#x was difficult just cos of the nature of the letter

[rcarx]

Tagged by @gleerant to spell my acc name with songs:

runaway by sasha sloan

christmas morning by luz

another love by tom odell (or affection by fiji blue i couldn't decide)

rainbow by dodie

x's and oh's by elle king yes i cheated

Tagging:

@offthebandwagon @myhumbleme @ahappilyexhaustedperson @wearysighs @orphanblaque @princington @julianavalds

if you want! or anyone who wants to do it!

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: One ✦

John "Bucky" Egan x OC Gale "Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mentions of sex, depression, rage anger.

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

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Black had become a staple in my wardrobe.

I used to despise the dark color – opting for more cheerful tones or floral patterns. I didn’t want to walk around looking like a depressive cloud – someone in constant mourning. I didn’t even own a black dress until I got the news – my mother making the journey to the store to buy one. I couldn’t bear to leave the house – not wanting the sympathetic glances of those in town that had learned the news. I can’t even begin to tell you how many letters I had received, those that knew Gale and even from those that didn’t. Each letter praised his heroic actions – thanking him in black ink for his level of service and dedication to the United States. Even received one from President Truman and the men of Washington D.C.

I used to look at women who had received the devastating news with such sorrow and sadness. Wonder how they would survive without their men - their source of comfort and love. I was certain that it would be very difficult to do so – have to learn to fend for yourself and go on without the man you loved. I didn’t realize that I would be in the same boat years later. I was a simple housewife – barely of age when we married. Gale and I were just two kids – two kids that were madly and deeply in love with each other. I had grown up more privileged than Gale or those that we knew. I didn’t know how to clean a house properly or cook a hearty meal that would fill the bellies of my husband and future children. I’ve always had someone do those things for me – my mother more focused on raising a proper lady. If you needed to know which fork went where, I was the girl to ask, but I couldn’t tell you anything domestic. I wanted to be able to learn all those things while he was away – making sure that when he returned home for good, I would be able to care for him like a wife should.

I had met Gale at a dance the local hall was putting on – a sendoff to some of the troops that lived in the area. He had just enlisted– saying that he was a week away from going to boot camp. He was cool as a cucumber – no evidence of fear etched on his beautiful face. He spoke of wanting to fight the good fight – getting up in the air and showing Germany the trouble they were in for. He was a born fighter – a genius when it came to life. We spent most of the night as close as two people could be while sitting upright- both speaking of our life and our dreams. Not to sound cliché but I was smitten as soon as I saw him. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled – his wool trousers fitting his frame nicely. His smile could light up a room – that deep voice causing my insides to quiver with a need that only he could give me.

I longed for him during those weeks he was away – smiling as I read his letters that would come bi-weekly. I could hear his voice as I read the words on paper – the excitement of finally flying and the annoyance he felt towards his roommate. The one true constant that popped up on each letter was the mention of his co-captain. His name was John Egan – Bucky – the nickname he had been given. Gale spoke highly of the man – praising him and saying that he couldn’t wait for us to meet. Gale was soft spoken – a bit reserved – he wasn’t into sports or gambling. He liked to sit outside the house and just listen to the sounds of nature. John Egan was the opposite that Gale needed in his life. He helped Gale open up and Gale helped John stay out of trouble...

Gale finally returned to me after weeks away – our reunion being one spent giving ourselves to one another. We were both virgins but the time away from one another ignited a feeling in both of us that we couldn’t suppress. He asked me to marry him a month after his return – wanting to get married sooner rather than later seeing as the war was ramping up. John Egan stood by Gale’s side as we exchanged vowels – his blue eyes shining bright as he watched us become husband and wife. He was the life of the party at our reception – singing along with the band as those around us danced to the music. I could see why Gale adored him so, but I was still weary.

That feeling came to a head when John convinced Gale that it was time for him to head over to England and join the ranks. He wrote to him about the fun he was having and all the missions they were accomplishing. He made it sound like a thrill ride – something that didn’t involve the chance of dying at any moment. Gale and I spent our last night together – wrapped up in each other – exploring and branding kisses into skin – almost as if we were creating a permanent road map to remember one another. It was the most sensual night we’ve had – that we would ever have.

The movie reel played on repeat in my head as I could still feel his lips on mine as he kissed me goodbye. Tears in both of our eyes as the sound of the car’s engine faded into the distance.

“I’m coming back to you – hell or high water – I will be back.”

He kept waving until his car was out of sight – my knees buckling – my body falling into grass below. A part of my heart left that Spring Day…  

I received his first official letter a couple weeks later – screaming out in joy as I read his chicken scratch penmanship. He spoke of the area they were located – how it felt flying in – the fresh air that surrounded the base. He gushed about the new friends he had made –describing them as if he had known them for years. The most important was how much he missed and loved me – repeating the same words as above – hell or high water.

No letter from Gale would be complete without a mention of John Egan. Gale wrote of how John had taken him under his wing, but also being John’s protector. He wrote of how he’s stopped him from getting into several scuffles with the British soldiers or the townspeople. His writings detailing how much they truly cared for one another – they were like brothers.

As time progressed, his writings became darker – tragic even. He detailed his first mission in graphic detail – expressing his feelings and the slight betrayal that he felt towards Egan. He watched men he had befriended either die in the air in a fiery explosion or pass as they laid on the stretcher in the makeshift hospital on the base. He never wrote of his fear that I’m sure he had – choosing to stay strong and do everything he could for his squadron. He was the main pilot – he had the lives of nine other men to think about – he wanted them to be able to return home safely even if that meant he was the sacrificial lamb...

The last letter that would arrive on time came through the mail on October 10th, 1943. It was shorter than normal, Gale explaining that he was moments away from an important mission. He must’ve written “I love you” about a dozen times before signing off – xo following his name. I had learned about a week later that his plane had went down somewhere outside of Germany. The news articles praised their efforts – telling of how they put a damper into the German’s artillery. That was all well and good, but my husband was missing – the base having no record of his whereabouts or if he was still alive.

Months passed before a battered letter was placed inside the mail slot. The enveloped looked as if it had gone through hell, but Gale’s handwriting could be seen through the grime. He had been placed in a camp for captured soldiers. Many of the men that he had met at the base were there as well. He hadn’t been injured – keeping quiet and under the radar of the German soldiers. I fell to the floor after reading that letter – my heart shattering at the thoughts of what might happen. Tears fell on the paper as I replied – simply begging him to come back to me…

“Sweetheart?” I looked up from the mattress as my mother entered the room. “It’s nearing one in the afternoon, darling.” She threw open the curtains – the bright sunlight beaming into the once darkened room. “You need to get yourself together and get dressed.”

My mother had never seen me in such a state – not even recognizing the person I had become. Long gone was the smile and laughter – replaced by tears and screams of anger. I was angry at everyone – my parents, my friends, God.

Oh, I was especially mad at God.

Countless times I would ask why Gale – why was it his turn to be taken? Was he needed for greater things? Why wasn’t I granted more time with him? Just why?

Growing up in the church, it was frowned upon to ask why for anything, more so for why God chose those that he did.  You never asked why – you just learned to accept the outcome. I was long past that – I wanted an answer – I demanded a Goddamn answer.

Sighing, I slowly moved to a sitting position as she laid the black dress and heels next to me. My eyes boring holes into the clothing – hoping that with another energy they would magically combust into flames, burning me alive with them. “I’ll do your hair when you get out of the bath.”

Our eyes connected, “I’m not taking a bath.”

Mother let out an exhausted sigh as her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. I watched as she walked to the window, her upper body jerking slightly as she wiped away the tears that started to fall. She never liked anyone to see her cry.

I started to speak, stopping before the first syllable could come out. I wanted to tell her not to cry but I didn’t have that right. She loved Gale too – she had been smitten by him from the get-go. We all held out hope that he would return to us – just not in a flag draped pine box.

A soft knock on the bedroom door caught both of our attention as my dad entered the room. His once bright face was downcast as he took in my appearance. “The car will be here soon, darling.” His voice soft as he exchanged glances with my mother.

The reality that I was an hour away from burying my only love hadn’t set in yet – just fog – fog that felt like it would never lift to clear skies. I fisted the black material, stepping over the kitten heels as I trudged towards the bathroom. The figure in the mirror was a stranger – someone who’s been through more things than a human is supposed to. Dark circles and pale skin stared back at me – my hair in a tangled mess – not even a comb could get through at this point. Gaunt would be the best word to describe this version of Carolina. I hadn’t bathed in several days – to numb to even remove myself from the bed at times. I barely made it to the bathroom to relieve myself, almost just wanting to go on myself so I wouldn’t have to get up.

Looking around, I noticed everything laid out by my mother. Toothbrush, toothpaste, the expensive makeup that I had collected over the years sitting on the vanity. I was supposed to look put together – still grieving – but have the attributes of a Hollywood starlet.

A guttural scream roared through my body as the vanity contents crashed to the floor – the glass bottles of perfume shattering as the liquid splashed in the air. I could feel the glass stabbing into my bare feet, the blood mixing with the perfume on the floor. I didn’t even register that my father had burst into the room until his arm wrapped around my waist, my back hitting his tailored chest. I thrashed against his hold like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

“Carolina, please!” My mother bawled as she took in my state. “Please, darling calm down before you hurt yourself!”

Another voice was added to the chaos – a deeper voice than that of my father. He was dressed in a black suit – his tall figure looming over my parents. His hands replaced my father’s – his grip on my waist tight and firm. “Calm down, Lina.” His hot breath hitting my ear as the world started to spin around me. My body was running on fumes – the last of those turning into smoke as my brain finally had enough, shutting down before any more damage could be done.

[eyesxxyou]

Monster

Miguel O'Hara x FEM!reader

rating: mature

word count: 2.9k

warnings: biting, aggressive sex, creampie (wrap it up y'all), porn w/ a little plot, size kink, mentions of bodily fluids (saliva and blood)

synopsis: you and Miguel work on a serum to help him escape from the clutches of Alchemax but your efforts take a turn

or

Miguel finally lets you know how he really feels about you

Note: this is based off of what I've read about Miguel's origin story but it's only a vague version and not entirely comic accurate so don't try to pick apart the details. This is for the horny ones out there.

“Miggy…are you sure this is gonna work?” You stand in the middle of your and Miguel’s shared Alchemax lab, watching your co-worker pace about his workspace with stress written in big, bold letters across his face. You’ve seen him like this before. Many, many times across your many years of working together. Sometimes, you were there to calm him down, other times you had to stop him from destroying his life’s work.

“No,” his voice is gruff and strained behind his frustration. He’s frantic and you’re not sure if it’s from withdrawal or the risk of what the two of you are about to do. “But I can’t be a slave to them.” Miguel looks at you, his eyes that were always brooding and stressed were now softer, a tad more desperate. “You know I can’t.”

You had your reservations in helping him make this serum. It was all so hasty and rushed, made on such short notice after Miguel chose to quit. Alchemax was doing human testing on an inmate, leading to their painful death, and he simply wouldn’t stand for it. So Alchemax drugged him, got him hooked on this drug only known as Rapture. And the only way for him to get it was to stay working at Alchemax. He was one of their best researchers after all.

He came to you for help. You were his closest friend, his greatest confidant. You two have spent years together, always bordering on something more than just research partners but never fully crossing that line into unknown territory. The two of you worked together to create a serum that would jumpstart his body in a way, reset it to its natural state. A secret kept just between the two of you, shared between stolen glances across the room.

You come to him and force him to sit down which is a difficult task on its own. Miguel was something otherworldly. Well over 6’5” tall, he towered over everyone in any given room, including you. Broad shoulders, small waist, and frankly, an amazing ass, you can’t help but find yourself admiring him from afar every once in a while. “What if you die? We don’t even really know what this will do to you.” It was slapped together using some of Miguel’s blood, spider venom known to neutralize a key element in the Rapture’s chemical makeup, and some other haphazard ingredients. The most testing the two of you ever did was injecting it into some rats. All 5 of them had fallen into a deep coma, almost resembling death before awaking with red eyes and ferally tearing away at their cages.

They all killed each other.

Miguel didn’t answer you. His jaw clamped together, teeth grinding. “What other option do I have?” The answer was clear. The both of you were silent for a moment, both staring at the syringe full of the serum.

“Let’s get on with it then.” Miguel began to roll up the sleeve to his button down shirt until the soft flesh of his inner elbow was exposed to you. He watched as you pulled on your gloves and grab a wipe to sanitize the injection sight. Your hands were trembling with terrible anxiety for how horribly this could all go.

You look up at Miguel one last time, hoping that he might change his mind about all of this, but he only nodded for you to continue, clenching his fist so his veins would pop to make things easier on you. God, why did he always have to be so determined like this? Even at the cost of his own life? Maybe even the cost of your life. But he gave you the choice. “I can do this by myself,” he told you. “You reason for you to be involved in this at all.” He was asking you to jeopardize everything just for him and you said yes regardless of the risk you were about to take.

You proceed, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you place the needle against a vein. You steady your hands before you inject the needle and push the plunger down until it could go no further. You’re quick to remove the needle and move away from him, just as a safety precaution. “Ar– Are you okay? Do you feel any different?” He doesn’t look any different, still as large and intimidating as ever. Miguel doesn’t respond to you.

“Miggy?” You ask slowly, timidly, with worry laced in your voice as he slowly stands from his chair. He’s bracing himself against the desk, fingers gripping the edge as he takes a unstable step forward. “Y/N.” He let past trembling lips before suddenly collapsing to the floor in a harsh, dull ‘thud’.

“Miguel!” All your reservations wash away as you run to him and drop to your knees beside his body. Your hand is against the thick column of his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was so faint, you almost missed it, but it was there. “Miguel, Miggy. Wake up, come on. I need you to get up now.” You began to gently pat his cheeks but that was doing nothing. He was out cold and working up a sweat against his hairline. You ran your fingers through his hair more to calm yourself than anything.

How is it that you’re in the most technologically advanced building in Nueva York and still feel so powerless to do anything to help him? The most you can even think to do is to grab a cold rag to place on his forehead to bay his growing fever. He’s alive. That’s all that matters right now. You just have to keep him that way. You can deal with whether he was going to attack you once he woke up later.

You kept checking his pulse, pressing your ear to his chest to ensure his heart was still beating, hovering your hand over his nose to ensure he was breathing. Everything seemed to be okay. You could give yourself some peace of mind after half and hour of making sure he would be okay. What would you have done if he had died, right then and there? Known that you contributed to his death? The toll that would have taken on you. You didn’t even want to think about it.

