surprise, making you jump.

"I'll say," Taehyung looks you up and down, "she's even dressed for the occasion."

"____, how about you go dancing with Taehyung? I promised Kookie I'd be his bodyguard tonight and I can't leave him hanging forever."

You glance up at Jimin then back at Taehyung. Again, under normal circumstances, you never in a million years would agree to dance with Taehyung, knowing damn well where it'd take you. You'd also be curious and confused as to why Jungkook would need a bodyguard, but - for like the billionth time - these weren't normal circumstances and all you did was nod.

"Just don't stay gone all night. You promised you wouldn't ditch me this time." 

Jimin laughs and pats your head endearingly again, "Sure thing, honey."

You reach up and pat Jimin on the cheek, returning the gesture by smiling brightly up at him. His eyes widen, not expecting you to return the teasing gesture, "Have fun, honey," 

"W-who are you?" Jimin's cheeks flush pink, but you only laugh before leaving him. You take Taehyung's arm in yours and he looks down at you with the same stunned expression, "Show me your best moves, Tae."

Excitement quickly replaces his awe and bubbling up in his eyes at this whole new side of you, "Yes, ma'am."

You pull him to the dance floor with you and once there you let your body do the talking as you move rhythmically to the best that vibrates through the house.

Taehyung just froze, his lips parting at the sight of you.

You're unable to contain a giggle at the sight of his dumbfounded expression, "What are you doing? Dance with me." You grab his hands and pull him to you, swaying your hips from side to side. 

Taehyung follows your instructions and begins moving with you, his hand moving to your hip as he leans in closer, "Since when are you not being a buzzkill?"

You pout your bottom lip at his use of words, "I'm not a buzzkill, I just haven't been in the mood up until now."

Taehyung laughs at your whiny response, his eyes falling on your lips, "You know? I never understood it before, but now it all makes sense."

"What does?"

"You and Jimin, I thought the two of you were complete opposites before and it didn't make any sense to me why he follows you around like a lost puppy." You move your hands up to his biceps and rest them on his shoulders. Your eyes urging him to continue, "The two of you are a lot more alike than I thought. You just bury it deep, while Jimin wears it on his sleeve."

You tilt your head, "And what exactly is it that I'm burying?"

"That thing that could get anyone into bed with you any time you want." He leans in, his deep voice sultry.

"Are you saying that only me and Jimin have that? You don't have it?"

"Well, obviously not. Otherwise, I would've had you in bed with me the day we met."

You shake your head and smirk at him. Might as well play along with him. "How do you know that it just doesn't work on me?"

"Tell me," He leaned in closer, "if Jimin were to seriously try fucking you - you wouldn't you be inclined to say yes?"

Your cheeks flush his use of words and the mere idea of them, but you laugh it off as the effects of alcohol starting to kick in, "Even if I were it would never be anything more than that, so I'd turn him down."

Taehyung pulls back, surprised, "Why?"

"Jimin is my best friend and like I said, sleeping with him would never be anything more than sleeping with him. I know that's the case for me, but I don't know if that's the case for Jimin. Whether he says it is or not, I couldn't trust what he says. If he felt differently, he would say whatever I wanted to hear, not the truth."

"Are you implying that he might fall for you? Because I think it's a bit too late for that." He chuckles and this time you roll your eyes.

"Me and Jimin find each other sexually attractive, but there's no romance. It's just friendship. People can easily mistake a great friendship for romance. I mean, even great sex can be misleading."

"So, what's the deal-breaker, huh? What is it that you and Jimin don't have?"

You stare at him for a moment, wondering to yourself why he's so interested in your relationship with Jimin before answering him, "There's no fire. No passion or pull between us."

His eyes flicker at your words, "You're not secretly in love with him and just pulling my leg, right?"

"What?" You burst into laughter, "Why is this so important to you?"

Taehyung's face stays serious as it flickers with something akin to lust, "____, when did you get so alluring? I thought you were an innocent virgin."

You try to bite back your laughter at his ridiculous statement and serious face. Surprisingly, he isn't all that good at flirting. His looks more than made up for what he's lacking though as his eyes have you leaning in closer. You put your lips next to his ear, your excuse being, so you wouldn't have to yell over the music, "I'm only alluring when I wanna allure someone, that doesn't make me a virgin."

"Really?" He put his other hand on the small of your back, "Does that mean you're trying to allure me right now?"

You frown, pulling away from him, "Trying?" 

His eyes turn dark at the loss of contact and he reaches to bring you back to him, but you only move further out of his reach, a smirk pulling up your lips, "If you want me, come and get me, Tae." 

He moves instantly, a smirk playing on his own lips as he follows you through the crowd of sweaty bodies until you're out of it and heading up the stairs of the frat house. You know exactly where you're leading him, but you weren't one to proudly admit you'd done this before. And if you were in your right mind right now you wouldn't be caught dead doing this again, especially with someone like Taehyung. Although, the closer your body gets to him the further the burning in your chest gets. It's fading into the background, just like you want.

You let him catch you at the top of the stairs and he wraps his arms around your waist, "What are you up to? Don't you know where these stairs lead?"

"I'm not sure. You wanna show me around?" You play dumb, preferring Taehyung not have any clue of your past endeavors.

He pushes you against the wall, hands roaming on your sides, "How drunk are you?"

"I've only had two or three drinks." Your breath catches in your throat when he lowers his mouth to your neck. Your hand moves to his hair and you close your eyes, savoring the way his teeth feel as they softly nip at you.

"So, you won't be mad if you wake up naked next to me in the morning?" 

You gasp as his tongue runs up the length of your neck, "I won't."

He hums softly in your ear before picking you up by your thighs, making it so you have to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you to a nearby room and shuts the door behind him with his foot with - what appears to be - practiced ease. It doesn't bother you all too much though, seeing as you were only doing this to distract yourself, to begin with. You want all emotional baggage to be left at the door, or thrown out a window at this moment. You don't wanna think.

Taehyung drops you down onto the bed in the center of the room and you can't help but giggle as the force of the fall makes you bounce.

"Fuck," He smiles at you infectiously before lunging forward, his hands and lips devouring you, "you could easily make any man fall in love, ____."

A sharp throb stabs through your chest at his words, your smile falling as a distinct pair of dark eyes cross your mind. His hands move down your thighs and squeeze, pulling them apart to settle between them. Too lost in the remembrance of lingering stares and innocent touches, you don't even realize where your imagination has taken you as he presses his thigh against your core, coaxing a desperate moan out of you. Your eyes flutter shut as you let your arousal take over, pale fingertips run along your sides, his dark hair tickling your skin as he marks your neck, and his usual calm and gravelly voice growls as you mewl with desire.

"You sound so pretty." Just then his lips press to yours, his tongue running along your lower lip. 

Yoongi.

"Stop!" You push Taehyung off of you, panicked and breathless.

"What? What's wrong?" Taehyung sits up at the end of the bed on his knees, confused by the sudden rejection.

"I-I'm really sorry about this, but I need to go." You scramble off of the bed, fixing your clothes and hair.

Taehyung's quick to get up and follow after you, "Did I do something?"

"No, I-" You squeeze your eye's shut and shake your head in disbelief. Sure, you've fantasized about people before but never against your own will, let alone about your best friend's fucking boyfriend. "I'm not in the right head-space right now. I-" You pause glancing back at Taehyung, "You didn't do anything wrong."

He places his hand on your waist, "____, don't go. We don't have to do anything. We can just cuddle?"

"I need to go."

"What happened to you last night?! Why are people telling me they saw you going upstairs with Taehyung?! I never saw you for the rest of the night!" You wince pulling your phone away from your ear.

"I know, I'm sorry, okay? Could you stop yelling at me and let me explain?"

"Since when do you wanna fuck Taehyung?! I thought you hated him!"

"Jimin,"

"Alright, fine, let me hear your excuse."

"Last night I just wanted to have fun. It was nothing serious and I don't hate Taehyung. I just don't particularly like him or how he normally treats the girls he messes around with."

"Wha- You just wanted to have fun? Nothing serious? Where is the real ____ and what have you done with her?!" 

You roll your eyes, "I didn't even sleep with him. I walked out before things got that far."

"You walked out?" Jimin pauses, "Wait, why? What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything. I just-" Your eyes shift around your room nervously, "I wasn't as up for it as I thought I was."

He clicks his tongue, "____, the player. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Are we done now? I need to go."

"Go? It's Saturday. Where are you going? Oh, don't tell me you're going to finish the job!?"

"Goodbye, Jimin."

"No! Wait-"

You stand up from your bed after ending the call than walk over to your closet to sift through your clothes. You spend about thirty minutes doing that before groaning in frustration. What are you even doing? Normally, you'd just throw on the first thing you saw and head out the door.

You know what?

That is what you're doing.

You close your eyes and reach into your closet, grabbing the first thing you touch. This is fine, you tell yourself before shrugging off your pajamas and putting on the baggy hoodie with a pair of sweats. You then make your way back to your bed and grab your phone, you're heading to your door when you stop. You pull your hoodie up to your nose, smell it, and sigh before turning back around. It doesn't stink, in fact, it smells good, like freshly done laundry - but something about it annoys you and you refuse to leave with the boring smell.

Once you're finally satisfied you hurry out of your dorm and start in the direction of Yoongi's penthouse. So many factors are yelling at you to turn around and go back home, but you refuse to listen. Your pace even picks up as the tall building comes into view. 

Message from Min Yoongi-8:59am: Why are you so late??

You-9:05am: I'm here

You step out of the elevator, your nerves getting the better of you as you hesitate to knock on the door. You really shouldn't be here. You should be anywhere but here. As you're contemplating just turning around and leaving, the door swings open to reveal a very irritated Yoongi.

His hair is neatly combed through and shorter than when you last saw him, although it still hangs just slightly above his eyes.

"Why the hell are you so late?" His words are blunt, as usual, but that's not what makes you avoid his gaze. It's the images that pop into your head from last night that make you stare at your own two feet in petrifying embarrassment, thinking, maybe he can read your mind if you look at him.

"Sorry, I don't really have an excuse." Your voice comes out small, making it so Yoongi has to lean in to understand you.

He furrows his brow and sniffs the air as he does, then raises an eyebrow at you, "Is that perfume?"

Your eyes dart up to his face and you blink at him several times, "What?"

A smirk pulls up his lips, "Are you wearing perfume?"

"No! Why would I be wearing perfume?" You panic, confused as to how to respond to this.

"I don't know, you tell me?" He leans against his door frame and crosses his arms over his chest smugly. You can't help but let your gaze linger, finding everything he does far too attractive for someone who's supposed to be his girlfriend's best friend. 

You shift your eyes away from him shamefully with a frown and push past him, feeling your cheeks warm-up, "Can we just work on the song now that I'm here?"

Yoongi hums and turns around to face you, shutting the door as he does, "It smells nice. What is it? Vanilla?"

"J-just shut up." You walk away from him towards his couch to sit down before pulling out your laptop. 

"You know?" Yoongi startles you as he leans onto the back of the couch behind you, "You still haven't listened to that part on the piano I've been slaving away on." He speaks in that same condescending tone he used over the phone when you were sick, only this time it doesn't make your blood boil, it makes your stomach turn.

"I never said I wanted you to do that."

"You also never said you didn't, so I did." You feel Yoongi tapping his finger against the couch impatiently, a clear sign he's starting to get annoyed with you.

"Well, go play it." You bark back in a whiny manner, wanting the subject to just go away, "I'll hear it from here."

No, you wouldn't, you planned on covering your ears.

"____," Yoongi says your name firmly and your whole body goes rigid. Your imagination is running off with you again. Of all times, seriously? "stop acting childish. I need you to sing the part while I play, to get a good feel of how it will sound."

You shake your head, actual panic setting in as you finally stand back up, turning to face him, "No, I don't want the piano in the song."

"Why are you just now saying this? I've been working on this all week."

"I-I-" You frantically scour your brain for an alibi, "I just don't wanna!" You cringe at the stupid excuse and watch nervously as Yoongi narrows his eyes at you.

"Are you six years old? Come on," He starts to walk towards the hallway.

"I don't like the piano! Okay?! Can't you just leave it be!" You scream, the sheer terror you felt finally emerging in your voice and shocking Yoongi to a halt. Tears began streaming down your face rapidly. You probably looked ridiculous, crying over a damn piano, an object that couldn't even physically harm you, but you're unable to control your tears.

"____,"

You drop your laptop onto the couch and without saying a word you rush back around the couch and past Yoongi, heading for the door. Hoping he won't follow, you slam the door behind you just to hear it open again a second later. 

"____, stop!" You push the elevator button several times, urgently praying that it gets there soon while you try your best to quell your inner trauma, "We don't have to include the piano. I can find something else."  You stare blankly at the elevator doors, "Hey," He reaches for you, his hand landing on your shoulder. 

You jerk your arm away and when you speak it's barely above a whisper, "Just leave me alone."

He watches you for a moment before hesitantly bringing his hand up to your face, turning you to look at him. You let him wipe your tears before pushing his hand away, "Fine, I'll take the stairs."

He stops you, grabbing your wrist, "Are you seriously angry over a fucking piano? What's next? A harmonica?"

You let out a dry laugh, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Alright," You yank your wrist away from him, "I'm done with this. Don't expect me to show up here anymore." You head ticks to the side before you turn on your heels to take the stairs, "I'd rather fail."

"Yah, ____!" You ignore him, but you can hear him following you just before his hand grabs yours, stopping you in your tracks again, "You-"

Your phone cuts him off, ringing loudly, and filling the thick air around the two of you. You pull your hand out of his, ignoring the way it makes your skin tingle. You reach into your pocket for your phone and reject the call, knowing exactly who it is without looking at the caller ID.

"Who was that?" Yoongi leans toward you, trying to get a peek at your phone, but you push him away by his chest.

"It's none of your business." 

He doesn't respond, his hard eyes just glancing down at the hand that's now against his chest. When Yoongi gets close to you - you can't think properly, so the further the better, but when he lifts his eyes back to yours, you realize that the physical contact is much worse than the lack of space. 

Your face blossoms with color and you quickly try to yank your hand away, recalling where your mind took you last night. Yoongi is quicker though as his fingers wrap around your wrist. You hold your breath, praying that he can't hear how loudly your heart is beating as his eyes bore into yours. All you can do is stare back, unable to move, say, or do anything. It's like he's a magnet and you're metal.

He moves in closer until you can feel his minty breath against your lips and you inhale sharply when his long fingers gently graze against your forearm. Unconsciously, your hand fist his shirt, your eye's still refusing to leave his intense ones as he begins to close the space between you, "Do you want me to stop?"

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder, gripping tightly as if willing yourself to push him away, but it's as if all your strength has left your body and you can't. His hand moves up to your jaw, his thump caressing your flushed skin, and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. It's nothing like you'd imagined, completely different. He's way more intoxicating.

"If you want me to stop, all you have to do it say so." When his lips move you can almost feel them brush against yours from the close proximity - the space between you disappearing as his lips meet yours and any ounce of logical thought leaves you. You helplessly lean into his warmth and he hums in response. Heat pools in your stomach at the sound and your fingers move through his hair, nails softly grazing against his scalp. It's like the part of you that knows how wrong this is has evaporated. It isn't until his tongue swipes against your bottom lip that you feel yourself fall back to reality.

You pull away from him like you've been burned, noticing the tears brimming in your eyes only after the fact. The longer you look up at Yoongi the more hysterical you become. 

"I-" He stops, his eyes falling on your neck, "Where did those come from?"

"I-I need to leave." You push past him just as the elevator doors open, ignoring the simmering rage you caught in his voice as it made you feel like someone had just tugged on your heart.

"____-"

"You have a girlfriend, Yoongi!" Your second outburst of the day causes him to flinch and pull his hand away from your arm, "I'm leaving."

You want to throw up, bang your head against a wall, and reprimand yourself on how utterly stupid you are all at once. All you really do wis click the button for the first floor though, while avoiding looking back up at Yoongi.

"I'm sorry."

That's the last thing you hear before the doors close and the elevator begins carrying you down.

.

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a/n: plz go easy on me this is my first time attempting any form of smut and i had to rewrite it several times cause it made me a lil nervous 😖👉👈

@team-work-made-the-dream-work @seokchella @crackhead1-800 @chogiyeol-utopia @thatchampagnebitch  @jeonchan26

[asterekmess]

Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES?  Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

[thedeviljudges]

wistful as an autumn breeze

or the one where it’s an excerpt that never saw the light of day from my fic & billy does his best to make ends meet while steve feels the other side of guilty.

“This isn’t a bad thing,” Billy reasons with a one shoulder shrug. “I’ll stay clear of bar fights and not do my job.”

“Funny,” Steve says with a level of sarcasm that bleeds through both of their memories of Billy’s actual behavior. “Your propensity for drama tells me otherwise.”

“You really have picked up a dictionary, huh?”

He smirks. Billy smirks, and it’s sharp, and it’s kinda fucked up that he doesn’t have to bare his teeth to elicit the inevitable shiver that runs down Steve’s spine. There’s never been a need for Billy’s words so long as he’s equipped with the right amount of bait, the kind Steve often falls for. One of these days, it might be his undoing – had been at one point or another - but the gracious element Steve’s learned over the gradual period of their becoming is that when Billy is up for it, when he’s up for chewing and wrestling like a dog with a freshly unwrapped bone, its significantly seminal in the making.

This slight? Lackluster.

“Shut the fuck up. This isn’t about me.”

It is, but it isn’t, and as Billy cocks his head to the side like he’s reading between the lines, he says, “Isn’t it?”

With a pinched brow, Steve can’t avert the frustration ebbing into the point he’s trying to make. “You’re going to blame me for worrying? You’re a disaster in the making.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Yes, me of little faith,” Steve says, clipped. “I don’t trust drunks in a bar several years your senior, Billy. And forgive me for not liking the idea; you shouldn’t be there to begin with. Hopper’s not going to be able to bail you out.”