You stood up with the most exhausted sigh you’ve ever let out in your entire life. Who knew one person could cause you so much stress? It was usually you playing jump rope with Miguel’s nerves, not the other way around. You should be more lenient on him from now on if your piss poor jokes made him feel anything like this.

You sat at your desk, drawing rough circles against your temples to soothe your stress. You wondered how long this would last. It was the dead of night. Neither of you were supposed to be here. The building was mostly empty besides a few janitors. Push comes to shove, you don’t want to have to drag his limp body out of the building and into your car.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, or how you even could at a time like this. You only realized you had fallen asleep when you were awoken by a loud crash. It startled you awake and you leaped up from your chair. Your eyes immediately strayed to where Miguel had been only to find that he was gone and the cloth you had placed on his head was lying on the floor. Immediately, you searched for him and looking for someone so big shouldn’t have been a problem, but he was gone.

“Miguel? Where are you?” You called for him. It seemed illogical to look up, but you did. Something in the far recesses of your mind told you that you were being watched. You looked into the dark corners of the room where the light didn’t reach and in one of the corners, you saw two red, glowing dots, eyes unmistakably.

You began to back up until your back hit the wall. “M-Miggy?” Your heart was in your throat and as you watched the shadow in the corner dropped down from the ceiling to the floor, you thought you might just cough it up. Somehow he seemed even bigger, his usually slicked back hair falling in his face and covering the wilderness in his eyes.

Miguel seemed to move at lightning speed. He was across the room and then he wasn’t. He had you by the throat, claws pressing into the soft flesh of your throat but not yet breaking skin. His breath dusted your skin, your trembling lips and glazed-over eyes. “Please, please, please. Miguel, it’s me. You know me.” Begging for your life was not something you’d ever expect to do staring at Miguel O’Hara. Sure, he can come off a bit rough around the edges, but you’ve never felt unsafe around him.

There was something feral in his eyes, animalistic almost. His lips, the lips you always wanted to trace with the tips of your fingers and kiss softly in the middle of the night, curled, revealing giant, sharp fangs where his otherwise nonexistent canines would have been. Miguel leaned in close to you, the tip of his hooked nose tracing your jawline. Your breath caught in your throat and your body completely stilled.

“Mía.” He whispered, voice deep, almost growling. “Mi amor. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.” There’s something dark in his voice, something attempting to claw its way out of him. “You always come into work with that tight pencil skirt on and those heels you know I like so much. You know what you’re doing, Y/N.” That serum had brought out something carnal in him, desperate with desire.

His tongue was against your throat, his fangs just barely pressing against your pulse. You swallow. “Miguel…what’s happening to you?” His body is pressed against yours, warm and solid, pinning you against the wall. Your toes barely even touch the floor.

His nose was against yours then as his eyes burned holes into yours. Those were not the eyes of the Miguel you knew, scarlet red, blood red. But you know he’s in there somewhere, you just have to coax him out.

You bring your hand up slowly, unsure of what he may do if you move too fast. He let you place your hand upon his cheek and stroke the curve of his jaw. “Miggy.” You curl some of his hair around your finger. His lip twitches softly so you whisper again. “Miguel.” You don’t expect him to kiss you. It’s aggressive and seeps at the seams with lust. You don’t fight him, don’t even try because you know deep down you don’t want to.

You melt into him, let his tongue prod at the seam of your lips and you open for him while your fingers run through his silky brown hair. His hands are on your thighs, shoving your skirt up your legs so he can hoist you up. Your legs wrap themselves around his narrow waist, the heels of your pumps digging into his firm ass.

“Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.” His name is a prayer on your lips as he places sloppy kisses down the the length of your neck, his fangs always threatening to sink into your supple flesh. You weren’t against the idea, the exhilaration of it all, of this beast you’ve created. You pull him closer if that’s even possible, exposing yourself to him and his wild whims. It seemed he liked it as a satisfied grumble left him.

“Mi corazón.” You could feel him, his growing erection pressing against where your warmth concentrated itself. He was rutting himself against you, like he’d somehow make his way past all the fabric that prevented the two of you from becoming one in the middle of the mess you’ve made. Miguel hated it, you could tell and he made it very apparent.

He began by tearing open your blouse, forcing a gasp to break from your panting lips as buttons broke away from their assigned positions and clattered across the floor. The speed with which he shredded your clothing with those large, monstrous claws of his. Your bra, your skirt, your panties. They hang off of you, ruined entirely.

Miguel let you down. “Turn around.” You weren’t about to disobey him now so you turned, back facing his towering frame. He had a hand on your back, pressing, forcing you to arch for him. You were all exposed, hands pressed flat against the wall, your breathing stalling as it was. It was almost embarrassing how wet you were, how ready you were to accept him even now. You shuddered when he dragged his fingers between your soaked lips, from your puffy clit all the way to your gushing entrance, desperate to be filled. “Miguel, please–”

“Shhh, mi amor.” He grabbed a fistful of your hair and whispered in your ear. “I gotta make sure you’re wet enough, sí?” There was no doubts that you were. You know, full and well that he could hurt you. You didn’t know what was going on, what was happening to him, but you knew that if he wasn’t intimidating before, he certainly was now. The anticipation of it didn’t help, the idea of not knowing what he was going to do next, the idea that anyone could walk through that door at any second.

You could hear the jangle of his belt buckle as he undid it, the zipper of his slacks that hugged his thighs in all the right ways. You began to turn around to look, but his hand pressed your cheek against the wall, his hand so big that it nearly covered your entire fack. “I didn’t tell you to turn, did I? Stay right where you are, mi amor.”

Miguel placed his foot between yours and forced you to spread your legs further. You shuddered at the feeling of the cold air against your exposed pussy, the way he held you in place and slowly dragged the tip of his leaky cock against your clit. He was rough and you liked it, cruel and you liked it even more.

He was not gentle with you. He didn’t prep you. He had you just the way he wanted you. You whimpered again as he began to press the tip of his length against you entrance, guiding inch after inch into you constricting walls. His intrusion was more than welcomed, the way he thrust himself into you like he’s been waiting for this all his life, for you all his life.

He was so big, so torturously big. He stretched you out, forced you to take all of him until your legs were trembling. It’s alright, he supported all your weight with ease, wrapping a strong arm around your middle to hold you up. “You’re taking me so well, mi vida. Just like that. I knew you’d let me have my way with you.” 

“I…ah~” Your’re choking on your own words, unable to conjure up any sort of coherency in that foggy brain or yours. There’s something feral about the way he goes about it, like this spawned from something far deeper than just lust. He fucked you like it was a necessity, like he’d simply die if he didn’t.

He bit you, let his fangs sink into you until they punctured skin. You cried out and suddenly it felt so impossible to even speak. Miguel was brutalizing you, showing little mercy in his tender licks to the wounds he made. Bite after bite, lick after lick, until your neck is covered in bruises and puncture wounds, framed by the marks of his flattened teeth.

Your strangled moans echoed off the four walls that seem to make up your entire world at the moment. You could feel him deep within you, touching parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there to be felt. Your feet where no longer touching the floor, heels hanging from your toes before clattering to the floor beside his feet.

Miguel groaned into your neck. “So good, so good, mi amor. Keep taking it.” His fingers were in your mouth, claws weighing against your tongue until you were drooling. You wished you could watch the way he split you open and you could only imagine what you looked like to him right now, letting him shove his cock into you without so much of an inch of resistance. You wanted this for so long, fantasized about this after so many long days of the two of you working side by side.

Miguel tells you how good you’re doing as your saliva dribbles down his fingers. Your eyes are half open, face hot and flushed, tongue swirling around his digits while bracing yourself against the wall like he’d ever let you fall. You got rougher the closer he was to cumming, leaving you quivering into your own orgasm that makes every muscle in your body seize.

You could feel him twitch with the effort of his orgasm, the way he grunted and growled with his teeth sinking into your neck so hard it draws blood. It’s the way he thrusts himself as deep into you as he can before coating your walls in white that drives you crazy. How feral and primal it all is. You’re warm, your mind is all cloudy, and all you can feel is him, him, him.

What a monster you’ve created.

[slightlymore]

my soulmate loves wine

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

doyoung x fem reader

others: jaemin, jeno 

genre: one-shot, soulmates au, enemies? to lovers, romance, smut, fluffy tones, phone chat (there are pics of the conversation) 

warnings: tarot readings, alcohol, swearing, insults, explicit sex scenes (oral f and m, penetration, protected and unprotected - seriously, have unprotected sex only with people you trust. if you will have unprotected sex with strangers, i will manifest in the room and besides it being absolutely embrarrassing for you, i will also smack your heads together and call you stupid - bondage, rough, spanking, hair pulling, spit swallowing, slight breeding kink, use of 'slut', dom doyoung,  sub doyoung, overstimulation f and m, edging f and m, dry humping, wet humping, mouth fucking, cum swallowing, slight exhibitionism, f solo, m solo, phone sex), doyoung has a big cock too lmao (in all of my own personal readings I always get that my soulmate has a big cock for no reason and I thought it was a funny detail)

words: 17K

tag list:  @seostudios @doyochii @doodlingpizza @eboyhyunjunreblogs​ @mina-is-babie @sorrywonwoo @peterrogers15 @delphiskpoporacle @waffletaeng @wownajaemin @shimyshimykoko @doyoung-onli @chxb03 @strawberrymilkandcigarettes @hyucksie​ @neonun-au​ @cumtrov3rsy​ 

_____

January 1st 2:23 am 

And if he's not my soulmate, I'd rather wander alone than touching someone else's skin, I'd rather walk this earth with no hand to hold and lift me from the ground. And if I have to heal from it and accept the universe's imposed call, I'd rather suffer from my eternally open wounds. I'll fight the stars and let them burn me, I'll let them laugh at my weakest state and I'd gladly make them erase my memory of ever existing in all of the infinite lives if I have to follow Fate. 

Doyoung felt the golden letters on the book cover in front of him and raised his eyes when he heard the crystal curtain move. 

“I wouldn’t open it if I were you.” 

A middle-aged woman was smiling at him, walking towards the table Doyoung and Jaemin were sat at. 

The room became even darker but a certain comfort engulfed Doyoung when she smiled. 

“I’ve never seen a book with a poem on the cover instead of a title.” 

“A dear friend of mine made it.” 

Her expression was calm and peaceful when she eyed the book and put her hand on it, pulling it towards herself. 

“It’s beautiful,” Doyoung looked at the worn bordeaux leather. “What’s inside?” 

“I’m glad you like it. And that’s-,” she leaned in mysteriously, “-a secret.” 

As she spoke, a little candle lit up between them and the boys both flinched. 

“Wow,” Jaemin whispered. 

Doyoung blinked at the woman then chuckled once, laughing mostly at himself for being so jumpy for no reason. That place was made to look creepy but he reminded himself that it was only a facade. 

“I’m here for a reading.” Her gaze was piercing and Doyoung realized that she hadn’t stopped looking at him since she entered the room. 

“There’s a certain resistance on your part.” Doyoung tried not to snort. “Well…” I don’t believe in these sorts of things, he wanted to say, but Jaemin suddenly laughed, slamming his palm on the table and making a decent amount of colourful stones jingle on the glass table. 

Doyoung sighed. “Sorry, my friend is very drunk.” 

“You’re also drunk as fuck,” the other pointed his finger to the first’s face, poking him in the nose as he couldn’t keep his balance. 

The woman smiled kindly as if unbothered to suddenly have two obnoxious young men trying to get a reading at two in the morning.  “This is going to be a love reading. We’ll see what the Spirit wants to tell you about your soulmate.” “Actually, I’m here for a general one? Like, I don’t know-,” Doyoung tried to find his words and looked at Jaemin. “Money and sex?” the younger one suggested before they could have another laughter fit for no apparent reason. The woman kept the corner of her lips lifted as she retrieved a beautiful tarot deck. “Would you blow on this please?” Jaemin tried to open his eyes. “Blow? Of course. Doyoung is good at blowing.” Doyoung hit him with the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up. We’ll get kicked out if you continue,” he whispered amused. Or at least he tried to whisper. The boys kept giggling for a few more moments then got serious as they eyed the spread of cards in front of them. 

The woman nodded and smiled. 

Doyoung blinked at the lady then at the cards. 

"There's mystery and magic attached to this connection. The universe wants this to be a surprise. You’ve been manifesting a lot, haven’t you?” 

The young man felt suddenly very awake. 

“Uhm, no.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not honest with me. The Spirit can see your true feelings. It’s saying that if you needed a confirmation that this is real, then here it is.”

Doyoung stared at her nail, tapping at the card and wondered how many years of training she needed to be able to read people like that since he was sure that that piece of paper could not be able to tell her anything. 

Relaxing on his chair he tried to put on the most neutral expression ever then nodded. 

Okay, it meant. Go on. 

“King of cups. Your soulmate is very in touch with their emotions. They’re going to teach you how to open up more since it’s difficult for you to express what you’re feeling.” Doyoung tightened his lips before he could wrongfully deny it. On his left, Jaemin was already sleeping with his head on the table.

_____

January 1st 2:23 pm 

"Will we know right away that we're each other's soulmate?" 

The Lady smiled and nodded at your widened and curious eyes. 

"You have an intense soul connection. Also, you’ll know right away because sex-,” You gulped. “-is going to be the best you’ve ever had in your whole life. He’s a very fiery person and is quite domineering, I can tell it from the King of swords. He wants to dominate you in bed, maybe pull your hair? You love it. And he definitely loves your body, especially legs and chest. He worships you and he will put you on a pedestal.” 

You felt your face warm up so you put your palms on your cheeks, trying hard to process all of that information. 

The woman continued after a little giggle to herself. “He can come off a little cocky. He thinks he’s very good in bed thanks to his natural attributes but that’s just because he’s a little insecure. Maybe consider reassuring him that he’s making you feel good?” 

Your mouth was dry and you automatically nodded. 

“Wait, what do you mean with- uh-- with natural attributes?”

_____

Sometime in June 

“Did you hear about the guy accused of stealing because it looked like he had something in his pocket while in reality, it was his 10 inches monster?” Jaemin asked before laughing like a supervillain, head thrown back on the couch cushions, splattering spit all over Doyoung who was sitting near him with furrowed eyebrows as he tried to find a good movie to watch. 

“Yeah, it was me,” Doyoung replied with a monotone voice. 

“Oh? Doyoung made a joke? I guess I might say that you’re-- cocky?” 

Doyoung chuckled even if he tried not to. 

“Okay, since you’re in a good mood-,” the other clapped his hands once. “No.” “You don’t even know what I wanted to ask you!” Jaemin whined. “I’m busy.” “You don’t do anything all day.” “I have to take care of my monster cock-” Jaemin slapped Doyoung’s mouth to cover it. “It hurts,” he mumbled. 

“Listen. Next Sunday you’ll accompany me at the opening of a new winery. You don’t have to do anything besides be pretty and drink wine while I try to get between one of the associates’ legs.” “I knew it had to do with pussy.” “She invited me! It’s not like I can refuse. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I met her at that work meeting.” “You mean a few days ago?” “Love has no stages.” “Why do I have to come with you?” “I have two invitations. Drinking expensive wine for free? Hello? I’m doing you a favour," he spoke quickly and dramatically, clicking his fingers. “You need three invitations, for me and my co--ahi!” Doyoung giggled after Jaemin smacked him with a cushion.

_____

You had no idea you’d be having backseat sex that day and honestly, you felt highly unprepared. 

Black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, the most basic outfit one guy could have on, yet you were salivating and for once it was not because of the pizza Jeno was handing you. 

“Uhm, Houston?” he clicked his fingers in front of your face then looked into the direction you were looking. 

“The guy on the right?” he asked without batting an eye. “How did you know?” you turned your head suddenly to face him and he put the slice of pizza inside of your open mouth. Then he rolled his eyes. 

“He’s completely your type.” "I want to fuck him."

Jeno raised one eyebrow and you suddenly realized what you've just said. 

"No. I meant-," "Hey! Guy with the rabbit mask!" Jeno suddenly yelled at the group of boys sitting on the grass in front of you. "What the fuck are you doing? Are you stupid?" you pulled his arm down. "My friend here said that she wants to f-," you slammed a hand on his mouth before he could finish. "I'm going to kill you," you whispered as Jeno started to giggle. 

The Rabbit boy looked at you for a little while, tilting his head to the side, but then turned his back to you. He probably didn't hear anything and thought that you were all drunk. 

“What the fuck was that?” you whispered. 

Jeno sighed. “Y/N. You’re too shy. If you want to fuck a guy just go and do it."

You scoffed. “I’m too shy? I am not shy. I can fuck whoever I want.” “Yeah? Then fuck the Rabbit.” 

You crossed your arms on your chest and put your tongue in your cheek. 

“Can’t do it huh?” Jeno teased you. "I can. And I will." "I bet you can't." "I bet I will."

_____

“I’ll be honest with you. I’m here because of a bet.” The Rabbit had a gulp of beer as if girls with a Moon mask approached him with bet talk every day. Then he giggled. 

“Sorry, your mask is ridiculous.” 

You rolled your eyes even if he couldn’t see it. 

Okay, he was a douche. Did you still want to fuck him though? Yes. 

“What’s the bet about?” he inquired. 

You straightened your lips in a tight line, the sound of your pulse almost audible in the silence of the parking lot. 

“MyfriendsaidthatIwouldn’tbeabletofuckyoubecauseI’mshyandIwanttoprovetohimthatI’mnot.” 

You spitted everything out thanks to the gigantic amounts of wine you had that night and found yourself panting a little when you were done. A little voice inside your head was screaming that it was dangerous and highly inappropriate for you to behave like that but you shrugged internally and hit it in the face.

“What?” the dude asked after a beat. 

You sighed. “MyfriendsaidthatIw-” “Okay, okay,” he raised his palms, “hold up. Talk slowly? Your friend what?” “Myfriendsaid-” “Can you just talk slowly, please?” 

“Nevermind,” you turned your back to him and walked away. 

“Mooney, come back here.” 

You stopped. “How did you just call me?”

The guy straightened his back and laughed under his mask. “If you want to fuck me, at least try and seduce me first.” “Aren’t you already under my spell if you’re so eager to keep going on with this conversation?” you found yourself saying. He shrugged. “I’m just bored. And don’t you want to win that bet? I guess you’re actually shy and your friend was right.” You scoffed. “I’m not gullible. You won’t make me do things only because you told me that I can’t.” “You’re here doing a thing only because your friend told you that you can’t. How is that not being gullible?” “It’s not being gullible if I’m here with that as an excuse when in reality I want to fuck you on the backseat, Rabbit.” 

You couldn’t see his face but you knew he was smiling as he opened the car’s door and with a dramatic gesture he invited you in. 

You walked in front of him slowly, asking yourself what the fuck you were actually doing, and he was quick to follow you inside. 

It was dark and warm and you decided to lie to yourself that the trembling sigh that escaped your lips was because you’ve been feeling cold before and not because you felt the Rabbit’s hands on your waist. You let him pull you in his lap and his palms slowly brushed your goosebumpy thighs first, then your torso, hovering over your breasts before they could grab your mask and take it away. You were breathing through your mouth and you desperately needed to see his expression upon seeing your face. With trembling fingers, you pulled the little white rabbit down and his eyes made an appearance first forcing you to inhale sharply. Masks slipping on the side, you both took in the view of each other. He did not speak a word and you didn’t either. 

“Do-,” you started unsurely, “do we know each other? Have we met before?” 

He blinked at you and you could tell he was as confused as you were. “I don’t think so,” he whispered and you finally realized how close he was. 

Like a switch, when you moved he moved as well and you roughly hit your mouths together, his hands cupping your ass and your fingers curling in his hair. It was so fast and almost painful the way you embraced each other that you wondered just how horny some wine could make you become. He grunted as you suddenly bit his neck and just that sound made your blood boil. You knew how and where to touch him and when his fingers got underneath your dress it seemed like he knew your weak spots as well. You let go of his neck and grabbed his head as your nipples disappeared inside his mouth. His lips were cold just like his touch and it made you shiver.

_____

Doyoung noticed you the exact moment you walked onto the lawn. 

Your legs were bare and he wondered why Jaemin dragged him to such a weird party. 

“Just buy whatever,” the younger said behind a black ominous mask while examining himself in the mirror. 

Doyoung hummed pensively and grabbed the white Rabbit. 

“I wanted that one too but since I’m going to see the associate lady tonight again, I thought that something less stupid would be better,” commented Jaemin.  

“So you think this is stupid?” 

“It goes well with your vibe. Buy it,” he wiggled his eyebrows and for once Doyoung just sighed and shrugged. 

“Ah come on, why are you not in a good mood tonight? We’ll have free food and alcohol tonight then free food and wine tomorrow.” 

“I really don’t feel like coming. It makes no sense to throw a party before a party. I can’t believe you tricked me into coming to two parties.” 

It was Jaemin’s turn to shrug. “These people have been travelling through all of Europe and shit. It’s their version of an afterparty. Like a rave. But it’s before the actual party and it’s on grass, with masks on and at 5 pm. You have to come.” "So there's going to be classical music and tea?" 

The cashier ringed their items quickly and Jaemin took out his wallet to pay.   “Why do you even get invited to all of these events?” Doyoung went on and added a pack of mints too. Jaemin smirked. “She likes me a lot, huh? Can’t wait to taste that sweet juicy pussy.” The cashier cleared her throat and was quick to dismiss them with her rightfully dry “have a good day”. “I just think she’s trying to gather customers for her wine. Don’t get your hopes up.” “She’ll want to gift me her wine after I’ll make her boun-”

Doyoung was so ready to accept an evening of him wandering around a party full of strangers talking in god knows what languages while his friend got it wet that when you pressed yourself on his crotch, nibbling at his neck and exhaling so deeply, he felt lightheaded. 

You were with another guy and Doyoung watched you sit down on the cushions behind his group of friends. Your nude legs got even nuder as your white dress shifted up exposing your thighs. A sudden urge to spread them invaded his mind and he had to do something with his hands instead. 

“Hey, guy with the rabbit mask!” 

Doyoung turned his head around right in time to see you smack the dude on the face. 

“Did that guy just tell you that his friend wants to fuck you?” Jaemin inquired with a giggle. Doyoung wondered how Jaemin could hear something like that at such a distance. 

“I guess?” he agreed though. “And I want to fuck her too,” he heard himself add.  

Jaemin’s mask looked as shocked as his expression underneath it. 

“Why are you so bold all of a sudden? No, I mean, yes! Fuck her.” 

Doyoung shook his head to get rid of the imaginary fog. “I was joking. Why are you getting so worked up?” 

But when Jaemin finally disappeared suddenly, presumably to drink some wine with his lady, Doyoung could physically feel your eyes on his back as he walked down the hill towards the parking lot. 

Your steps were light and you’d stop when he’d stop, unsuccessfully hiding behind the tall bushes of roses. 

As he unlocked his car with a high toned beep, he leaned on the side of it and waited for you to approach him. A giggle left his chest when he saw you trying to find him in the middle of all of those cars. 

“I am here,” he announced and you jolted. 

Turning around you eyed him and stopped in place then took a timid step, then another until only a few separated you from him. 

“I’ll be honest with you. I’m here because of a bet.” 

You looked airy just like the moon on your mask and he thought you were adorable swinging your body weight from one foot to another like that. 

“Sorry, your mask is-,” adorable, “-ridiculous. What’s the bet about?” 

“My friend said that I wouldn’t be able to fuck you because I’m shy and I want to prove to him that I’m not.” 

You were so bold that Doyoung felt his air miss from his lungs. 

You slurred your words on purpose and he tried hard to pretend that he didn’t understand just to hear you say that you wanted him to fuck you again. 

“What?” he asked.

You sighed. “MyfriendsaidthatIw-” “Okay, okay,” he raised his palms, “hold up. Talk slowly? Your friend what?” “Myfriendsaid-” “Can you just talk slowly, please?” “Nevermind.” 

Fuck. 

“Mooney, come back here.” 

The air rustled with energy and he completely missed everything besides “I want to fuck you on the backseat” part and he had no idea how you got into the car and how he got you on his legs. 

But now there you were, soft in his arms. 

And when you took away your mask his head got drilled by a thousand questions. Your eyes, mirroring his expression as you slid his mask down, told him that you were thinking the same thing. Like two magnets you collided in a heated kiss and your scent was so familiar that Doyoung sighed when you let his lips go to breathe.

_____

Finally, finally, finally, your mind was chanting as the Rabbit moulded your body with his hands. 

Your mind became mush so quickly that it was honestly embarrassing when you realized that you were riding his hardened cock. His lips on your neck seemed amused and after a moment he took away his fingers from your body, leaning back and watching you from under heavy lids. 

You bit your lower lip and stopped with a certain difficulty, the burning sensation between your legs already boiling inside your veins. 

"Go on." 

His voice was sultry and raspy and your body reacted to it as if under a spell. 

Your fingers on his shoulders deepened their hold and you closed your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. 

"Come on. Go on. Doesn't it feel good?" 

He cooed, dragging one single finger across your bust, between your breasts and down on your stomach. His eyes wouldn't let a single expression of yours escape them. 

"It would feel better if you fucked me."

The light in his irises twinkled. 

"But I like to see you like this," he said before leaning in and letting his breath caressing your ear. "Desperate." 

His voice was like a hiss and your skin shivered with goosebumps. You felt his open mouth on your nude shoulder, slowly going towards your clavicle and you extended your neck up to welcome him. 

"Go on," he ordered again and your hips snapped, rolling on him, feeling the way your panties got pulled up as he slid his hands under your dress and twirled the sides around his fingers. It was frustrating as intoxicating and soon enough the windows of his car became misty from your heavy breaths. 

"I hate this," you whined and he chuckled. "I can see that."

Almost completely lost in your foggy mind you jolted at a sudden snap and you stopped your motions just to see him slide your panties from between your legs and throw them to the front. 

With a single pull, he pushed your now raw pussy on his clothed cock while his hands spread your ass, guiding your movements. 

"Fuck," you gasped, feeling the rough material on your sensitive skin and it didn't take you a lot to go over the edge with fingers curled inside his hair and mouths open against each other. He drank your shaking moans, then without giving you a second to remember where you were, his arms wrapped your torso and pushed you under his weight. Your feet stopped on the window as you yelped and you desperately wanted to call his name when you felt his tongue lap at your wetness. His fingers were tightly wrapped around your thighs and when you moaned a few times in a row, your back arching and your body squirming in his hold, he palmed your stomach and pressed you down again.

_____

You looked like every sex dream Doyoung has ever had. 

Arms thrown around your head, chest rising and falling, your sweet whimpers and soft skin, it drove him crazy. Your thighs pressing on the side of his head felt like everything he has ever wanted but wasn’t aware of. 

Mine mine mine all mine. A weird possession sentiment swept him away and when he looked up at your fucked up expression he felt like shivering. With a plop he let your clit go and kept pumping his fingers inside of you, curling them right where you wanted him to, kissing your navel, licking your under breasts, sucking the skin in until it probably hurt, then sucking on your nipples, and finally on your lower lip. He wanted to see your face when you’d cum all over his fingers and when you gasped, wrapping his torso with your arms and trying to hide your face into the crook of his neck, he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. Your eyelids fluttered as he heard you swear multiple times and as he felt you clench so deliciously that he couldn’t wait to feel it around his aching cock instead. He wanted to rest a bit, maybe put his head on your soft chest and listen to your heartbeats but you were a stranger and you were hooking up in his car. So he sat on his knees between your legs instead, panting as if he were the one who just came, and he let his eyes trail on your naked body, licking his lower lip when he reached your wet core. He would have wanted to smear all of that on himself but he reached his jacket instead and took a condom out.  

“Why do boys always carry a condom with them? You never know when you’d end up fucking?” 

“Actually, when we carry a condom we never fuck and when we don’t have it we have the opportunity to fuck.” 

“Well, today you’re lucky,” you smirked and he loved the way you tried to hide away your embarrassment with banter. 

“Do you still want to do this?” he palmed your knee.

“Yes,” you nodded. “You didn’t cum.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. Do you want it?” 

Doyoung wondered what kind of expression he had on to make you light up so much. 

You bit your lower lip and sat up suddenly, getting on your knees as well and turning around with a certain difficulty. 

“Yes,” you said again and bent over. 

Doyoung choked at the view and wondered what country he had saved in his previous life to deserve all of that.  

_____

You dreamt about opening a winery probably since you tasted wine for the first time. 

You loved it. 

Sour, sweet, bitter, flowery, fruity, still and frizzy, you loved it all. 

People thought you were crazy and no one supported you until you met your best friend in university. 

“Are you kidding? I’d love to open a winery with you.” 

The classroom was well lit and she looked like an angel against the sunny windows. 

You looked at her with wide eyes. “Really?” 

She hit your arm playfully. “Of course! I love wine and that sounds like a very cool idea.” 

“Look, I’m actually very serious about this so if you’re saying this just to-,”

She took your hands and looked into your eyes. “Me too. We’ll do it. I promise.” 