The safety net they had before is nonexistent, not just with Hopper at the helm of spinning corrupt, protecting the ones he loves as a means to an end only a man in a small town could get away with, but the web of family that filled the space between lonely and sociable. They’d become chain links to a fence, much stronger together than they were on their own, and it shouldn’t have been easy for Steve and Billy to leave like they did, but sometimes suffocation is far worse, and the best a found family can give is support.

But they don’t have that here. Starting over only goes so far as to what they make of it, and this sounds like a bad idea.

“Steve, you’re stressing.”

Frustration cinches his fists, but Steve doesn’t move them from his lap. He knows Billy sees it, the tight coil of his shoulders, hesitation peeking over the blue of his eyes, like he’s finally realizing that Steve’s not grievous for the sake of it. “I don’t want you to do it,” he says bluntly, puts it out there in the open because subtlety hasn’t worked with Billy before, and he isn’t sure why he attempted it now.

“Is that all?” Billy’s looking for more reasons other than the blatant distrust Steve gives, but it’s not about that, not really. Steve trusts Billy, more than thinks he should sometimes, but he does. Billy’s loyalty extends to everyone he cares for, and he knows better than anyone not to fuck up the first chance he’s gotten in years to live in California.

What eats at Steve is his own insecurity, biting at his heels, bubbling up like a spring ready to drown him three inches deep. He tried to imply it, and then he’d done his best to make it about something it wasn’t – albeit his reasoning is still good enough to consider. But he relents. He does it for himself and the guilt of his shortcomings. “I hate feeling like a housewife.”

It takes a moment and nothing more for Billy’s brows to shoot up, that slick, pestering smile following suit.

“Please don’t tell me you’re into that.” Steve grimaces. His hands and feet may not have the callouses that flourish from rough labor, only felt the splinter of mangled skin through the dealings of demodogs and spiked bats, but he’s known and seen enough not to consider himself passive.

“I’m into you.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Only if it’s you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he says, shoving Billy’s shoulder with little force. He receives a laugh for his efforts, throaty and unctuous, as Billy’s fingers catch against his boney wrist. Delicacy has never played with them so easily, but Steve doesn’t miss the careful execution Billy displays when his fingers curl, tap, and tug, his bare knuckles meeting the heat of Billy’s lips.

“I knew from the very beginning that I’d have to break my back to move here,” Billy whispers against his skin, breath warm against the cool air circulating the apartment. “With or without you, I’m only doing what I would’ve done had you not been with me.”

If he was aiming for preservation, it’s lost as soon as Steve pulls his hand away. “That still doesn’t make me feel better.”

Dusk has set with Billy haloed in the shavings of leftover light, the blinds doing nothing to obscure the truth: that Billy thrives under the harsh rays of sun Steve has yet to appreciate. He’s thinking, pulling his thoughts together like thread, plucking and teasing until there’s enough payment for consolation. “Steve,” he begins, tone undulating between anguish and imploring. “You’ll find something, but let it be known that it’s taken care of until you do.” The palm of Billy’s hand cups the underside of Steve’s knee, hesitant with intent. He seeks comfort in the same way that Steve demands reassurance, except it’s much more fragile than Steve expected it to be. “Let me take care of you.”

[parkeraul]

→ boyfriend  •  1 | t.h. & s.m.

prologue | part 1

author’s note — hello, girlfriends. first of all, i really wanna apologise for the lack of writings lately & for this shitty moodboard. plus, i wanna give the hugest shoutout to @itrocksmysocks who’s been sending me pictures and stuff to help me get inspiration to write this series [thank u so much, latina neighbour!]. for now, i’m gonna update this series once in a week, then the next i’m gonna reserve the next one to write, then update on the following week and it’ll go on and on. enjoy!

pairing: tom holland x shawn mendes x reader college!tom | college!shawn

masterlist ┊add yourself to my taglists ┊give me feedbacks.

words — 3,4k; warnings — flirting, cursing, mentions of alcoholic drinks.

“People on the very back: Listen!” Mrs. Edwards shouts, banging against the board twice with her pen. “This graphic is very simple, okay? If you keep on talking and talking, it’ll become your worst nightmare and there will be no help during the final test.”

The white board had been completely taken over by lists of informations, numbers, theories  and graphics in at least 3 different colours. It’s been an hour or almost two since she started crossing the entire board with red, green, blue & black and Tom feels amazed by how well she manages to understand the entire system she’s been writing for so many time. As a class he signed for just to have some more complementary hours, he can straight tell you he’s not exactly caring about it that much. It’s way too fast and too mathematic for his mind.

All the people sitting around him in the classroom are already letting the tiredness consume them. Some are sighing and dropping their pencils; some are rubbing their faces repeatedly; some others are actually paying attention and probably trying hard not to freak out. Considering the white walls with white tables and chairs, if no one said that this is a math class, people would probably walk in and think it’s a sanatorium. All faces exhausted and it’s clear to see that at least 90% of the class can’t wait for the summer break to rescue them all — the 10% left is filled with the boys that have been sleeping for the past 30 minutes.

“Next class we’ll get back to the basic analysis to freshen up a bit, I recommend you to bring one or two books to do some research as well—“

“Hey, dude,” Jacob whispers close to Tom, sitting on the chair in front of him as he turns his head — far enough to see Tom leaning in through his peripheral, but not far enough to lose sight of Mrs. Edwards giving further endorsements. “Match tomorrow at 5?” “Sure,” Tom agrees, keeping his ‘attentive’ on the teacher in front of the class. “Have you guys picked the entire team already?” He says nonchalantly. It’s typical: In Fridays, after everyone’s last class, friendly football match with the boys from the athletic team of the Empshire University.

“Ian, Ryan, Heather and Matthew: You guys cannot miss the next class at all. You guys have been bailing for a long time and one more skip it’s deadline for the four of you—“

“Same thing,” Jacob says and Tom starts to close his books, pulling his backpack up to tuck them inside of it haphazardly. “But we’ll add John Mayer to it because Kevin’s not coming.” “You don’t have to say John Mayer, his gang’s not here,” They both look around the classroom, failing at being discreet as they search for any friends of… Well… ’John Mayer’.  Tom zips his bag close and Jacob turns around to do the same while everyone else’s already prompting themselves up to leave. “And you better put him in the defenders, far away from the frontline.” “I knew you’d say this!” They laugh under their breaths, also getting up to finally inspire some fresh air outside.

“See you next Thursday.” Mrs. Edwards says almost quietly, arranging her stuff while the room starts to get empty.

The corridor had never felt this comfy before. It’s crowded and a little bit loud but a lot better than Classroom number 9. As students from all courses starts talking to each other, Tom takes a look across the wall and spots new posters.

This wall is known as The Great Wall of Empshire —or Wall–E for the intimates. The Wall–E is a large blue wall that stands out from the regular white & grey ones of the building. Also, is where students pin folders and posters to warn the whole college about whatever seems to be relevant. It mostly holds notices of people looking for roommates, lost & found stuff, a special space painted in red for teacher’s announcements and messages from the secretariat of the university. As the results of the finals and classes stuff starts to fade away, the posters to summer parties slowly take over the big blue rectangle in the exact middle of the corridor to one of the two buildings that build the Empshire University.

Coming closer, Tom watches Missy climbing tiny–trembling stairs to glue a folder about Musical Theatre auditions. She’s sure struggling and, although he feels bad, he laughs in anyways as low as he can. Obviously, he doesn’t come out as subtle as he planned and gets a very–stressed Missy Langford slicing his entire being in two with the mad look in her blue eyes.

“You’re being very helpful by laughing,” She huffs, tapping the big poster repetitively to make sure it won’t fall for the next week. “Asshole.” “Oh, Miss, come on,” He teases, smirking like the asshole she just called him. “I thought we were over that part. Asshole! – Idiot! – Douche! Get outta here! You know? Last summer’s business, love,” Tom brings up a memory they both shared some time ago, knowing how pissed she’d get with the dialogue all over Tom’s charming accent in a playful tone, which sure has nothing to do with the atmosphere of the moment itself. “I swear to God that if this thing was any stronger, I’d jump onto your face right now.” After rolling her eyes, Missy spits at Tom and sees his smile widening stupidly. “Anyways,” Crossing arms, Tom steps closer to the Wall–E and leans against a blank space. “What’s that?” “We’re doing Hairspray,” She answers flatly. “Not that you’re allowed to subscribe, of course.” “Who said?” Tom frowns and squeaks way louder than usual. What now? Is she going to forbid him to audition to an open–invitation? “Jesus.”   Tom’s jaw falls dramatically, “Oh! Swearing to God… Talking to Jesus, apparently,” He quirks an eyebrow, faking surprise. “Didn’t know you had friends outside college.” “Will you shut the fuck up and help me get down?” Missy gives the poster one last strong tap — probably thinking about slapping Tom’s face instead — and stretches an arm towards him. “Not that you deserve it, but–“

Tom goes silent at the moment he gets his back off the wall to help Missy, noticing Jacob coming closer suddenly with someone else.