Now, years later you were looking around at the freshly painted venue and couldn’t believe your eyes. 

You did it. 

Tall ceilings and shelves full of your blood and sweat, you walked around slowly, one finger to gently tap on the various displayed bottles. 

“Hey, hey, no touching. We’ve cleaned them up and they have to shine.” 

Your friend appeared on your side and you smiled. Her dress was sleeveless and you made a face touching her arms. 

“Have you been working out girl? What are these?” 

She snapped her head down to look at herself. “I guess… uhm, it’s all of the exercises… uhm that I do.” 

You took her sudden panic for embarrassment and cackled. “With the party guy?”

“Who?” 

“Jaemin you said?” “Oh yeah! Yeah, we’re quite active, aha.” 

“Well, to get those arms you might have done a lot of hardcore BDSM.” You laughed but your friend looked rather mortified. 

“Aw, come on,” you gently elbowed her. “I also fucked the guy from yesterday,” you added to make her feel better. And she lit up so much at the news that she almost knocked over the bottles in front of you. 

“And you tell me now? How did it go?” “Well, I guess. I don’t really want to think about it though. I don’t think I’m into hookups.”

_____

Doyoung didn't like hookups but when he stepped inside the winery's main hall and saw your legs again and the way your ass was wrapped in that short dress he desperately wanted to bury his cock in it. 

"Not bad, huh?" Jaemin smiled at the waiter welcoming them with glasses of wine, before looking up at the nicely decorated venue. 

"Yeah, not bad at all," Doyoung murmured as you turned around and he considered fucking your breasts too. 

Then he cleared his throat as he took a glass of wine as well, feeling his neck warming up. He looked around as he sipped, suddenly conscious of people as if they could read his horny mind. At that moment, with his body acting up as if possessed, he wondered if the wine didn’t have some sort of aphrodisiac in it. 

“Do you also feel a little funny?” Doyoung placed down the wine and reached for his tie to loosen it up. 

Jaemin glanced over him and promptly looked down. “Uh-oh. Do we have an emergency?” he started to laugh and Doyoung closed his eyes briefly before opening them and turning around towards the buffet. 

“Heh, did that girl do something to you? You were so upset when she left without saying anything.” 

“It was just a hookup,” Doyoung murmured trying to understand what kind of food he was staring at. 

“An amazing hookup if you get like this upon seeing her.” 

“Not for her I guess.” 

“So you are upset. Cupid worked hard last night,” he elbowed his friend. 

“Give me a break. You’re also crushing on your lady.” 

“Also? Kim Doyoung, are you crushing on the winery girl?”

He shook his head quickly putting a pastry in his mouth to have an excuse to not speak. Jaemin lightly hit him and Doyoung hit him back like kids in third grade when suddenly the lights became dimmer and you spoke into a mic.

_____

“Hey, have you seen Jeno?” you asked your friend after finishing your introductory discourse and let people finally get wasted as they wanted to. “Who?” “Jeno? The guy I’m always hanging out with? He should have been here by now but I don’t see him anywhere.” 

Your friend made a perplexed face and you sighed. “You’re right. You’ve never met him before. You’re both my best friends so I always forget that you’ve never seen each other.” 

“Well, I kinda know how he looks like, so if I see him then-,”

"So you stole my money,” a sudden voice at your back interrupted you and you turned around to lock eyes with none other than the Rabbit. 

He was so good looking that you felt the urge to kiss him, yet his mocking face made you so irrationally mad that you felt like slapping him too. 

You put your hands on your hips and raised your chin. "Proof?"

You were still panting last evening trying hard to stop shaking from your third orgasm in a row. The Rabbit did a lot of things to you and you wondered why you didn’t hook up with strangers more often if that was the outcome. His wallet was on the seat in front of you and for a split second, you smiled wondering if he carried a family photo in it. His back looked very broad as he stood outside the car and presumably tried to make himself pee with a half-hard penis but probably failing. A sudden voice startled you and Doyoung replied to it. You quickly pulled down your dress and eyed the ripped panties on the steering wheel. Shit. You tried to grab them but the dude talking to Doyoung took a few steps closer so you retreated. "Fucked her good just like you planned?" Your face scrunched in a pout and you suddenly found yourself very upset. Doyoung didn't reply anything but you weren't sure that he didn't make a face. It was a good night. You had fun and a good-looking dude made you cum. You fucked him good just like you planned too. Then why did you feel a little used? Maybe you weren’t acquainted with the hookup culture, or maybe deep down you hoped that the sudden attraction you felt for the Rabbit was magical, but suddenly you felt very weird and a wave of disgust invaded you. 

He was definitely not your soulmate and you should just get out of there. 

You opened the door slowly on your side, quietly looking over your shoulder to make sure that they wouldn’t hear you. Feet on the ground you eyed the wallet again and you opened it. Not to check his family photo as you previously wanted to, but to get all of his cash. You swallowed a chuckle and ran away up the hill back to the restaurant’s garden.

He scoffed. "You’re a terrible thief. I make you cum and you steal from me?" 

"You look like a rich guy. You deserved it. Also, you ripped my panties."

"And you liked it."

You clenched your jaw. "It wasn't even good sex."

His jaw's muscles flinched too. "You probably couldn't walk properly."

"Yeah, because of the cramped car not because of your cock." 

"I think you have a loss of memory all of a sudden. Do I have to remind you how my cock feels like?" 

"Sure. Then I will be able to say to your face that it doesn’t feel good.”

_____

"Fuck, it feels so fucking good."

Dragging you by the wrist, Doyoung shoved you in the first room he found and pressed you against the cold wall. 

"I can't believe I'm about to have sex in the rosés showroom," you spoke with a breathy voice and when Doyoung pressed his open lips on yours you realized that you didn’t even know his name. 

One thing is hooking up with a dude in his car while drunk, another thing is choosing to fuck him consciously on the opening of your new business and completely sober. 

Although, when he started to kiss your jaw and neck, his tongue slowly creeping out and tickling your nerves, your mind felt so hazy that you wondered if you somehow had something to drink already and couldn’t remember. 

Didn’t you hate the guy just a few moments ago?

“Do you really have to wear these dresses and drive me insane?” he whispered on your lips as his hands pulled up the dress in question. 

You wanted to reply with something smartass but honestly, you chose that dress with him in mind. 

Somehow, while browsing your closet for the big day, your mind could not stop thinking about the Rabbit boy. Your mixed feelings towards him confused you and you'd go on weird tangents of complete hatred and high adoration thinking about his face between your legs. 

Certain that he’d come to the opening too, you carefully wore each piece of clothing you had, looking at yourself in the mirror and imagining he was the one looking at you through your eyes. Would he like the split on your thigh? Or would he like the way the dress accentuated your breasts more? Without realizing your hands were on your bust going up slowly, gently kneading your soft skin, cupping your boobs and flicking your nipples. Then one moved on your stomach, then on your thigh and just like that you started to moan. 

And you were moaning at that moment too as the Rabbit lightly caressed your clit with the tip of his cock. You pushed your hips towards him to get more and he pushed you back into the wall, one hand reaching for your mouth and slipping the thumb on your tongue. You twirled it around his digit and sucked, lightly choking when he reached farther and choking again when you finally felt his cock fill you up too. 

“You have to be quiet, Y/N.” 

Your name on his lips made you tremble. 

He probably heard it during the welcoming discourse or read it on the pamphlets and the fact that he knew it and you didn’t know his one, made you feel vulnerable in a pleasant way. 

Or maybe it was the way his hand gripped the softness of your thigh, keeping it up on his hip, or maybe his own hips pushing inside of you that made you feel like turning into mush. 

“Will you be quiet for me or am I fucking you too good?” he took away his finger and you gasped for air, your whines getting louder. 

“As I thought,” he mocked you. “It wasn’t even good sex, she said.” 

You bit your lower lip and hid your face into the crook of his neck but he pulled you away, cupping your cheek. “You have to look at me. I want to see this pretty face when you cum.”

Your eyes fluttered as his cock basically decided to rearrange your guts and you dug your fingers into his shoulders with a teeth-gritted moan. 

“Are you close, baby?” You nodded breathlessly, the sudden pet-name just making it impossible for you to not beg to make you cum.

“You want me to make you cum?” 

You nodded again. “Gonna cum- so hard-,” 

The Rabbit thrust a few times more into you and suddenly pulled out. 

You gasped as if mortally offended but unable to move a muscle. 

"I don't think so."

His smirk made you swallow your own spit and he held your waist when he took a step back after letting your leg down. 

“Hey! Come on!” 

Dragging you away just like before he made you walk towards the party hall. His iron grip made it impossible for you to just go away and finish yourself and honestly, it would have been quite pathetic. 

You moved as if drunk, fingers visibly shaking and mind clouded in the middle of the crowd.

"Fuck, I'll make you pay for this." 

He smiled at you and intertwined his fingers with yours before lifting both of your hands and placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

"Yes darling, I've already paid last time," he replied as a few curious people looked your way and saw just a random couple chatting peacefully. 

You took a deep breath and tried to smile unbothered, imitating Doyoung's relaxed expression. 

"It was just a joke. Do you want those couple of bucks back?” 

He tilted his head to the side. “No. Let’s say I had paid you for your services.” 

You disregarded him and opened your clutch, retrieving a few dollars. With a quick hand, you shoved them halfway inside Doyoung's pants making sure others didn't stare. 

"Thank you for today’s fuck too then, slut."

_____

To say that it was easy for Doyoung to stop feeling you around his cock and pretend he wasn’t about to lose his mind when he couldn’t cum either, would be the biggest lie of the universe. But your frustrated expression, trembling limbs and glossy eyes made it all worth it. 

“Where have you been?” 

Jaemin handed him a glass of white wine and Doyoung took it absentmindedly. When he brought it to his mouth and had a sip he almost spit it back inside.

“What the fuck is this?” 

Jaemin chuckled. “The winery’s speciality.” 

“This is disgusting.” 

“I had a whole bottle of that yesterday so now I’m used to it.” 

“Why is it so sour?” 

Jaemin hit his shoulder lightly to bring his attention to something and when Doyoung raised his gaze he saw your furious aura staring at them from a few steps away. 

“Maybe the lady behind the recipe is sour as well,” he joked. “I lied when I asked you where you’ve been. Saw you together just now. Did you not fuck her good enough?” 

Doyoung smiled and took another sip of the wine, barely being able to not make a face for a second time. “I fucked her so good that now she’s mad.” 

“From her expression, she doesn’t look very pleased with the experience. And in fact,” Jaemin added quickly, grabbing Doyoung’s arm since he got distracted by the red wine, “she’s probably seeking a better one.” 

You were chuckling at some dude’s pick-up line and accepted to disappear with him out of Doyoung’s sight. 

The sweet dessert wine he tasted felt as sour as the first one.

_____

“Is the person I’m thinking about my soulmate?” “You already know the answer to that.” 

You bit your lower lip unsure. 

“What do you want me to say?” the lady smiled. “Yes or no.” “Why don’t you have faith?” 

You leaned back in your chair and let your gaze fall on the decorations on the tarot reader’s desk. The little obsidian stones reminded you of the dude’s eyes and it made you irrationally angry. 

You wanted to make him jealous. 

You wanted him to come up to you and grab your hand or something and make the boring-ass guy that approached you to leave. 

But he didn’t. 

If he really were your soulmate, wouldn’t you both feel it? Were you just going crazy? Were you lonely enough that you weighed your every desire on him?

“I saw him just twice and I don’t even know his name,” you sighed, talking almost to yourself. 

You probably unconsciously pouted because the Lady smiled kindly at you. She was no therapist but she gladly accepted to talk to you again after your first encounter. 

“Does he match the description the cards gave you?” 

“Well, he does have a very big cock, yeah,” you started. “Uhm, yes, it was that type of meeting,” you explained quickly before she could judge but the woman didn’t look unfazed. In fact, she was quite pleased to hear that. 

“You think that meeting your soulmate is just seeing them and everything falls into place. But it’s harder than that. You still have to want it and you still have to work for the union. So many people missed the opportunity to get with their soulmate because they didn’t work hard enough.” 

“Well, shouldn’t this be meant to be or something? Even if I make mistakes?” 

The Lady tilted the head to the side and for a split second you felt as if talking to a lost best friend. “We have a lot of choice in life. Everything is out there ready for you and you will get help but only if you have faith it will happen.”

_____

“You again?” he asked, fakely annoyed. 

You’ve always brushed off your mom’s words. 

“At least take your sweatpants out of your knee-high socks.” “It’s just the convenience store at the corner, mom. It’s not like I will meet my soulmate tonight at 10 pm.” 

But you actually met him and it was terrible. 

The packs of instant ramen in your hands trembled a little as the Rabbit dude passed one hand through his hair waiting for a normal human reaction from you.  

“What are you doing here?” 

“Buying groceries for dinner,” he explained then eyed your snacks. “You too, I see.” 

You tried to not let his subtle mockery get to you. “Yeah but why in this store in particular?” 

“You’re wondering if this is fate?” he giggled. 

But actually, Doyoung was the first to wonder if it was fate. 

He has never really thought of the Lady’s words in detail, nor he believed in any of it, but when he first saw you descending the hill with your moon costume as if you were the actual moon, his mind independently carved the thought of how nice it would be for you to be his soulmate.  

“I live in this neighbourhood and I assume you do too since you’re dressed like this,” he let his eyes fall and he looked at your stained pyjama pants. 

A wave of heat passed through your whole body and for the first time, it wasn’t pleasure. 

Your real soulmate would have never said that. 

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. 

“Well, see you around then.” Turning on your heels, you didn’t wait for him to greet you back. 

“Did that guy make you cum?” 

You stopped so suddenly that the first two packs of ramen fell to your feet. You grunted and tried to bend but it was impossible to grab them without making the others fall too. With the corner of your eye, you saw the rabbit boy’s hands retrieving your stuff and when he got up again you felt his skin on the back of your hands as he pulled the remaining packs from you and let them fall in his cart. “Thank you.” 

“Answer my question.” 

You gulped but put on a brave face. 

“This is not a conversation to have in the condiments aisle.” “Then come to my apartment.” 

The intensity in his voice made your heart beat faster and then you blinked at his back as he turned around the cart and made his way towards the register. 

“Wait, my ramen!” 

He didn’t acknowledge you and greeted the cashier good evening. You awkwardly stood beside him as they beeped all of his fancy groceries. 

“Uhm-,” you extended your hands to get your ramen but they beeped that too without batting an eye and the rabbit bagged everything in a few seconds. 