“Is it here?” The person with Jacob asks, holding a big orange poster. “Yep,” He confirms. “We call it Wall–E!” The answer to his information is just a laughter that makes Tom immediately forget about giving Missy a hand, bringing him to step closer to the conversation. “Hey man, where were you?” At the moment Tom asks, Jacob instantly gets what he’s trying to do. Not that Tom wasn’t kinda nosy sometimes, but they’ve been hanging out enough for his moves to look predictable. Way too predictable. Jacob says nothing, only squints his eyes and the silence suiting the four of them is slightly uncomfortable. “Uhm… I asked him for help as he was waiting for people to open some space so we… Could… Walk until here.” The voice is hesitant and sweet, although, while Missy eyes the person — The person looks at Tom, then looks down — Tom looks back & Jacob watches Tom prepare a whole scene inside his mind. “There’s some tape upon that tiny cabinet that you can use,” Jacob points to the front, past Tom and Missy Langford, “And if you can put it wherever you want as long as it’s in the blue area.” “Thank you so much! I’ll help myself with anything, don’t wanna take more of your time.” “No worries,” Giving a smile, Jacob walks to the side and then to Tom, offering his hand to a high–five. “I think you’ll be okay.”

As he feels the deep gaze of his friend as he passes by, Tom understands the second intentions of the phrase as if Jacob had just said “very smooth, my friend, shoot your shot” and left. It’s not that Tom Holland is a complete womanizer — the term Prince Charming fits him better, he says —but everyone who knows him decently is aware of the fact that he has no time for bullshit. No ceremony, no playing around. If Tom Holland likes someone, he’ll sure let this person know and try a move. If it goes right then awesome! And if it goes wrong he won’t go bitter about it longer than two or three seconds. He’ll eventually forget even though he doesn’t want to.

The british boy watches another struggle. Tiptoeing, the other person lifts the poster to see if it’ll fit in the only larger space left on The Great Wall as Missy climbs down the stairs by herself, analyzing the entire scene with squinted eyes.

“Here, luv,” Tom gently moves closer and takes the poster in his hands. He tiptoes as well and reaches the blank spot easier. “I think it’ll fit, don’t ya?” “It sure will!” The answer comes out in a chuckle. “I don’t believe we met, actually,” With feet back on the floor, he holds the banner while he looks directly to the owner. There’s this stupid beautiful smile adorning his face kind of shyly, but surely threatening to widen more as his fingers run through his brown hair. “I’m sorry. I’m Y/N,” She says, smiling back at him and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and Tom notices the delicate pair of earrings shining through the locks. “Beautiful! Beautiful name,” His brows frown quickly, listening to her voice like his favourite band’s singing his favourite song of all time. His mouth wants to say ‘beautiful face too’ with ‘beautiful lips’ and a ‘beautiful eyes’, but his brain works harder to keep his dignity safe somehow. “And your name is?” Suddenly, his throat goes dry. He tries to clear it, eyes blinking rapidly and he stretches an arm to find support on the wall. The jeans on his legs goes tighter, the white t-shirt for summer weather feels hotter than a thousand coats and the backpack on his shoulder heavens like he’s carrying a bag filled with rocks. What the heck? “My name?” “No, idiot,” Missy says behind Tom. “My name.” Rolling eyes, Tom slightly turns around and clenches his jaw, looking at Missy Langford’s sarcastic face with everything but appreciation. “Will you shut the fuck up?” He mumbles through gritted teeth. “I’m tryna get lucky in here,” And this time who rolls eyes is Missy, fixing her yellow shirt and putting it back inside her blue jeans. “I’m Thomas, darlin’. You can call me Tom.”

Or future ex–boyfriend, Missy thinks to herself feeling a tiny bit of heartache annoying her chest. It’s been around four months since she argued with Tom, which led to their break–up. Well, Missy calls it a break–up. For Tom, nothing’s been broken up because what they had was just a thing, a sudden meeting of feverish hormones boiling through their bodies. No one ever kneeled down and asked gently, no one ever posted pictures online or introduced the other to their parents. He notices the way she’s still bitter about it, but after a thousand conversations and discussions, Tom had just decided to let her be until the ache goes away eventually, since his words were apparently not helping at all.

“Tom,” Y/N confirms, nodding along and looking at him. He reacts with a smile, coffee eyes drinking her in. “Thank you, Tom! I should probably go find that cabinet where the tape might be at—“ “I’ll show you!” Tom interrupts, prompting up his body and fixing his shirt. “By the way, what are you announcing? Do you need a place to stay or share?” “Oh, no! Not at all,” Y/N warns as soon as she drinks in the way Tom’s tone of voice fell worried. The boy looks down at the poster, trying to find the main information of the paper. “It’s just a party. You’re both invited, actually! It’s gonna be at my place… Tomorrow afternoon.”

Tom says nothing, just removes his eyes from the folder to look at Y/N’s charming smile. He didn’t need any more reasons to say something rather than yes — the other words slipping out of her mouth were soundless to him, his eyes were too hypnotized by the way her lips were moving; hypnotized in a way his ears stopped working for a moment but his head managed to nod along to whatever she proposed. Yes, yes and yes. A thousand times yes to whatever she just proposed.

“Well, I’ll find the tape to hang it on,” She comments, eyeing the couple as her feet start to plan their way to the middle of the corridor. “I hope you can make it.”

Her sweet smile makes it hard for Tom to think twice — not that he even considered doing this, but it’s new to him how the entire surrounding seems to slow down the pace and noise when Y/N simply breathes and smiles sweetly. This is not right, not one bit, he thinks. His heart never raced this fast before; his mouth never craved other lips as it’s doing at the moment but one thing is certain: this party’s going to ease down his thirst one way or another. Tom only realizes that Y/N went away when the frame in front of him becomes Missy. She’s got a smirk on her face and two of her fingers travel across his collarbone, right next to where his white shirt ends. She feels the warmth of his chest increasing underneath the pad of her index and middle fingers, eyes traveling across his softened expression.

“Pick me up at 2 o’clock tomorrow?” She asks rhetorically, melting slightly when he takes her hand to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

By the hand, he drags her body closer so he can murmur next to her ear the same word he’s been saying repeatedly for these past months.

“No.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were going to ditch us for that party tomorrow, you bitch!”

Shawn rolls his eyes, smiling widely as he manages to carry his backpack, water bottle and guitar case towards his car. Brian, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like smiling back.

“Answer me!”

“Dude?!” Shawn stops, putting down his case to grab the keys inside his pocket. “It’s just a football match, we do this every fucking week.”

“Exactly! We do this every fucking week—“

“Man, Y/N’s gonna be there,” He smiles again, pressing the button to unlock the doors. “You know how much I’ve been waiting for this day to come over.”

“Wasn’t she in London?” The redhead asks, walking beside his best friend as he bends down to get the guitar case once again.

Things are heavy in Shawn’s hands and back, but the thought of finally seeing Y/N again after a semester of torture shots a wave of numbness through his nerves. The blue shirt feels hotter and the black jeans are surely tighter, but the way his heart floats around his chest makes him feel light like a feather.

He misses her.

Misses her smile, her eyes, the sound of her voice and her laugh when he first talked about his feelings for her. Shawn noticed that she didn’t believe him at all, but that impression didn’t last long in his mind — the way Y/N got close to his lips to mumble sweet nothings had sent him to cloud 9. Then his trip flew down to hell just as quickly when she pulled away to walk past the door, leaving Shawn’s pout kissing the air and the side of his bed empty. Next thing he knew, Y/N was on a plane ready to spend half of the year exploring the british airs of South West London. The song he wrote about her ended up staying inside of his second drawer, but the long-sleeved jersey of his favourite Hockey team went away with her — making Shawn’s hand itch to find home on that body, taking back what’s his and what he wants to be his.

“Exactly,” He imitates Brian’s words. “Was.”

Brian says nothing, feeling defeated. His brows only lift while his eyes close, knowing that he can’t fight Shawn when he’s like this. Obsessed.

“You should come too,” He invites, putting the tip of his bottle inside his mouth to hold it while he pushes the door open. “Heard–Djulia–iths–gonha–be–ther’.”

His guitar case flies to the backseat along with his backpack, Shawn stepping to the side so Brian can tuck his stuff into the car too.

“I have no fucking idea of what you just said,” Brian tosses his bag while pointing one finger to Shawn. “But I’m not leaving my mates behind because of some girl.”

This time, the one to lift eyebrows is Shawn. His gaze narrows Brian as he hangs the driver’s door open.

“First, you know she’s not some girl,” He corrects. “Second, Julia is gonna be there. It’s a pool party, dumbass.”

While Brian walks to the passenger’s door, it’s like magic. Julia is out there, walking–dancing outside the campus with her friends around her, singing whatever song that was. His blue eyes can’t drift away from her until she’s disappearing behind the cars parked.

“Pool party?” He asks distractedly. “See, that’s the part I hadn’t understood before. I mean, I love football but you know I never say no to a party.”

Message from +44 20…: Hi!! You left before I could even ask for your number…

Y/N gets out of the shower to immediately find her phone buzzing and ringing. The screen doesn’t show the entire text, but she doesn’t need to think that much to figure it out. Opening the app, she finds a second message popping up right after.

+44 20…: I got it from the party poster, I hope you don’t mind

Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, a stupid smiling drawing her face as the profile photo loads. There he is. Messy damp curls atop of a babyface, glasses in front of those chocolate eyes and bare chest. Whew. Typing, feeling like a teenager as her stomach gets butterflies, she can notice the way her breathing goes unpatterned.

You: hey, london boy. there’s no problem! i’m glad you did 😇

It’s fun to Y/N how the text got instantly seen, the ‘typing…’ showing up below the new saved contact’s name in seconds.

Tom (Empshire): 👀👀👀 Hahaha That’s good to know. I’m really looking forward to your party tomorrow

You: you’re gonna make it? that’s perfect 💓

Tom (Empshire): Of course I am! Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling

Unconsciously, Y/N’s legs clench together just to the imagination of his accent speaking these words loud and clear to her. Even with the dripping hair and body wrapped by just a towel, she jumps on her bed before she falls to the floor.

Tom (Empshire): Do I need to bring something?? Like beers and stuff

You: not really. unless u wanna drink something specific but as long as you’re here… just don’t forget your suit, darling 😛

If she only knew that Tom was exactly how she was picturing… Bare chest, wearing glasses, damp hair and thrown onto the sofa with a boyish grin. Tom honestly couldn’t think about smooth ways to flirt with her, he felt too intimidated — almost like Tom wasn’t Tom. Who would’ve guessed that Tom Holland could watch his moves to talk with a girl?

Tom (Empshire): I won’t haha

Then he couldn’t resist.

Tom (Empshire): Anyways, can’t wait to see you again… It was lovely to meet you earlier today. Good night, pretty one!

With burning cheeks and racing heart, Y/N twists in bed as she holds her phone for dear life. Coming back to the Empshire University fell flat at first, but with the taste of London still stuck in her life somehow, this looks as interesting as being in the United Kingdom itself — with a summertime way more catching than the winter. Her limbs couldn’t stop pulsing and the anticipation ran along her most sensitive spots mercilessly, making her thighs tighten even harder with a big smile tilting up the corners of her swollen lips from all the biting.

You: good night, t. can’t way to see you too. it’ll be awesome.

taglist of girlfriends: @lostinspidey – @goldenmndes – @shawnsunflower​ – @jawnjendes​ – @itrocksmysocks​ – @emilyxkate​ – @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ – @particularnervous​ – @grayxzabdixfer – @shawnssongs​ – @arypesanchez​ – @shawnmendes-s – @shawnsheaven​ – @mylifeisafxingmess​ – @perfectywrong​ – @whysparker​ – @blairscott​

tagging mutuals [if you wanna be untagged, please sorry in advance & let me know]: @mcuspidey​ – @devilmendes​ – @snowflakeparker​ – @strangertingle – @honeyrosemuffins​.

[macybeckham7]

Sugar Plum Fairy

Part five

There was currently a thunderstorm over London, a flash of lightening that filled the darken room was what woke YN up, and the sudden crash of lightening was what jolted her up in her bed. Everyone who knows her, knows just how much she is terrified of storms. She let out a small whimper another rumble of thunder appeared right above her block of flats, with the heating suddenly going silent.

She peered over her duvet that she flung over her head to ‘protect’ herself. And realised that the storm has just caused a power cut.

She aimlessly tried to find her phone and managing to drop a few things on the floor. She turned on her torch and looked around her bedroom trying to find something to do. The light fell on some fluffy throws and instantly remembered the time her and Harry made a fort.

‘Come on let’s make a fort’ Harry suggests. ‘Come on it’ll be fun’ he smiles, noticing the unimpressed look she was giving him.

The two of them start making the biggest and greatest fort that anyone would see, the two laughed and joked with eachother. They jumped into the large fort at the side of the bed and snuggled into eachother as they got the iPad and started to watch American Horror Story, to pass the time when the two of them were all over one another.

‘I don’t think I’ve met anyone this scared about the thunder’ Harry admits as he holds her trembling body.

‘I’ve had a traumatic experience’ she mutters against his neck.

He pulls away and looks down at her seeing her large eyes. He wanted to know what had happened but he didn’t want to push. Realising that he’ll have to be her support whenever there was a thunderstorm.

It was only now she realised how many ‘no power/ thunderstorm’ parties where they would make forts, tell ghost stories, bake cookies at 3am. Anything that would get your mind off the storm or to pass by the many hours of no power.

She looked down at her phone and contemplated texting him. She didn’t know what she would say but she felt like he’d make her feel safe. Her phone screen lights up and it was from her mother asking if she was alright. There goes my plan just running to my mum she thought.

She giggled to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair and tied it up, she grabbed the fluffy throws and walked to the lounge. She started lighting candles around to get the light and turning on any light that was battery related. As she was looking through drawers she stumbled across a polaroid.

It read in Harry’s writing ‘Thunderstorm party’ with the date and time. It was of the two of you pulling funny faces.

‘Stop being sucha wuss’ YN joked as she tried and failed to get the under eye strips under her boyfriends eyes.

He leaned away from her. ‘Oh yeah I’m the wuss’ he jokes gaining a playful punch on the arm from her. ‘Can’t we just have sex again’ he smirks.

‘I’m starting to think you like the forts more than me’ she jokes, as she moves away from him not allowing the kiss.

‘Best way to kill time, killing two birds with one stone. Getting your mind off the storm and getting you under me’ he winks as she fake gags.

She gently places the under eye mask on him as he lets out a small hiss. She gently kisses his nose making the two giggle.

The two decide to make some Yn best brownies, they both light so many candles that it was definitely a fire risk. Harry keeps trying to start a food fight as he gets flour on her, making her grimace but ignore his attempts, they was under she cracked an egg on his head. They both looked just as shocked at eachother before YN giggled, she tries to escape but he was too quick at wrapping his arms around her and starts attacking her side with her falling a heap on the floor, he sits and jumps on her which makes her cackle.

Harry had woken up as soon as he heard the first thunder crash, he found himself on the sofa with his girlfriend snuggled up beside him, they had both just fallen asleep during a movie marathon. The first thought that ran through his mind was YN. Wondering if she was alright, wondering if she was alone during the storm.

He reached out for his phone and scrolled down to her name on his contacts, his thumb hovered over her name.

....

There was a sudden knock on the door that made YN jump, as she sat on the living room floor as she went through fan letters while she scoffed her face with a tub of icecream. She hums as she licks her spoon before standing up and hopping towards the front door with her phone in her hand with the touch.

She opened the door slightly before blinding the person at the door.

‘Jheez’ he groaned as he shields his face.

She was shocked to see Harry on her doorstep, that would of been the last person she’d expect.

‘Can I come in?’ He asks.

She doesn’t answer and she doesn’t move out the way. ‘I’ve brought a chinese’ he smiles.

She slowly steps to the side and watches as he walks through the door and she follows quietly behind him.

‘What are you doing here?’ She was the first one to cut the silence.

He sits down on the sofa and placing the food bag on the coffee table.

‘I’ve promised you that I wouldn’t let you spend a thunderstorm alone, and I’ve stuck to my word’ he explains as he hands her the chow mein.

She hums. ‘You also said you wouldn’t break my heart and promised it was safe with you’ she sassed.

He nods. ‘I deserved that’

He throw her a fortune cookie which she catches easily, the two of them open the red package before they cracked the cookie in half. Harry watched her every move, he couldn’t help but feel like she was the most beautiful girl he had looked at. Everything about her was so perfect, her amazing sense of humour, a beautiful soul and drop dead gorgeous face to make her all rounded. He had finally realised how much no one else could compare.

His phone started to ring which made YN look up from reading her fortune, she looked at him as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He looked at the caller ID, to see it was his girlfriend, he grimaced as he realised that she must of woken up which means that he’ll have to explain why he weren’t in bed with her at midnight.

He denied the call as he clears his throat awkwardly.

‘Girlfriend?’ YN questioned, as she took a large forkful in her mouth. ‘Why are you here?’ She questioned.

He awkwardly shifts in his seat.

‘What does your fortune cookie say?’ He changes the subject.

‘A gambler not only will lose what he has, but also will lose what he doesn’t have’ she reads out, before handing it to him.

She watches as he reads it before his eyes find hers again.

‘I meant what I said you know, I’m still in love with you’ he says softly.

She starts playing with her food so she didn’t have to look at him.

‘You are just in love with the thought, you can just remember all of our good memories, you can just see me everywhere you look because I can with you, and it’s just easy to say we made a mistake but we both know it was best for the two of us’ he explained.

‘Do you believe that? Or are you just saying that?’ He questions.

Her face grimaced. ‘I’m saying you obviously thought it was the right thing to do, why go back? You moved on H, you can’t just turn up out the blue and mess two girls who you say you love about’ she explains. ‘It’s not fair’ she says getting emotional.

He puts his food on the side and gets closer to her. He gently takes her hand and rubs the back of her hand to comfort her.

‘I tried to move on, I did but I couldn’t.. I can’t live without you’ he says softly. ‘I thought I was being good to let you chase your dreams, and even though I am so proud of you for you achieving them, I just want you by my side’ he says confidently.