“I- I could have- why-?” you followed him. “Now I have to pay you back.” “You gave me enough money last time.” 

You crossed your arms on your chest as Doyoung placed the bags inside his car's trunk.

“That was for-,” you started but stopped realizing that you were about to talk about sex on a busy street in front of your corner grocery store. 

He smiled. “Yeah?” 

“Give me my ramen now.” 

“Get inside,” he indicated with his head and without missing a beat he got behind the wheel. 

“Why do you even drive if you live in the neighbourhood?” You entered and sighed, trying to put on the seat belt. “The groceries are heavy.” “Do you even lift?” “I love lifting women but not groceries.” “You lift other women and I can’t get a guy to make me cum without you asking me questions about it?” 

Doyoung looked at you with a little smile as you stopped at the red sign. “Does the thought of me with other women make you upset or am I imagining things?” “Does the thought of guys making me cum make you upset?” you retorted. “Yes.” 

You choked on air and the movement of the car starting again made your body press back on the seat. You didn’t expect that. 

“Then why did you make me leave with him?” 

Your voice got tiny and you hoped he didn’t actually hear you because at the same moment you realized that it was a little embarrassing. But his sudden glance told you that he did. His gaze returned towards the street and his adam apple travelling up and down his throat told you that he didn’t know what to say. 

“Why did you leave with him?” he eventually asked. 

It was your turn to not speak. 

Not in a million years you’d admit to a stranger you wanted to make him jealous. A stranger that put his dick in you twice, but a stranger nevertheless. 

“We just talked a bit. I was bored.” “So I guess he didn’t make you cum.” “I don’t do hookups,” you said before realizing what you’ve just said. “I mean-,” you looked at him and he blinked back. Fuck. You told the hookups guy that you didn’t do hookups. 

“I mean, without being attracted to the person a lot. And that dude was not attractive,” you tried to explain fighting the urge to hide your face away. 

“Thank you. I’m also crazily attracted to you.” 

The car’s air became a little heavier and you thought that if you touched it with a single finger it would buzz as if made of electricity. 

The walk to the apartment complex was almost urgent. His hands didn't leave your body once when you reached the elevator as if he suddenly forgot what personal space was and when you got to his door he firstly slammed you against it, hands quick to get under your shirt. 

"Hey," you eyed the elevator's lights behind his back as he started to kiss your neck. "Someone's coming." "Let them come." The skin he sucked in made your eyes flutter and you whined feeling his fingers so close to where you needed them but so far away. "No, seriously. I think they're going to stop here." Doyoung hummed unbothered but you felt his hand press the code behind your back. Right when the elevator doors opened and you made eye contact with a cute little old lady, the door behind you opened too and you yelped falling backwards. Doyoung was quicker though and he held your waist, pulling you back into the kiss and closing the door with his heel. 

Shoes off and no time wasted, you were suddenly bent over some sort of furniture and your pants got pulled down. 

A single silent gasp left your mouth when you felt Doyoung's lips on the back of your thighs and when his fingertips grated at your sides pulling your panties down to your knees you started to pant. His hot breath tickled your pussy and you shifted in his hold. Doyoung's hands grabbed your ass to keep you in place and slapped one of your cheeks when he licked up a stripe between them. 

You whined once and put your head down and closed your eyes, fingers mindlessly grabbing whatever Doyoung kept on the cabinet. When he pushed his fingers inside, your back arched and his cologne fell to the side with the cap open. The sudden scent of it made you even wetter and Doyoung hummed appreciatively with his mouth full. 

"It feels so good," you whined again, imperceptibly grinding on him, brain not understanding when you got so horny all of a sudden. 

"Please please please make me cum this time," you begged, looking behind you and seeing his hands spreading you all out for him before his fingers could find spots inside of you that you weren't aware of having. 

"I kinda wish you'd beg some more," you heard the note of amusement in his voice.

His hands didn't stop though and before you could form any words your whole body contracted and lifted itself on the tiptoes, knees buckling and head light. Doyoung's airy breath met your spine and he held you in his arms to prevent you from slipping on the ground, kissing your back up slowly until meeting the shoulders. 

"Good girl," he brushed your ear with his lips and you remained with your eyes closed, breathing heavily and when he made you turn around, you felt your body weak as if it was made of jello. He pulled you towards himself and you heard his chuckle buzz inside of his chest. In a second he threw you on his shoulder and you let out a little cry, your limbs dangling around him. 

"I didn't know you were this strong."

He walked a few steps and turned left inside a dark corridor. You tried to look around but you barely noticed anything before he gently placed you down to sit on the bed. 

"You don't know a lot of things about me."

When you raised your head to meet his face you smiled tiredly. 

"I don't even know your name."

He tilted his head to the side amused. "Doyoung."

"Doyoung," you repeated, feeling the sounds on your tongue. 

It felt very right. 

Then his eyes fell on your naked legs and you sucked the air in, suddenly rolling in his bed, one piece of blanket to cover you up. 

Doyoung, still standing by the bed, put his hands on the hips and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I'm here with my pussy all out. That's so embarrassing,” you explained. 

"Yeah. I've just seen it up close just one minute ago." 

"I'm having post nut clarity," you added, voice muffled and only the top of your head poking out the impromptu burrito. 

"Well, I'm not having any post nut clarity since I didn't nut, so to me, it's not embarrassing."

"Oh my God you're right!" you eyed his crotch and sat up. 

"It's alright. I didn’t plan to do anything else anyway. Just wanted to cook you dinner actually since I’ve already eaten," he sat near you chuckling and took off his shoes. "My mom would hit me in the head if she knew I walked up to the bedroom with these-," but then he gasped softly as you placed a kiss to his nape. Your arms wrapped his torso in a back hug just as your legs did with his waist, draping them in his thighs. His hands automatically started to palm your knees as you made your way towards the base of his neck. 

“I don’t have any condoms,” he whispered as to stop you. 

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt very quickly and you lifted it, loving the way it ruffled his hair after you threw it somewhere on the floor. Having his bare back in front of you made you lose track for a moment and when you touched his chest you realized it was the first time that you actually saw him naked. 

“We don’t need them for what I want to do to you,” you murmured. 

He breathed in shakily. “Well, we’re responsible adults so you have to know that I also don’t do hookups so I’m completely clean but if you don’t want to--ah shit-,” he almost whined when you let your hand down his abs to palm his crotch slowly. 

He turned so cute all of sudden that your tummy did backflips as you kissed his jawline. 

“Are you saying that you want to fuck me raw?” you whispered amused. 

His cock twitched under his pants and he bit his lower lip.

“Does the thought turn you on, Doyoung? Feeling me around you, soft and wet until you can’t take it anymore? Huh?” You cooed, pouting your lips as you pronounced his name, savouring it on your tongue. 

His breathing increased and you wondered how he still kept it all together. 

“Cumming inside of me? Having your warm cum spill out-,”

He turned around suddenly and you let him push you down on the bed but only for a moment. The kisses you started to litter on his neck made his hold weaker and he threw his head into the pillow as you got on top of him. You kissed his chest slowly, then went down until you could finally pass your tongue on that single vein under his navel’s skin. 

"I'm so on edge that I might cum only with a single touch," he breathed out and you smiled on his stomach at his honest side, whining a little when he slid his fingers into your hair as if to urge you to go on quicker. 

"You should have told me," you sat on his thighs and slowly fumbled with his belt. 

He bit his lower lip and watched the little show you put on for him.  

"Well, now you know and you still want to torture me like this."

You lifted one corner of your mouth as you finally unbuttoned his pants. 

"I think you deserve it, don't you think?" 

He shook his head. "Not one bit. I've been good to you."

"Oh really? Then why don't you show me again what a good boy you can be and beg me to finally touch you?" 

"You really think you can use my ways with me?" 

You opened your mouth to reply but every word died in your throat as he reached down and pulled out his cock, pumping it up himself, a single shaking sigh of relief coming out of his mouth. "Shit-," he closed his eyes and pushed his head back, exposing his neck as his adam apple went up and down. You couldn't take your eyes off him and the sounds he started to make hit you right between the legs. His tip poked out of his fist as he fucked himself and for the first time in your life you were dying to suck a cock. 

"Doyoung-," you breathed out but his hisses made you gulp, feeling your mouth dry at the sudden spurts of cum on his lower stomach. 

"Shit," his chest rose and fell heavily and his eyes looked black underneath his heavy lids. Without being able to take it anymore you bent down and licked his tip sending shots of electricity through all of his body. 

"Ah- Y/N-," 

You sucked his cock clean and, letting it out with a lewd pop, you smirked.  

"Now you're going to take it."

And he took it well, cupping your head as it bobbed up and down, not without the most sinful sounds you've ever heard a man emit. As he placed his other hand on your cheek, you slid your own fingers down your stomach and reached your aching clit.

"Ride me?" he caressed your face with his thumbs and you looked up, basking in his fucked up expression. 

With a wet sound, you let his cock out, licking his tip once to break the string of saliva attached to it and moved upwards on his body. 

His hands were quick to grab your sides and when you started to grind on him he inhaled shakily, eyes piercing the way his shaft slid through your lips. Then he grabbed your shirt and roughly pulled it up, making you discard it in a second. 

One hand to guide your ass and one hand to grope at your breasts and you were almost cumming again. And when he reached behind you and you felt his cock poke at your entrance you lost strength in your arms and leaned down on his chest, your breasts squeezed and your skin rubbing on each other when he started to thrust into you. 

His hips' movements were deep and sharp and when you raised your bust enough for your nipples to rub on his chest he squeezed your ass and spanked it once making you moan loudly and fall back on him. So near to your orgasm, you dug your fingers into his arms not worrying about the little marks your nails left on his skin. 

And then he stopped with a grunt. 

You whined and opened your eyes to see him smirk.

"Fuck you, not again," you whispered breathlessly. "Yeah, fuck me."

And you bit your lower lip, lifting yourself up by putting your palms on his chest and started to bounce on his cock. Doyoung started to breathe with his mouth and he let his hands rest on his sides enjoying the way you were so desperately trying to chase your high. 

Your thighs were burning and your mind was clouded but you didn't stop and when you started to call his name, Doyoung finally grabbed your waist again, taking the lead and finally sending you over the edge. 

You finally cried out and pushed your face into the crook of his neck biting down on his skin as he kept going, not giving you a moment to breathe. 

And when you heard him choke against your ear too, a string of profanities lingering in his lips you felt his hot cum fill you up, but getting slowly fucked back in with his last thrusts. 

You remained like that both breathless for some time, his hands gently cupping your face to look at you. His eyebrows furrowed and he quickly dried your wet eyes. 

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" 

The concern in his voice made your heart swell and you shook your head. 

"I'm feeling very good," you smiled and his expression relaxed a bit.��

As he pulled out you felt his semen slide on your thigh and pool where your stomaches we're meeting. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Doyoung. I was just getting frustrated as always when I’m around you.” 

His hands went up and down your back as if soothing your skin. “I love how my name sounds on your lips. It feels like I’ve somehow waited my whole life to hear it.” 

You blinked a few times, the sudden sweet words so weird in his mouth that you raised your head to look at him. 

He looked back as shocked as you. 

"Wow, I feel so sticky," he changed the subject as you opened your lips to talk. You eyed the little buds of sweat on his forehead and imagined you looked as spent as him. 

"Are you also having post nut clarity?" "Yes. Everything is clear." "What's clear?" "This was one of the best nuts of my life and I want to do it again."

_____

Unable to stand on your own legs without shaking you remained sprawled on Doyoung's bed for a while, eyes heavy with sleep. 

"The groceries are still in the car," he said while zipping his pants. 

He offered to take a shower together but your growling tummy interrupted him so now you were alone in the bathtub, lazily lathering up your skin and waiting for him to come back from the parking lot. 

Relaxed from the good fuck and the hot water, you looked around curious, checking out his toiletries as if they could tell you more about this mysterious Doyoung guy. 

Perhaps it was too soon but as you collected the soapy water to blow on it you felt like falling in love a little. 

A little smile crept on your lips when you heard the entrance door open and close with a thud and you looked in the mirror to check on yourself before Doyoung could barge in. As if he didn't fuck you while you were looking crazy just moments before that. 

"That was very quick-," you started but squealed and put your hands on your chest as a man entered the bathroom not looking like your Doyoung at all. 

"Oh my God!" the guy jumped back a little before starting to laugh. 

"Who are you?" 

"You scared the shit out of me. Why are you here in the dim light?" the young man kept going without answering. 

You blinked at him. "It's relaxing."

"I'm Jaemin. Doyoung's flatmate," he finally explained and you wondered why he looked at you as if knowing you. "And you must be the winery girl."

You tilted your head to the side. "Winery girl? Do you know me?" 

"I kinda go out with your friend? The other winery girl?" 

You widened your eyes. "You're the BDSM guy?" 

For the first time since he entered the bathroom, Jaemin looked flustered. 

"Exactly what did she tell you about us?" he scratched the back of his head. 

You giggled. "My friend has been very happy lately. I know enough to make sure you're treating her well."

Jaemin's eyes lit up and you thought he was so cute to have a crush on your friend. Your mind suddenly thought of Doyoung and wondered if he might have a crush on you too. 

"Think of the devil," you murmured as Doyoung appeared behind Jaemin with the groceries bags. 

"You were thinking of me?" he smiled then suddenly realized the whole situation. "Why the hell are you looking at my naked girl?" he tried to tackle the other. Jaemin chuckled and took a few steps back in the corridor. 

"Had no idea she was here, I swear!"

_____

My girl. 

You were sitting timidly at the dinner table, wearing Doyoung's clothes and looking at Jaemin's back as he prepared the food. The water running in the bathroom and Doyoung's faint singing voice made you chuckle. 

He said, my girl. 

You put your hands to your cheeks. 

"You really like him."

You jolted and raised your head to see Jaemin comforting eyes. 

Batting your lashes you wondered what kind of expression you had on and with a little note of panic, you wondered if it was that easy for Doyoung to see it too. 

"This is a secret between us," Jaemin started lowering his voice, "but I think he likes you too. You really look like his soulmate now that I think about it."

You were about to melt but his last words made you snap out of the dream. 

"His soulmate?" you questioned, suddenly very interested. 

Jaemin shook his head as if to not give him any importance but upon seeing your curious eyes he placed the lid on the pot and sat down in front of you. 

"So it was new years," he started and you gulped. He then stopped to giggle, remembering the scene as if it played in front of himself. "We were drunk as fuck. We went to like three different parties and I was wasted. I don't know if you're familiar with the place but there's a tarot reader downtown. We were bored so we decided to go there."

Your head felt suddenly very light. "And what happened?" you asked with a faint voice. 

"Oh, we made a fool out of ourselves for sure, but the woman was nice and did a reading for Doyoung. I don't remember much but I kinda remember the physical descriptions. And you scarily look like that a lot." 

You swallowed again and you felt your mouth dry. 

"And does Doyoung remember?" 

"Remember what?" 

You gasped when Doyoung appeared on your side, a towel around his neck as he used one end to dry the back of his head. 

"I was telling Y/N about the soulmate thing, you know? When the lady told you that they'd be coming around summer?" 

Doyoung's pupils trembled a little but then he turned around and headed towards the fridge. 

"Ah yeah. I don't believe any of that though," he said and poured himself a glass of water. 

You looked at his profile as he drank and then noticed Jaemin's pitiful expression. 

"I got a reading on new year's too in the exact same place," you confessed and the silence afterwards felt heavy. 

"And your soulmate was someone that looks like me?" Doyoung joked and Jaemin giggled awkwardly. 

Your heart stung very painfully but you let out a dry chuckle too. 

“I don’t believe in it either. But it was very fun,” you lied. 

“I should have done a reading too,” Jaemin commented. 

"I'm starving," Doyoung lifted the lid and his friend got closer to stir again. 

Their voices talking about ingredients felt muffled as you tried hard to swallow your stupid tears.

_____

You had no idea why you believed the soulmates story. 

Maybe you were lonely or just plain bored but the idea of having a designated person you could be with during your lifetime felt very comforting. Especially since the Lady told you to have faith. 

Doyoung seemed to fit every category and you were so insanely attracted to him that it did not make sense for him to not be your soulmate. But do soulmates appear then disappear from your life, leaving behind nothing besides your memories of them?

Maybe you should have given him your number after you left his apartment that night, but reflecting about it with a cold mind, you did well to not seek him out given his reaction to the whole soulmates discourse. 

He was definitely not your soulmate. It shouldn’t have been this hard. 

Looking at your desk you sighed at the amount of work you had to do for the day and you imagined Doyoung walking through your door just like soulmates in movies would do. Then you shook your head trying to get those intrusive thoughts out of your head. 

Enough. 

But it was so difficult, especially as your eyes kept falling on his cologne, partially hidden behind your pens. 

You grabbed it suddenly intending to throw it out. 

"Oh sorry, I made this fall," you eyed the bottle of perfume on the cabinet by the entrance as you put on your shoes. With quick hands you grabbed it but before placing the cap on, you brought it to your face and smelled it again. "It's very nice." Doyoung, seeing you out, was leaning on the wall. "Do you like it?" You nodded. "You can keep it." You hesitated, wondering if he was joking or not. "Think of me," his eyebrows wiggled amused and if you wouldn't have been so exhausted you would have begged him to take you against the same cabinet again. 

Now, eyes closed, you were thinking of him indeed as you smelled that cologne, a shy hand slowly creeping up your thigh. 

No. You weren't about to masturbate at work but the temptation was so big that you jolted as if awoken from a dream when your phone rang. 

You breathed in and out as if to calm down and picked it up. 

"Y/N speaking."

"Hi, soulmate."

His voice made you physically shiver and your heart started to beat so fast inside your ears that you were afraid Doyoung could hear it too. 

"How did you get my number?" 

"I don't have your number. This is the winery's one and I googled it."

You bit your lower lip feeling stupid. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry, I'm a little tired."

"Have you been working a lot lately?" 

"Yes," you replied and it was true, but it wasn't work that clouded and exhausted your mind. 

"You need a pause then. Do you want me to help you relax?" 

His low and amused tone made your legs shift and you changed their position. 

"What do you have in mind?" 

"Are you alone?" 

"Yes," you almost whispered. 

"Then close your eyes for me."

You did timidly and the increase of your breath probably was a confirmation for him that you listened because he went on soon after. 

"Now touch your neck slowly with your fingertips. Go down to your clavicle then gently cup your breasts."

"This is making me shiver," you breathed out. 

"Good. I bet you're wearing a thin bralette and your perked nipples are poking through."

You sighed as you touched them and smiled at Doyoung's correct intuition.  

"Yes," you replied. 

"Can you play with them as I would if I were there?" 

You whined and bit your lower lip trying to resist the urge. 

"Doyoung-," this is a little inappropriate and honestly, kinda rude of you, especially since you went mia suddenly and now you want to pick up from where you left, you intended to say but didn’t manage to. 

"Do it," he commanded and your hand flew to your breasts and started to play with your nipples as if it didn't belong to you anymore. 

"Good girl. Does it feel good?" 

"Yes," you whispered. 

"Speak up love."

"I can't be loud."

"Oh really? Then, now slip one hand under your panties and rub your clit. I bet you're soaking wet and let's see if you'll be able to not be loud." 

His voice sounded like a hypnotic melody and you didn't even question it when you found yourself with the fingers gently pressing on your clit in little circles. Your breath got quicker and heavier, the grip on the phone was even stronger. 

"Doyoung-," 

"Yes, babe? Does it feel good?" he cooed. 

"It feels so fucking good-," 

"Can you slip a finger in for me too, love?" 

You nodded even if he couldn't see you and you did as he wished, the stretch so unsatisfying in comparison to Doyoung's girth to make you whine frustrated. 

"I- I wished you fucked me instead-," 

"Okay then," he replied calmly and for a split second, you wondered if the whole phone sex thing was not something you weren’t good at to make him reply so dryly when the door to your office opened and Doyoung took his tongue out at you. 

His sudden presence made you so flustered that you promptly pulled your fingers away as if he caught you doing it instead of being the one ordering you around. 

"What are you doing here?" you put your phone down with a shaking hand. 

He walked lazily towards your desk and put a paper bag on it. "Brought you your clothes."

You looked at them. "How did you get in? My secretary-," 

"Told him I was your boyfriend."

You felt the air stop inside your lungs at his words but you couldn't do much as Doyoung suddenly bent down with hands on the desk and took your still wet fingers into his mouth. 

You gasped softly as he sucked on them slowly, letting his tongue collect every single drop of your wetness, his deep eyes flickering with amusement at your visible lust. 

And you were so horny that you didn't even question it when he grabbed your wrists and made you stand. You took a step towards him but he pulled you by the waist and turned you around, pushing you towards the desk with his hips and pressing himself into your ass until you were bent over. 

"You look amazing like this, just like a little slut waiting for my cock, ain't I right?"  

You gasped for air as he pressed one palm on your spine and the other slowly raised your skirt. 

"You keep dressing like this at work. No wonder your secretary was so upset to hear that I was your boyfriend. Do you want us to put on a little show for him? So he knows his place." 

His fingers drawing lines up and down your clothed pussy prevented you from forming any words and when you felt your panties slip to the side and heard Doyoung's zip you inhaled aching to feel him inside. 

But he didn't touch you where you wanted him to. 

"Answer me," he slapped your ass and you curved your neck up with a hiss. 

"If you finally fuck me good enough perhaps I'll be loud enough for him to hear me."

Another slap. 

"Are you being a brat now? Should I not make you cum just like-," 

"Nonononono please please no please--" the string of begging erupted out of you way too easily and it was interrupted by Doyoung's dry laugh and hard cock finally slipping inside. 

You exhaled deeply and he grunted, bottoming out until you felt his hip bones on your ass. 

He remained still then he snapped. 

"Fuck fuck Doyoung--ah!" you cried out. 

"Louder."

Your voice would have increased in volume without him ordering that but it certainly added to the whole desk creaking and skin slapping symphony. 

One of his hands was palming your ass while the other pulled you towards him by the waist, but then he changed his mind and grabbed your arms by the elbows, pulling your torso up and making you curve your spine. 

You cried out his name again and stared at his reflection in the window in front of you. Eyebrows furrowed and a couple of strands of his hair fallen from the styled fringe made his gaze even deeper when you locked eyes. 

Then he smiled wickedly and a shiver shook your body knowing that nothing good will come out of that. And soon enough he let go of your arms and held your bust instead while the other wrapped your throat. You gasped for air and he attached his teeth to your shoulder sucking deeply and slowly, so different to the pace of his quick hips. 

Your desk phone rang and Doyoung held you harder as an indication to not even think about it. Not that you even cared about besides the way his cock was stretching you all out. 

The string of your choked moans just increased their tempo until you shuddered in his arms with a cry, so hard and so suddenly that his hips stopped and he let go of your throat in a second, holding your body and breathing deeply with you until you didn't whine anymore. 

A kiss on the cheek then on the neck and you turned your head around, searching for his lips. 

Your phone rang again and he smiled. 

"Answer."

"But you're still-," 

He grabbed the phone, placing it to your ear and you had nothing else to do than breathe heavily and greet with a shaking and hoarse voice. 

You understood the first three words of the person talking on the other side before Doyoung pushed you on the desk again and started to thrust into you, this time seeking his own high. 

You gritted your teeth and rotated your torso to be able to place your palm on his stomach and push your nail into his shirt. 

The look in your eyes just made him even more amused. 

“Yes, yes, no, could you please repeat that?” 

And even if the voice on the other line kindly repeated itself, your eyes rolled inside of your head and your body moved back and forth on the desk making you not understand a single thing. 

It was so highly unprofessional and inappropriate that it made your blood boil with pleasure. You hung up, making a mental note to call back and use the ‘line went dead’ excuse. 

Doyoung didn’t like that independence a single bit and he made sure to show you as you suddenly found yourself standing, no cock to stretch you out anymore and his hands on your waist turning your around. 

“On your knees.” 

You slipped down in front of him with hands on his stomach then you let them fall on his soft suit pants. 

The veins on his hand were popping when he grabbed his cock and lightly hit your lips with its tip. You let out your tongue and let it bounce on it, leaning in to be able to catch in between your lips. 

Doyoung tutted and took half a step back making your suck on air. 

“When and how I say so,” he murmured and got closer again. 

His other hand grabbed your head and kept you in place, fully controlling the way he pushed his shaft between your lips, slowly smearing his precum on them. 

“I really want to let my cum slide down your throat right now.” 

You opened your mouth eagerly and he smiled wickedly. 

It reached the back of your throat in one go and you gagged, pressing your nails into his thighs. Heavy on your tongue, you couldn’t move so it was Doyoung to slowly thrust his hips, increasing his movements until you started to drool. 

“Fuck, you’re so good-,” 

Short-breathed and fingers tightening in your hair you could feel him reaching his orgasm soon. 

You lifted your gaze up and when he pulled out to make your breath you cupped his balls with one hand and took him inside of your mouth again. 

He choked and started to grunt, meeting your movements with his erratic ones until he went suddenly still and you whined feeling his cum hit the back of your throat. 

You swallowed quickly making him hiss as he thrust a couple of times more and he pulled out slowly, a string of saliva and his seed to connect your tongue to his tip. 

“You’re amazing. You know that?” he whispered with a raspy voice. His fingers caressed your cheeks and lips as you looked up at him panting.

_____

“Do you want me to hit him with my car?” 

Knowing him, it wasn’t a joke so you lightly hit his thigh. “Jeno!”

He chuckled. 

Meeting your soulmate - it should have been electrical, like two magnets meeting each other. 

The first moment you saw his shoulders, you knew it was him. Before you even saw his face and learned his name, you sighed in relief. Finally, you’ve found him and you were at home. 

Then why was it so difficult to just be with Doyoung?

He fucked you good and kissed your lips. He made sure you were okay after fucking your throat and even massaged your feet as you tried to catch your breath on the couch inside your office. 

“Can you please bring us, like, something to drink and some snacks?” Doyoung opened the door and talked to a very mortified secretary. 

“Sure,” he suddenly got up and looked around as if not knowing which planet he was on.

“Why are you torturing that poor boy?” you rolled your eyes when Doyoung plopped back on the couch near him. “Now he’ll want to resign from the job and he was quite good at it.” 

“I think he liked it. I know a post nut face when I see one and he definitely had some fun under that desk.” 

The secretary entered the office and his lips were tight as he placed the tray with coffee on the little table in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled kindly at him. 

“No sugar for you ma’am and one sugar for you sir,” he announced before leaving as quickly as he came in. 

You leaned in and took your mug, sighing when you felt it’s warmth heat your skin.

“How did he know I take my coffee with one sugar?” Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows while doing the same. 

You looked at him and shrugged. “I told you he’s good at his job.”  

And you were thankful that the boy didn’t leave because now as you talked to Jeno in your office, weeks after you’ve seen Doyoung in there, you really needed someone to do your job. 

“I’m just not even concentrating much. I think I caught feelings for him while he only saw this as-- fucking,” you threw your hands in the air once and sighed, sitting down at your desk. 

Jeno hummed pensively. “Well, he strikes me as someone too romantic for that. People who just hookup don’t behave as he does. They just fuck and leave.” 

You rubbed the bridge of your nose. “I just think he was being considerate. You can’t fuck someone’s mouth then leave them there like that.” 

Jeno hummed again. “But he did call you my girl and he called himself your boyfriend.” 

You looked up. “My girl as the girl that I fuck and my boyfriend only to make the secretary let him in.”

Your friend pursed his lips as if considering that side of events. 

“How do you even know all of these details? I don’t remember telling you any of this before,” you chuckled. 

Jeno cleared his voice. “You told me. Are you having a loss of memory too now?” 

You sighed. “Maybe.” 

The young boy cleared his voice again. “Anyway! Plan. Send him nudes.” 

“What?” you exclaimed. 

You could go around your sweet friend Jeno suggesting you to fuck Doyoung when he was the Rabbit boy but suggesting you to send the dude nudes? 

Seeing his pink cheeks Jeno must have suddenly realized what he has just said too and regretted it. 

“Trust me. He’s an air sign. They like sexting and mind fucking and all of that stuff. Now I have to go.”

You looked at him standing up. “Since when are you into astrology? Also, where are you going? We were supposed to have lunch together!” 

“Sext him and send him a good coochie pic. Bye, love you,” he left like the wind and you leaned back in your chair perplexed.

_____

"Do you trust me?" 

"Yeah," his voice was a whisper and it got engulfed by the jingle of handcuffs in your hands. 

You were so beautiful and intoxicating that Doyoung found himself having difficulties breathing when you slowly started to crawl on the bed towards him. 

“I’m glad you wore the lingerie I sent you,” he whispered, hands reaching towards you to feel the material under his fingertips. But you grabbed them with a sudden force and Doyoung groaned, finding himself pinned to the bed instead.  

“No touching,” you purred. 

The young man sighed, feeling his cock twitching on his lower stomach. 

You eyed it and smiled like a cat. “You want me to touch you, babe?” 