Her face softens, before she is stands up. ‘You broke me, you rang me and just ripped my heart out and just left to bleed out, if you cared nearly half as much as you said, you would of had the balls to do it properly’ she snapped as she paced.

She felt completely overwhelmed and stressed thanks to thunderstorm outside as well as her ex currently inside her apartment.

He got up and stopped. He took her hands gently and caressed her cheek.

‘I didn’t really think it through if I’m being honest, I just needed to get out’ he explained.

She let out a small dry laugh. ‘You needed to get out? You bailed because I didn’t give your cock enough attention!’ She took aim.

Harry let out a deep sigh. ‘Is that’s why you’re here? Your girlfriend isn’t giving it enough attention again? You want me to get on my knees?’ She questioned.

He tried to get ahold of her but she just slapped his hands away from her.

‘DON’T- Don’t fucking touch me!’ She snapped. ‘I don’t want this’ she mutters. ‘I don’t want to hate you and maybe time will let me heal’

They stood opposite each other as he gently caressed her cheek, he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth before she rests her head on his shoulder.

.....

YN was sat in one of the small rooms backstage, stretching for the show this evening. She noticed a crew member walk over to her with some of her favourite flowers, she knelt down and handed them to her.

‘I’m started to get offended, you are getting all the beautiful bouquet of flowers and I’m not having any’ your friend joked.

YN ignored her as she picked the white envelope and opened it to see the note, which made her heart rate rise.

Sugar Plum Fairy, I wish you nothing but love, I hope you will be able to heal

[primedirection]

Dead to me

In which Harry does the unthinkable

Warning: Angst

AN: Idk about you but I like the pain

These past three years have been an absolute rollercoaster. It had it's ups, it's loops, and right now it's downs.

It had been building up over a couple months. Harry could be the sweetest enchanting soul and he could be the coldest. Giving even the devil a run for his money. It was what you like to call 'On season'. The season where he was in the studio everyday, and when he wasn't in the studio he was out with mates 'finding inspiration' until the sun came up. The one where only some nights he'd have the gall to send you a 'Don't wait up!' text, instead of just leaving you to stay up and worry until he walked through the front door again. But during 'On season' even when he was home it wasn't much better. He'd either sleep the day away to recover from the nights he went out, or he'd spend them locked in his study going over the soon to be promo schedule bound to drag him away from you as well. Those days he hardly spoke a word to you.

Like everything else in this relationship, part of the blame fell on yourself. It's not like you didn't know what you signed up for. You knew how massive his role was in this world, how important and how hard he had to work to keep his career thriving. How much he meant to people around the world and what they meant to him. It's why during 'On season' you bit your tongue until it sometimes bled to dejectedly leave him be instead of starting a potential argument by asking him to spend some time with you. And perhaps that's where you went wrong because you let it build until it reached your limit.

Tonight started like the many. Harry starting his day in the studio and ending it in a club somewhat drunk. Unsuccessfully sneaking inside at four in the morning to lay down on the sofa to sleep it off, but you were there already up waiting on him. Not that he was even slightly surprised to see you there.

He merely sighed raking his fingers through his short disheveled hair before dropping his keys off and shrugging off his coat. Slurring, "Shit, could've sworn I text you,"

The lack of a genuine apology in his carefree reply had overstimulated the animosity building up inside you and spilling out of your mouth without a second thought. Scoffing, "That would require you to think of someone other than yourself for once. Obviously something you're not capable of,"

You didn't mean that, you swear you didn't but once you started it was impossible to stop. At the sound of your tone he momentarily paused before visibly wilting. With a new type of lag in his step as he approached. The closer he got the better you could see the cold bleary green of his heavily lidded eyes, and the dark circles under them to match.

"Please, please don' fuckin start. I'm tired, you're tired let's just go t' bed and start over tomorrow when-"

"No! Fuck that! All I've been doing is waiting! Waiting for you to take a break, waiting for you to come home, waiting for you to fucking acknowledge that I even exist!" You shout absolutely fed up.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and it immediately reminds you of the first time you had this argument. Back then the gesture used to calm him down. He looked up afterwards with remorse in his eyes, hurt that he hurt you and it ended in a sincere apology and the most intense love making you've ever had. But now when his hand dropped he looked nothing short of furious. Nostrils flared, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched, and brows pulled tight enough to create the famous crease his fan girls loved so much.

"Alright then, c'mon! Lay your shit on top of the even bigger pile I have on my plate! Hurry up and blame me for everything so I can get to fucking bed already," he seethes through bared teeth.

"Oh come off it, you're not the damn victim here, Harry. If you're really so got damned tired then maybe you should try sleeping at night instead of partying all the damn time!"

Harry flinches at first, that taken aback. He thought you understood more than anyone just what he'd been working so hard toward. So just as quick he becomes really angry, chest heaving and unable to refrain from storming toward you and shouting back, "I've been fucking working! You know good and well networking and being seen is apart of my job. I can't afford to be a damn hermit!"

"Every single night? Really?"

"You don't seem to have a problem with that when the bills come in. Not that you've ever seen one," He glares maliciously.

Now that actually hurt, like taking a punt in the gut hurt. You were left breathless all the same. Gasping, "Harry,"

And yet he still wasn't done. "No if you're gonna attack me for being 'selfish' then I get to defend myself when you're being ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful, are you kidding me? I've made sacrifices just to be here with you Harry! I'm the one that comes running to your every beck and fucking call. Whenever and wherever you're lonely, tour included! When your so called friends bail I'm the only one left to take care of you!" Adrenaline courses through you so intense your hands won't stop trembling.

"Wow, I didn't realize flying out for a fuck was such a big deal. You made those choices to come, I didn't force you! And s' not like you didn't get something in return for it anyway,"

Your heart nearly shattered at how vile he painted that experience. The lowest blow he could ever make. Those memories truly meant the most to you. "And it's not like I asked you buy me shit!" You fumed.

"So you're just gonna ignore this fancy fucking house we live in? As if it wasn't your idea, hmm? The nice cars you drive, the endless flights back and forth for your family because you can't be alone for one damn day, the five star hotels, the fucking trips that I take you on-"

"That's not the point, Harry!" You damn near shriek overwhelmed, tears pouring freely down your cheeks, "I don't care about any of that!"

"You don't care? You don't care and I've been working my ass off for it. Really?" In that moment something snapped inside of Harry, like a switch. His stress and rage merging into one and swelling like a balloon, desperately needing some kind of release.

"Harry you know I—"

"No, I know exactly what you meant! Fuck all this shit right? You don't care?" Harry suddenly goes on a rampage. Starting with the first shelf that you built together when you first moved in, lined with pictures of both of you from milestones over the years. With rabid force you've never seen him use he tosses it over face first. Shattering most if not all the frames on the tiled floor. The shelf itself splitting in half.

Leaving you screaming, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"You're what's wrong with me!" He shouts and then went another shelf. One that contained both of your favorite childhood photos.

"Harry stop!" You plead shielding your eyes as shards of debris fly all over the place.

"I've been working myself so hard! Practically to an early grave for this— for you?!" He began stalking towards the fireplace and your heart stopped. He wouldn't, would he?

As he shows no signs of letting up you panic and desperately beg, "Harry stop! Please don't —" but he doesn't care and you are too late to physically stop him.

The sounds of glass breaking as he swept his hands over the mantle was enough to startle you but there was a crash of one particular item that sent your heart shattering with it.

A container that hadn't even been a year old yet. Your feet carried you over to the mess without your brains comprehension or a single care that Harry's tirade moved on to a different shelf. Nor about the shards of glass that stung both your knees as they tore your skin open or Harry eventually demanding what the hell you were doing. All you registered was the slight cloud of dust resonating in the air and the actual pool of ashes spread about all over the floor.

Ashes that belonged to your father. Just everywhere.

Harry had heard you cry before plenty of times, not that he was proud of it. But there was something eerily disturbing and heart wrenching about the way you were trembling and sobbing uncontrollably now. As upset as he was it made him stop dead in his tracks. He instinctively assumed that you had been hurt given your collapsed positon. Immediately he felt guilty but that multiplied by ten fold once he rushed closer to your side to help.

At first he didn't understand how you could be covered in dirt so suddenly and then the realization set in that it wasn't dirt at all. He fucked up and he fucked up irrevocably.

Hardly even a year ago your father passed from cancer and you had been waiting to scatter his ashes on his birthday. Harry knew that. He just didn't know that you moved him there on the mantle he all too recently destroyed.

Pretty soon he found himself on his knees cursing and pleading. His hands shaking too now grabbing at broken shards of glass, "Shit! Shit baby, I didn't mean tha'! I didn't know he was there I swear it! Shit. M' so sorry. I'll fix it, I'll get you a new one I promise,"

Your father's death took the hardest toll on you that he's ever seen, and once again it was resurfacing. He broke you.

Your feedback is always appreciated!

Part 2

[not-my-givenchy]

Tragic Fate pt. 3 (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: Saying you and Tony Stark had a tumultuous relationship was the understatement of the century, but no one could discount the love you had shared and the good you provided to each other’s lives. 