Doyoung nodded. “Please?” 

You licked your lips and leaned down, your lips so close to his cock to make him audible whine. A little bit. A little bit more and he would feel-

And then he woke up shaking in his bed. 

“Shit.” Doyoung closed his eyes again, rolling on his back with a certain difficulty. 

His cock was so hard that it was almost painful and he felt short-breathed. 

He looked at his ceiling again and he blinked twice when he realized by the hue of it that his phone lit up. 

With a groan he extended his arm to the side and grabbed it, narrowing his eyes at the bright screen. 

Then he choked and sat up.

“Fuck!” Doyoung exclaimed upon seeing his phone turn dark in his hands. 

With a quick roll of the body, he put his palms on the ground looking for his charger. It took him some other swears and grunts to finally charge it but the phone remained black.

“What the fuck,” he sighed, hitting his head into the pillow.

_____

It was in the way you walked, the way your feet touched the floor. 

Or maybe it was the way the air floated between your fingers when you moved your wrists as if grabbing something in Doyoung’s chest and pulling him towards you. 

The line of your back extended up until your neck, the line of your jaw, your cheeks puffing up when you laughed and your eyes closing for a second. The sound of it making his heart beat faster and a little smile creeping on his lips although he was in a very bad mood that day. 

The people you were talking to stopped looking at you and stared somewhere behind your back instead. 

Mouth still open while explaining to them that blue and red looked disgusting together, you turned around to see what caught their attention and you met Doyoung’s face. 

Your breath hitched and you had to swallow a few times before being able to speak. 

“Hey,” you straightened your back as he approached you. 

“It’s time for a lunch break,” he announced without batting an eye. 

You blinked a few times, trying to process his presence there all of a sudden. 

“You’re dismissed,” he spoke to the creative team and they obeyed him, walking away slowly and chuckling between themselves. 

You waited for them to not eavesdrop and huffed before whispering. “Who do you think you are?” 

“Your soulmate.” 

He slipped his hand in yours and started to walk towards the exit. You let yourself be dragged amused for the first steps then stopped. 

“My bag.” 

Doyoung rolled his eyes and raised his other hand that was already holding it. 

“Come on. I’m starving.” 

“Where are we going?” you asked the back of his head as you were already descending the stairs. “Why are you here?” 

“I’m annoyed,” he replied as if that was a sufficient explanation and opened the passenger seat’s door for you. "So I wanted to see you because it puts me in a good mood."

You looked at him for a few moments then sighed, trying to conceal your flustered emotions. 

“Why are you annoyed? Because you realized that leaving me on read last night was stupid?” you put on your seatbelt. 

When you raised your head Doyoung’s palms were on both sides of your face and his lips on yours. You exhaled softly, not expecting any of it so suddenly, then timidly you rested your hand on his knee. The luscious material of his suit was delicate under your fingertips so you absentmindedly started to draw little circles on it, imitating the pattern Doyoung’s tongue was making yours dance in. When he pulled away slightly you managed to look at his eyes. He placed another peck on your lips, then another. By the time he placed the third one you were giggling. The corners of his mouth raised too and you cupped his face and he flinched imperceptibly. 

“I thought you wanted to slap me.” 

“There are many reasons why I would want to slap you but not today.” 

“Not today.” 

“Be ready anytime.” 

“You too,” he kissed your knuckles before putting his hands on the wheel. “But like on the butt.”

The engire roared as Doyoung turned the keys. 

“My phone died,” he explained. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“I swear.”

The engine roared again and you drove away from the winery's parking lot. 

You sighed, crossing your arms on your chest. 

“It’s okay. Only because you’re sweet.”  

"Am I sweet?" 

"You are." 

"You're sweet too so I can't wait to eat you out again."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Okay, you went there." 

But he didn't do anything you'd expect him to do. Entering his apartment calmly, you both let the shoes at the entrance and you sighed to feel his soft living room rug under your bare feet. 

No bending, no pushing and no hands to knead your flesh. 

You tilted your head to the side amused as he placed your bag on the couch and ventured towards the kitchen. 

"Is Jaemin home?" you inquired. Maybe that was the reason he didn't want to rearrange your guts that day. 

Doyoung took away his jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeves. Your eyes followed his movements and although you weren't horny one bit before you saw him, now you would have been able to go on for multiple rounds with no rest in between upon seeing just his forearms. You took away your jacket too and expected him to do something already but he turned around and entered the kitchen instead. 

"I'm making spaghetti."

You blinked at his profile as he retrieved a pan and a pot, filling the latter with water. 

"Did you really bring me here for lunch?" you couldn't help but ask as you sat down at the table. 

"Yeah. Why? Is that strange?" 

You shrugged. "I don't know. You've always sought me for other things."

He faked an offended expression. "I fed you dinner last time."

You smiled. "But you also fucked me."

"You want me to fuck you after spaghetti?" 

"Not necessarily. I like just hanging out with you, but only you like it as well."

As if sensing something in your tone, his amusement wore off when he finally started to cut the onions. 

"Of course. Why wouldn't I like it?" 

"I mean, we've never really openly discussed this," you gestured between you. "Hell, I fucked you three times before knowing your name."

"You've never asked for it."

"Yeah, well, my mouth was busy doing something else." 

He smiled a little and let the onions fall into the hot pan, stirring a few times and opening the fridge to retrieve the tomato sauce. 

"How do you want to discuss it?" 

His voice got quieter and you had the hunch that he really didn't like having serious talks or emotional ones. Just like, well, just like your supposed soulmate. The thought made your stomach knot up. 

"I know this might sound a little funny, but like, what are we?" 

Doyoung added the tomato sauce and sprinkled salt, pepper and hot pepper flakes on it before stirring. His domestic look made your chest hurt in ways you've never experienced with him before and suddenly you were afraid to know what he had to say. 

"I don't know, but we can be something starting now."

You sighed a little. "Like, friends with benefits?" 

Doyoung's expression didn't change but his throat moved as he swallowed. The water started to boil and he put the spaghetti in, pushing them inside as they softened. 

"You want us to be friends with benefits?" 

No. 

Yes. 

But like no. 

You wanted the friends, you wanted the benefits, but you wanted more. 

Would you scare him away if you said that? Would he retreat just like he did when you mentioned the soulmates discourse? 

"What about you?"

Dancing around each other like two assassins about to throw the first dagger you let the silence be the witness of it. 

"I like you," he hit you first but it was no knife. It was light just like a kiss and your eyelids fluttered. 

"Really?" 

He let out a single soft chuckle. "Yeah. Why are you so surprised?" 

You gulped and looked around not knowing what to say. 

"It's just-- your whole soulmate discourse made it look like you wouldn't be romantically interested in me at all."

Doyoung didn’t speak for a moment as if trying to remember, then nodded. 

"I don't believe in soulmates." 

He placed the lid on the sauce and let it slowly cook. 

"I believe in choices. And I'm choosing you I guess."

"Don't you think that maybe you're conditioned to choose me because I'm your soulmate?" you tried to joke but Doyoung didn't smile. 

"And where would the fun be in that? My freedom? I think the universe might give you a path but you're free to follow it or not."

"Of course. But isn't it comforting to know that the universe is taking care of you that way?" 

"Maybe. Perhaps we're actually soulmates and we've met like ones but now it's our duty to do something about it. I can decide not to see you anymore. What's the universe going to do about it?" 

"Make me get into your way and annoy you?" you smiled and his lips curved too.  

"What I'm trying to say is that I think we're making our soulmates. I decide that you're my soulmate and we mould ourselves to fit each other. No one is a perfect fit."

You didn't know what to say. 

"I tried all of this time you know? I actively sought you out and maybe to you it was fate but we wouldn't be here if I didn't come to you. But you've just been waiting."

His words stung your heart and it felt like a scold. 

"I just--it's not like I don't care. I also like you. A lot. I was just--hoping for it to be soulmate like, you know? Maybe that was childish of me." 

"What did the Lady tell you? As your last words?" 

"To have faith."

"Me too. But to me, faith is putting in the effort and believing in good results. Not waiting for stuff to happen."

"I guess you're right."

"Would you have let me go if you didn't think I was the soulmate you were looking for?" 

You blinked a few times unable to speak. 

Yeah. 

You would have and the sudden realization felt so scary that your spine started to shiver. 

He has been speaking without looking at you and at your silence, he turned his head towards you. When he noticed your glossy eyes he let the pan go and walked towards you.

"Why? No. Why are you crying?" he kneeled in front of you, talking with a soft voice and he placed his hands on your shoulders. 

You shook your head shocked to see a few drops on your thighs and quickly patted your cheeks dry. Then you let out a timid laugh. 

"I don't know what happened. I got emotional all of a sudden. It's fine."

Doyoung sighed and nibbled at his lower lip. 

"What I'm trying to say is, even if someone came to me now and told me that you're not my soulmate and they are instead, I would not care. I'm still choosing whoever I want and that's you."

You felt your chin shake by itself and hated the fact that you wore your emotions on your sleeve like that. 

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" 

You shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I fucked up something." 

Doyoung waited, his fingers gently running your arms. 

"I would have probably made the mistake of letting you go-," you sobbed, "and at first since things have been so weird and not necessarily easy I didn’t try enough-," 

His eyes softened and he pulled you into a hug. 

"You're here now. Why are you worrying about things that could have happened?" 

You wrapped his neck and hid your face into his shirt. His familiar scent culled you and you bathed in his warmth. 

"I feel like I'm very childish right now and the lady told me that my soulmate liked me for being a boss woman-," 

"I like all of our sides, you fool," he pulled you away and kissed your forehead. 

"But you’d like me more if I tied you up." "You’d also like me more if I tied you up." "I actually like it when you're subby." "See? And the lady told me that you liked me being dominant." "I do love it when you're dominant," you timidly circled his chest with your finger. "Hm, maybe I should-," 

"The pasta!" you yelled pointing your finger and Doyoung jolted turning around towards the stove. 

The pasta was completely fine and he sighed closing his eyes. 

"I thought it was on fire," he complained with a whiny tone as he turned the stove off. Quickly he drained the spaghetti and threw it in the tomato sauce stirring it afterwards. With the corner of his eye, he saw you stand. 

"Come here."

You giggled and took a few quick steps back. 

His eyes were furious and paired with his smiling expression he looked like a tornado. 

"Come here," he repeated. 

You shook your head. 

"I said-," he managed to grab you and throw you on his shoulder, "-come here."

"Fuck!" you squealed. "Yeah, fuck, that's exactly what I'm going to do to you now."

One second you were standing and the other you were lying down on the couch with the most aggressive Doyoung you’ve ever seen attached to your neck. 

The whines came quickly as he sucked your skin inside the mouth, not worrying for a second if it might become sore. As you grabbed his belt his iron fingers clasped your wrists together and you found yourself pinned with your arms above your head. Your chest rose and fell fast looking at his dark eyes under the unstyled fringe. 

“Be a good girl and perhaps I’ll think about making you cum,” he whispered through his teeth. You squirmed under him and found yourself breathless. 

“Did you hear me?” his other hand fell back the exact moment he bit down on your clothed nipple. 

“Are you not wearing a bra?” 

You giggled. “I manifested you coming to see me today. And you did.” 

His eyes were dark as they analyzed you and for an instance, you thought he’d burst into tears. 

But then he reached the hem of your blouse and lifted it up in a second, biting your nipple, letting his tongue circle it afterwards, soothing the sudden sweet pain then biting on it again, stretching it out, sucking on it, giving the same treatment to the other one. His fingers intertwined yours when he felt your wrists try to lift up from the couch and he pushed them down even harder than before. 

“Do I have to tie you all up? Huh? I bet you’d like it, right?” 

His breath was hot on your lips and so was his tongue when he took it out and slowly outlined them with his wet tip. You opened your mouth and took out your tongue too with a little moan, trying to catch him into a kiss, but he chuckled lightly and let you feel the air instead. Another whine as you lifted your head to reach him but he was quick to push you down by pressing his fingers on your throat. You choked lightly and he pouted. 

“Bad baby girls don’t get to kiss,” he murmured. "But if you really want it-" he pressed one finger on your lower lip and opened your mouth. Y

our thighs tightened their hold around his waist and you pulled him towards you even more. The trail of saliva falling on your tongue from his mouth added somehow to the wetness between your legs. 

You wanted to be a good girl. You wanted to be a good girl so badly, pleasing him and letting him whatever he wanted to you. 

Swallowing slowly, you opened your mouth for more and he finally shoved his tongue inside, kissing you deeply, grunting as he let your hands go and you were quick to let them slide under his shirt. 

His skin was hot and your fingers icy cold. He hissed when you circled his nipples and bit your lip. 

"Maybe you should warm your hands by doing something useful." He took his cock out and-

"Okay, that's enough!" Jeno threw a cloth on the crystal ball. 

"Ah! Come on! I was having so much fun," the Lady complained, jingling her earrings as she giggled. 

The boy sitting across the table made a throwing up sound. "Also, why are you still looking like that? It's creeping me out," he commented. 

The Lady looked at the mirror on her right and chuckled again. 

"I like it when Haechannie is like this," Jaemin appeared from behind him and playfully kissed his cheek. 

Jeno made another gag sound. "Gross."

Haechan shook his head and as the boys blinked he was back to his boyish looks. "I'll never get used to this," Jaemin murmured as he was not holding long hair anymore. 

"Good job guys. We did it again," Haechan stood up and yawned, lifting his arms in a satisfying stretch. "If Jaemin didn't get back home that time she was over then it might have been quicker," Jeno lifted his legs on the table and leaned down on the chair. 

“This is my first job! It was very tough for me actually,” Jaemin complained. 

“Hard for you? I had to be myself, the winery girl, the secretary-,” he counted on his fingers. 

“I had to be the cashier and I almost lost it when Jaemin said he couldn’t wait to taste your wet pussy-,” Haechan threw his head back and laughed. Jaemin imitated him soon after.

“Did you see Doyoung’s face? He wasn’t into it at all.” 

"I miss being a Gryffindor. This universe is boring as fuck,” Jeno rolled his eyes even if he was also smiling a little. 

"The next one might be as boring as this my dear friends," Haechan sat back down and brought out his book. 

Jeno groaned. "Can't we have a normal life for once? I had to pretend I was a girl. And not only. The thought of Y/N thinking I was doing BDSM stuff with that guy-," he indicated a very amused Jaemin, "-took a toll on my health." 

"I'm sorry I'm not a shapeshifter too. I would have loved to be the girl in this relationship. Also, it was you that told her we were doing BDSM stuff, not me.”