A/N I started this story on my main blog many moons ago. So I’m moving it over to this side bloggy in hopes of finally finishing it. 

Word Count: 2,421

Warnings: Drinking…mentions of cheating

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The shrill sound of your watch pulled you from the task in front of you. The day was finally done, and you leapt from the barn with excitement. This was the first night of the summer that you had plans with someone other than your parents and the cows, and lady time had been cruel and slow leading up to your release. It was nothing special, dinner and some drinks with an old high school friend you had grown apart from, but now that you wouldn’t be returning to school in the fall you figured you should start reconnecting. So you pushed down your self pity by remembering all the fun you and Bailey had in high school. Even more exciting was the fact you wouldn’t have to talk about milk for a change.

The screen door shook behind you as you ran through the hallway. You weren’t fast enough to sneak by your mother who came charging out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon.

“Boots!” Old man Jennings down the road could probably hear her shriek.

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at the muddy path you left. Before running up the stairs, you kicked them towards the door and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Shouting your apologies as you ascended the creaking steps.

“I’ve raised enough pigs in my life, I don’t need another one!” She yelled at no one in particular. 

Your clothes laid in a damp sweaty heap by the door. The neighbors had been kind enough to offer you extra work for cash, but your sore limbs were not happy with the extra labor. Normally, a cold shower would help soothe the knots in your back, but after an afternoon of hauling hay and mending fences you would need something a bit stronger. Working every hour of the day was the only way you suppressed the sadness of dropping out. The only time you weren’t thinking of everything you were leaving behind was when your hands were raw and your knees threatened to give out from under you. 

Every decent article of clothing reminded you of Jennifer. When you finally pulled on a top, you could hear her voice clear as day asking if that was really what you wanted to wear. You were stuck there staring at your reflection for what seemed like hours, but the shrill ring of the phone downstairs snapped you back to reality

“Sweetie! You’ve got a phone call.” Your mothers voice carried into your room 

“Coming!” You shouted back practically throwing yourself down the stairs.

Your mom raised an eyebrow as she passed you the phone. Your voice came out in a rush, “Hello this is Y/N.” 

“Hello Miss. Y/L/N, this is Mrs. Labelle calling from the office of finances.” Her shrill voice hissed through the phone. 

“What is this concerning?” You groaned. 

“Well, I just wanted to inform you of a payment made to your account. Now I know you were in the process of withdrawing, but the remainder of your tuition for the year has been paid. We would hate to see you go right before graduation—,” you slammed the phone into the receiver. 

“That asshole!” Stomping out of the house, you ignored your mothers calls behind you. 

Behind you the phone was ringing madly, but as if on cue Bailey was pulling up the driveway. Urging her to drive, you practically threw yourself into the passenger seat. She took her time to look at you like a fool before rolling her eyes and obeying.

The pub had been crowded when you first arrived, families and couples scattered through the booths. However, Bailey’s cousins owned the tiny establishment, so you were seated in a favorable back corner booth. The t.v at the bar hummed in the background, as you and Bailey laughed at old memories. Your meals had long been replaced by drinks, and the families had retreated back to their homes. The bar was full of regulars, and every so often some high schoolers would stumble in for fries and act like they weren’t drunk off their parent’s liquor cabinet. It was a quiet night, and hours passed before you gained the courage to tell Bailey about your current dilemma.

Bailey tried to mask her laughter by taking a swig of her beer, but when you continued rambling in an attempt to validate yourself beer came shooting from her nose.  

“Now look, you’ve gone and made a fool of me and you!” Her giggles were replaced by tiny hiccups and her arm knocked over the empty bottles as she wiped up the spill with her shit.

“What are you talking about!” Everyone in the pub was now staring at the two of you, so you lowered your voice, “I’d look more like a fool if I took the money.” 

Bailey’s arms flailed in the air. “That bastard broke your heart, the least he can do is pay for your college. Hell, he’s probably got the money to buy this entire god damn state, your tuition is like pocket change to him!” Bailey huffed paying no mind to the attention her little scene was grabbing. “You’ve got the brains to get out of this god damn town, don’t waste them because your god damn ego.” 

“Whatever, you don’t get it. I don’t even like it there Bails.” You returned to your drink with a grumble. 

“Shut up.” Bailey’s eyes grew dark and her tone more serious. “You know what I’m going to be doing at the end of August?”

She dared you to speak, “the same god damn thing I do every year. I’ll be hauling hay and picking up shit! Literal shit! You don’t have to be hauling hay and picking up shit no more, so why the hell would you choose to.”

Hearing her voice break tore at your heart. When you were finally able to look her in the eyes you noticed they were glossed with tears. Your cheeks flushed red and your mouth opened and closed like a dumb fish. Everyone in the pub had gone quiet, and when your eyes frantically scanned the room they all avoided looking back

With a slam of her glass, Bailey shot to her feet. “Plus your mama would kill you if you didn’t go back. Anyway! Let’s get you home before 12 so she doesn’t have to kill you twice.” 

You chuckled at her retort. As soon as you stepped onto the street the humidity slapped you in the face. Bailey wrapped her arm around your waist and leaned her head on your shoulder. For the first time in ages you could breathe deeply. 

Only two cars had passed in the half hour you had been walking, and as the road turned to gravel you doubted you’d see any more. The two of you exited downtown, and your only reminder of life was the soft hum of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. With each step, your knees screamed, but your mind was finally calm. Throughout the walk you both commiserated over work and love; Bailey definitely had her share of relationship drama. Drunk, sore, and walking drunk down a dark deserted road complaining about life caused you both to go delirious. Soon enough, you were skipping hand and hand screaming songs from many summers past. For a brief moment, all of your stress and troubles washed away and you were just two friends in a happy world. 

However, moments like that never last long, and with a quiet hug you wished Bailey a good night. You waited to turn towards the road until you saw that she made it safely indoors. The two of you had shared many nights like this in the past, and it made you realize how different you were now then you had been over four years ago. When the gravel beneath your feet changed to dirt, you knew you were reaching home. The alcohol had long left your system, but you were still blissfully unaware of the real world surrounding you. Along the way you realized that you would be returning to school in the fall, but that made the walk even more bitter sweet. You wanted to hope that after graduation you’d have a secure job somewhere in a city, but the little devil in your mind reminded you nothing was certain.

The crickets went quiet at the sound of a car pulling behind you. Squinting in the light, you failed to recognize the car. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, it was too fancy to belong to anyone around here, but only people that lived on this road drove down it and at this hour no one who lived on this road dared to drive. Your mind begged your feet to move, but you stood glued in place gaping as the strange car stopped beside you. 

The window began to roll down, and your now sweaty hand gripped the flashlight tighter. Millions of worst case scenarios ran through your head, and you heard you mothers voice in the back of your head telling you to never walk alone at night. However, the reality was worse than you could have imagined.

“What the fuck!” You whisper yelled at the driver. 

The bags under Tony’s eyes were on full display under your bright flashlight. His hand reached up to shield them, “What the hell are you doing out at this hour?” 

Flicking off your flashlight, you let out a breathe you didn’t realize you had been holding in. “I could ask you the same thing!”

His eyebrows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth searching for a response. 

“Heck, what the hell are you doing on my street?” Your voice was unnecessarily loud.

He sighed, “just get in the car, I can explain.”

You practically chortled, “explain! Has that every worked for you?” 

“Y/N. Get in the car.” 

You rolled your eyes before walking towards the passenger door. It slammed harder than you had intended, and Tony jumped at the sound. The leather seat was cool against your exposed legs, and the AC that hit your face was a welcome release from the humidity.

“You’re on the wrong side of the road.” You grumbled looking ahead. 

“No lines, no rules.” He retorted. 

You rolled your head towards him, “God. Are you sure you’re not a country boy at heart?” 

Tony laughed and looked over at you. “At least I don’t smell like one.”

You had barely started driving when nausea ripped through your stomach. It felt like some cruel joke. “Tony pull over.” Your voice cracked.

“If this is because I called you smelly—”

“I swear to god I’ll jump out.” You pleaded gripping the door handle. If it weren’t for the booze in your system Tony probably would have called your bluff, but he knew better.

Letting out a long sigh he put the car in park. He stared at your hand waiting for you to leave, but you were frozen in your seat. You too were looking at your hand trying to will it to work. Pinching your eyes shut you willed yourself to wake up. To leave whatever sick dream you were trapped in. However, when you opened your eyes your hand was still there clutching the handle. Your chest was rising and falling faster than you could think, and soon enough Tony’s hand was covering your own. Your eyes were glued to his as he enveloped your hand.

“Y/N.” Your name was but a whisper on his tongue, and in the moment you would’ve sworn your heartbeat was louder than him.

All you could look at were your fraying jeans. His thumb still rubbing yours and his eyes begging searching for your gaze. 

“Tony.” As soon as you said his name your resolve cracked. Hot tears poured down your cheeks, but you didn’t feel like crying. Desperately praying they would stop, you pulled your hand from his to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry.” He tried to pull your hand into his again, but you folded it onto your lap. 

“Stop.” Your voice cracked, this time his hand cupped your cheek. Closing your eyes, you leaned into it and allowed his thumb to wipe away the remnants of your tears. When you opened your eyes you saw his tired ones staring back. 

“Why are you here?” There was no fight left in your voice, you had given up a long time ago. 

“Well—I wanted to make sure you knew you could graduate.” He but his cheek nervously waiting to gauge your reaction. 

You were expressionless. “Yea, but why are you here.” You emphasized. 

“I—I don’t know.” He stammered now unable to meet your eyes. 

You pulled your face from his hand and leaned against the headrest. “Well it’s almost midnight and we’re on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, so I don’t know isn’t really an answer.” 

Tony didn’t answer. Ashamed, he turned towards the road again.

“I’ve given you so much.” Your voice cracked. “And you—you shit on all of it.”

Your vision blurred as the tears began to fall again. It was the kind of cry you feel in your soul. When emotionally you have no more to give, but you can’t stop yourself from giving even more. Tony couldn’t bring himself to look at you, even after every fight he had never seen you like this. For so long you had lied to yourself and suppressed how all of the cheating and lying had made you feel. When he ignored you for weeks you had shrugged it off. Sitting there sobbing in his car long after the damage was done and the relationship had ended, you realized that you had only let yourself feel his love. For so long you had ignored the hurt, and it came crashing down on you like a tsunami wave. And through the tears, you managed to lift your head and observe him. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his chest rose and fell. Your hand threatened to reach out and stroke his hair. It had grown longer and more disheveled than you remembered. Feeling your eyes on him, he quickly rubbed his eyes trying to hide the tears in their corners. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” His voice cracked, but his eyes didn’t leave your own. 

All you could do was nod, there was nothing left to be said. 

Next Part

[stopforamoment]

Part One: Under Pressure (Series 22, Part 1 of 4)

Series Twenty-Two: We Are the Champions (Four Parts) Part One: Under Pressure (Series 22, Part 1 of 4) My masterlist is at the end of my bio.

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three) Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OC Rinda Parks Word Count: 1,404   Rating: M for Language

Series Summary: I promise the Queen titles and lyrics will make sense in the next series! I wasn’t sure how to label this arc going from Bastien seeing Rinda interacting with his sister to Bastien telling Rinda his story, but since Bastien and Rinda like Queen I thought this might work. Bastien has compartmentalized so many painful childhood memories, and after seeing how much Rinda did to help Brigitte he’s realizing what it means to have someone he can truly trust and open up to--with everything. I've paid my dues Time after time I've done my sentence But committed no crime And bad mistakes I've made a few I've had my share of sand kicked in my face But I've come through --“We Are the Champions” by Queen

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh. Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3 and @bobasheebaby for always being my sounding board! Thank you @cora-nova @silviasutton1989  ​ @riseandshinelittleblossom @innerpostmentality​ for being my thirsty Bastien friends and for still being a part of the journey!

Chapter Summary: Bastien is still processing everything that happened with his sister that evening, and when he blows up Rinda tries to explain Brigitte’s perspective by sharing stories of her and Jameson. Italicized lyrics are from the Queen song “Under Pressure,” but they also tie in with the bigger picture of what Bastien needs to tell Rinda.

Part One: Under Pressure

Pressure pushing down on me Pressing down on you, no man ask for Under pressure that burns a building down Splits a family in two Puts people on streets

Rinda could tell Bastien was worried about his sister. “Tiger? Just so you know, Brigitte is going to call me sometimes when she needs to talk. But I promise that if it’s something serious I will let you know. I already told her I would do that, and she’s okay with it.” Bastien clenched his jaw, still looking out the window, not saying anything for several minutes. Then suddenly he exploded, causing Rinda to flinch. He never raised his voice in front of her before. Not like that. “She never fucking talks to me. I know something is wrong. Her husband works so many hours and she’s so far away. And I can’t be there for her either, but if she would just tell me what she needs, I would try.”

Rinda was silent, letting him process.

“Rinda, is my sister even doing okay?” “Yes, overall she is.” Rinda steered the topic in another direction, telling stories to explain something. “Bastien, I’m going to focus on things that Jameson and I had to do to make things work with his career and our marriage, okay?” She quickly looked over, trying to gauge his reaction. He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “One of the things that frustrated me with Jameson was that I always wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t let me. He didn’t want to worry me with things about the job. He thought he was protecting me, but it was just upsetting me. So he had this stress from work building up. Then stress because I was getting mad at him. It took us awhile to figure it out, but we did. And even when we did, there were still rough patches where it was something really bad, so bad that he couldn’t even process it. Then we had to figure it out all over again—how to give each other space while still communicating.

“Then for him, Jameson would get frustrated with me when I didn’t tell him things, but it was because I wanted to protect him. He couldn’t help it if his job kept him busy with long, crazy hours. And I didn’t want to burden him when it was hard for me, because that would have just made it worse for him. I mean, if something happened and he couldn’t be there for me.” Rinda was quiet for a moment, trying to think of an example to help her story. “One time I needed the neighbor to help with a plumbing emergency. It was a weekend, and of course getting a plumber who was on call would have been insanely expensive. And it was something Jameson could have fixed if he was home. But there was water everywhere and it couldn’t wait, and I couldn’t figure it out on my own. So the neighbor fixed it for me, I got everything cleaned up, and Jameson didn’t even know. I didn’t want him to know, because I knew he would just feel guilty. He’d feel horrible that he let me down because he wasn’t there to fix it. “But Jameson finally did find out months later, when the neighbor mentioned it in a conversation. Jameson talked to me about it later. He said I should have told him because he felt blindsided hearing this story from the neighbor so after the fact. Plus he would have at least bought the guy a case of beer. But I had already bought the beer and gave it to him. One more thing I handled on my own.” Rinda paused before continuing. “It was bad, Bastien. We learned a lot about communication from that one. And how to balance him needing to protect me, with me needing to show him that I was strong enough to handle things without him so he wouldn’t worry so much.” Bastien nodded thoughtfully. Rinda always tried to be open about discussing these things with him, and it made sense. She learned from the mistakes that she and Jameson made, and now she was trying to figure out what would work best for both of them. But it was also the root of the problem with him and Brigitte—they were going through the same thing with their relationship as siblings. He was the older brother who should still protect her. But she knew how busy he was, and after his two injuries she had been even more withdrawn, unwilling to bother him.

Now Rinda really had to tread carefully. “Bastien, there’s another part of it too. And I’m still focusing on Jameson, but I feel this way about you too. We love who we love, and we make a commitment knowing the risks of the job, knowing the hours. We love that person so much that it’s worth it. Every moment we can get, it’s worth it just to have that person in our life. I still feel that way about Jameson. It almost broke me when he died, but what we had was so worth it. And now, I’ve found that again with you. But . . .” Rinda took a very deep breath before continuing.

“But there were so many family events that Jameson had to miss. Big milestones with Henry. Or something as basic as going to a Sunday afternoon picnic. And I was used to it, and I’d take pictures, explain everything that happened. We’d celebrate our own holidays on a different day. Stuff like that. “But it still fucking sucked, Bastien. Knowing Jameson was missing something. Me missing him. Feeling guilty because I was having fun while he was working. Just wishing we could have a normal family afternoon on a weekend for once. Especially during the school year. We rarely had a full day off, all of us, to be together as a family. But that’s something I would never, ever tell him. And sometimes when it was just too much--that’s when I would talk to a trusted friend who was also a cop’s wife. She was someone who knew what it was like. She knew that I loved Jameson and I was absolutely in it for the long haul. But I just needed to have a quick pity party and then I’d be fine again. And that friend knew she was just there to listen. There was nothing to fix. Nothing for her to meddle in. Nothing to tell Jameson or any other family members.” Rinda stopped talking, her sudden silence saying it all. She would sometimes feel that way with him, too. But she wouldn’t burden him with that. And these are some of the things his sister would never confide to him, but that wasn’t any of his business. Nothing he should try to fix. But Rinda knew Bastien was a fixer, that he needed to do something, so she started talking again. “I was thinking, Bastien. Back home the partners form their own communities. Law enforcement, military, whatever. Especially the spouses and partners, but really, everyone is welcome. Even if they normally wouldn’t be friends because of their personalities, they’re friends because of that bond, and they would do anything to help each other. But it’s really hard to connect with people when you’re shy, and then you feel even more alone, and that’s this big downward spiral.” Bastien turned to Rinda. Yes. That’s part of the problem for Brigitte.

“I don’t know if there’s something like that for the partners of the Royal Guard, especially in this area. Maybe that’s something you could find out. And really, we would do anything for each other. I mean that. A wife could email the new person to say hi. Arrange a low-key get together, sometimes just adults, sometimes kids too. Or maybe just one or two new people, so it isn’t overwhelming. Whatever works best. They could drive to the new person’s house to actually pick them up to go to the event because meeting someone ahead of time, so you know at least one person there, is so reassuring. And not having to drive to a strange place by yourself for the first time. Not feeling awkward walking into the room by yourself, feeling stared at, not knowing what corner you can safely hide in. That feeling sucks, and I’ve already bailed on events and just stayed home because I didn’t want to deal with it. “Those are helpful things you can do, Bastien.���