“It’s because I forgot to fully shift my arms! She thought I was-,”

"Quiet."

As Haechan spoke the guys immediately stopped talking and Jeno put his feet down. 

"The next one is going to be a hard one. We're going to a dark place."

He closed the book.

"To hell, boys."

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

Oh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

[butsomeofusarelookingatthestars]

Hey would you do something were someone in the readers family has a criminal history, and she also works for the fbi (kind of like seaver, though doesn’t necessary have to be a serial killer) and she's been keeping it a secret from Luke cause she is afraid he'll break up with her, but then he finds out because of a case or something? I really love your blog btw 😘

Because of You

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Reader

Prompt: Request

A/N: I really wanted to go the angsty route, but I know weall need a little bit of fluff during times like this! I’ll consider it apublic duty. I hope you are all keeping safe and well. Enjoy and take care ofyourselves! xx

“Y/N, you and Luketalk to the family. They’re the only ones who can help us.”

You sighed heavily as you slammed the car door shut, yourfeet dragging as you reluctantly made your way towards the house. The area was ratherquaint, neighbours happily conversing across the street and white picket fencesenclosing their impressively neat gardens. No one would ever have suspectedthat it hid such darkness.

But you knew better than to be deceived by appearances.

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

You were startled by the light grip on your wrist, jumpingin surprise as your eyes landed on Luke. During the car journey, you’d almostforgotten his presence. The concern in his dark brown eyes made your heart achewith guilt. He couldn’t find out. He’dnever be able to look at you the same. 

“I’m fine.” You replied quietly, pulling away from his graspas you focused your attention on the front door, knocking gently as youdesperately tried to ignore his inquisitive gaze. It opened slowly to reveal awoman on the other side.

“Miss Daniels?”

The woman flinched, her eyes narrowing as they landed uponyour and Luke’s badges. Clearly, FBI agents wouldn’t be welcome in her home. “I’vetold you people before, I don’t know anything! Why won’t you listen to me?” Shecried in exasperation.

“Miss Daniels. If you don’t help us-” Luke began, his voiceremaining calm and authoritative despite the circumstances. “More people couldget hurt.” He warned.  

But she only shook her head, retaining her defiant silence. “I’vetold you agent, I don’t know where my brother is.” She whispered, pressing herlips together firmly, but she couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes. Fear you knewall too well.

You froze for a moment, hesitating to betray your ownemotions. But times were desperate and you knew you were running out of timefor the latest victim. You had to forget that Luke was stood beside you as youplaced a gentle hand on the door to prevent it from being closed.

“It’s not easy…” You murmured softly, your eyes searchinghers as she gazed at you in shock. “He’s your family. He’s your brother. It’s only natural to feel asense of-” You paused for a moment, biting your lip as you searched for theright word. “-loyalty.”

The word tasted bitter on your lips. You knew what it feltlike to feel so ashamed, yet still want to defend a loved one. Even when itdidn’t make sense.

“You want to protecthim?” You asked softly. She nodded, remaining silent as a tear dripped slowlydown her cheek. “Then, the best way to do that is by helping us.” You told her,your voice surprisingly calm and reassuring as you reached forward to gentlytouch her hand. “Help us stop him before he hurts someone else.”

                                                                                                                                A quiet groan escaped your lips as you stretched out, attemptingto rid yourself of the aches and pains that accompanied a seven-hour flighthome. It hadn’t been comfortable, curling up on the individual seat positionedaway from the others, but it had been necessary.

You simply didn’t want to participate in their post-casecelebratory drinks, engage in friendly conversation…or face Luke’s concernedgaze. You knew he suspected something was wrong and the worry etched on hisface only made the guilt worse. It terrified you to think he could discover thereal reason why you hadn’t been yourself today.

For the past two years, he had only seen you as hisco-worker and friend. For only the past few months, he had been getting to knowyou as his girlfriend. And, you weren’t willing to risk your relationship orthe man you cared about…not for anything.

“The others are heading off to O’Keefe’s if you’re up forit?”

You held back a sigh at the sound of his voice, desperatelytrying to hide your dismay. Your plan had been to escape early and slip past whilstthe others debriefed in the meeting room. But, it seemed like you’d have nosuch luck when it came to avoiding Luke.

“I think I’m just going to head home.” You told him,ignoring his inquisitive gaze as you focused on packing your bag. “I think theflight back has wiped me out.” You lied, your voice faltering slightly as your handbegan to shake. You could only hope he believed it was a sigh of exhaustionrather than fear.

“Oh!” Luke murmured, clearly disappointed with your decisionas he nodded carefully. “I’ll drive you home then. We can stay at mine tonightif you want to?”

Your heart raced. Of course, he wanted to look after you. IfLuke knew something was wrong, his protective nature wouldn’t allow you to walkout of here alone. You knew you had to lie.

“It’s fine.” You told him, forcing a smile onto your face asyou grabbed your bag. “I’m tired and I think I just need some time by myself. I’llfeel better tomorrow.”

But before you could make your escape, his fingers gentlyenclosed around your wrist. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as his eyes rakedover your face in concern.

“Whatever it is you can tell me Y/N.” He murmured softly. “Pleasedon’t keep avoiding me. If I’ve done something wrong, I want to put it right.”

The heartfelt plea made your heart sink. You couldn’t let himthink he was the problem.

“I know how she felt…the unsub’s sister.” You told himquietly, closing your eyes as you ran a hand through your hair in frustration.You couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing he’d be carefully following yourevery word and trying to figure out the reason behind your distress.

“My brother used to be like that - unpredictable, explosivetemper…even cruel at times.” You croaked, the emotions threatening to overspillas you opened your eyes to meet Luke’s worried gaze. “Afterwards he’d alwaysapologise though. He was so charming and…you could almost believe he was sorry.”

You paused, struggling to get out your next sentence. Lukeremained silent, watching you carefully as you lowered your head. He was such agood listener, refusing to interrupt even if you knew he must have a dozenquestions.  

He deserved to knowthe truth.

“He was arrested five years ago. After he brutally attackeda woman.” Tears stung your eyes as you felt them begin to fall down yourcheeks. “She was in hospital for weeks. The doctors thought it could havecaused permanent damage.”

Luke reached out a hand in an effort to comfort you, but youevaded his grasp. You didn’t deserve tobe comforted.

“I knew. I knew what he was.” You rasped, your heartthundering as your breathing became increasingly laboured.

“You knew?” Luke asked quietly, his tone difficult to readas he glanced down at the floor. You felt your heart sink. He must be disappointed.

A sob escaped your throat. “I knew something wasn’t rightwith him. But he was my brother. I didn’t think-” Your voice faulted as tearsstreamed down your face, blurring your vision. “I should have said something. IfI would have maybe-”

You could still see her bruised face, the pain in her eyesas he smirked smugly in court. It had been little consolation that he hadreceived a harsh sentence. Her life wouldn’t never be the same again. Yet, evenmonths later as he sent you a letter begging you to visit, a part of you stillwanted to be there for him. Protect him.

“It’s like no matter what I do now. I’ll never be able tomake up for it.” You whispered, your cheeks stained with tears as you buriedyour face in your hands. “It doesn’t matter how many people we help, I still…”

Perhaps it was the reason you were so committed to your job,the reason why you went above and beyond for victims and their families and thereason why you stayed late so many nights at the BAU. But it was also thereason why you still felt compassion for unsubs’ relatives who pleaded with youto understand…

You felt ashamed forit.

A pained silence fell across the room as you buried yourface deeper into your hands, unwilling to witness the disappointment in Luke’sbrown eyes. It felt like an eternity had passed before he finally spoke.

“You don’t realise do you?”

You hesitated, his soft voice still calm and reassuring asyou glanced up at him in confusion. “What?”

He gave you a small smile as he reached forward to gentlytake your hand. Your heart fluttered as he tenderly stroked your wrist, themotion instantly soothing. “How amazing you are?”

His words caught you completely off guard.

“It’s because of you that we saved that girl today. It’sbecause of you that his sister decided to help us.” He told you firmly, liftinghis thumb to gently sweep away the tears that still lingered on your face. “You’renot him. His actions don’t say anything about you.”

“But I- I-” You stuttered, trying to find the words to explain,but Luke’s kindness and rendered you speechless. He smiled softly as his armswrapped around your waist and he pulled you close. You could feel thereassuring beat of his heart beneath your fingers as you rested against thewarmth of his chest.

“You are the most compassionate, loving and caring person Iknow.” He whispered into your hair, pressing a tender kiss on the top of yourhead. “That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

You could only lean into his touch, one of your handsentwining in his short hair as you pressed a light kiss against his lips,trying to express just how grateful you were for his reassurance.

“You’re you. And, I love you for that.” 

[gambitgazette]

The X-Perts: Gambit

The following is a repost of an article about Gambit that was posted to the Marvel site in 2011. We’re reposting it here at Gambit Gazette for two reasons; 1) it’s no longer on Marvel’s site (as far as we can tell), and 2) it exhibits insight and respect for Gambit’s character far deeper than what’s displayed on the comic book page the vast majority of the time (sadly). Gambit Gazette has taken the liberty of highlighting passages we find especially noteworthy.

The X-Perts: Gambit Kieron Gillen, Mike Carey, Marjorie Liu and Victor Gischler determine where this wild card will fall Posted Jul 12, 2011 1:31 pm Updated Aug 4, 2011 1:58 pm

By Ben Morse

This July, X-MEN: SCHISM kicks off a startling metamorphosis in the mutant corner of the Marvel Universe that will split the Children of the Atom and lead to ReGenesis in the fall along with two new ongoing series, each featuring it’s own distinctive team: UNCANNY X-MEN and WOLVERINE & THE X-MEN.

With change in the air, here on Marvel.com we’ll be regularly gathering the creators and editors responsible for guiding the X-Men’s destiny to dissect each of their charges to examine what makes them tick and perhaps lend some insight into where they will find themselves once the Schism ends and the ReGenesis gets underway.

This week, we take a look at Gambit, the thief-turned-X-Man who currently serves on the mission squad led by his on-again, off-again love, Rogue, while also mentoring the unpredictable X-23.

Marvel.com: How would you describe the core of who Gambit is and what is most important to him?

Victor Gischler (writer of X-MEN): Self-reliance.

Mike Carey (writer of X-MEN LEGACY): Gambit’s a guy with a core skill that he glories and excels in, and his sense of himself has formed around that, to some extent.  He’s not just a thief, in the sense of having earned his living by stealing—he’s a Thief in a self-defining sense that’s halfway between family and ethnicity. [He was] raised by thieves, in a city where thieves were a clan with clan loyalties. So I think that’s his core, and his instincts and identity and an X-Man were grafted onto that.

Kieron Gillen (writer of UNCANNY X-MEN): Gambit's just one of those classic conflicted characters, torn between a fundamental selfishness—or, at best, self-interest—and the realization that [this] isn't right. His shows of genuine compassion are all the more striking now because of where he's come from. I mean, put aside his recent interactions with Rogue. Look at his interactions with X-23. A man of experience who is man enough to realize that not all experience is worthwhile. He'd roll his eyes at anyone who takes the Sinatra-ian "Regrets? I've had a few, etc" line.

Marjorie Liu (writer of X-23): At his heart, Gambit is a good man who believes in taking care of his friends, and his friends are what's most important to him. People are his home. He will do anything for those who matter to him.

Marvel.com: What is Gambit’s view of how the mutant race should conduct itself moving forward?

Kieron Gillen: Any future of the X-Men that involves having a future and keeps him out of long, boring meetings is probably good with him.

Mike Carey: Arising out of his childhood experiences, I think Gambit is fairly tribal in his gut instincts. Protecting his own, and keeping faith with his own, are core values for him. He’s also perfectly comfortable with a sort of under-the-radar lifestyle, and he knows first-hand that it’s possible to live invisibly among others who don’t share your values or your lifestyle. I’d say Gambit would be comfortable with a strategy that saw mutantkind dropping right out of the rifle sights of the various nut jobs out there and going underground until its numbers are up again and it can confront the world on its own terms.

Victor Gischler: I think he knows that difficult things need to be done, but he wants to see the mutant race finally push through those times so things will be better for the next generation.

Marjorie Liu: The thing about Gambit is that he's a man who knows how to adapt to survive. He plays things by ear, depending on the situation, and never feels obligated to follow the rules, because the only rules that matter are his own sense of honor. Ultimately, that sense of honor includes 'doing no harm'—at least, not to the innocent.

Because of that, however, I don't think he has a firm idea of how the mutant race should move forward. There's no overarching philosophy, no set of rules. Again, he adapts, he plays by ear. I think he would be more likely to say that the mutant race is filled with individuals, and each situation needs to be taken on an individual basis, without imposing some master plan.

Again, though, he's a survivor, and if the world turned on mutants as a whole, his approach would change, as well. He'd fight. He'd protect.  

Marvel.com: Does Gambit like being a member of the X-Men? What keeps him affiliated with them?

Mike Carey: He likes the excitement. He likes the company—or some of it. He likes the sense of family. I think those would be the most important things for him. Having said that, he’s definitely someone who would be able to step into another life if the X-Men folded. He’d miss it, but he wouldn’t mourn it. He’d survive perfectly well.

Kieron Gillen: Honestly, I could spin out an enormous answer about how he sees himself in relation to mutants—though it suddenly strikes me that I see Gambit as one of the mutants who least self-identifies as "mutant"—but about 85% of it boils down to the following: One word, five letters.

Marjorie Liu: I don't know if he likes being a member of the X-Men, so much as he likes some of the people there, and feels obligated to stick by them, and guard their backs. It's a 'people' thing that has him sticking around, and not philosophical.

Victor Gischler: There is kind of a lone wolf aspect to Gambit, but I think deep down all lone wolves really want to be part of the pack. They just don't want to get burned or have their trust betrayed. Gambit has been an X-Man too long not to be a team member in his heart.

Marvel.com: What are Gambit’s most honorable qualities? His least honorable qualities?

Mike Carey: His chimerical gallantry. His insane courage. His anarchic shrewdness.

When he first joined the X-Men, Gambit served as a cynical and occasionally ruthless counterpoint to their stern virtue. They’ve met him more than halfway now—in fact, in some ways, they’ve surpassed him: the X-Men’s moral mainstream has changed so much that Gambit now seems more like a Robin Hood among them, a principled thief with a paradoxically strong code of ethics. He’s still got that ruthless streak, and he can be dishonest both in concealing information and in lying outright. And he has a weakness for going it alone when he ought to trust the people around him. That was what got him sucked into Apocalypse’s wake.

Victor Gischler: He's honest about who he is, warts and all.

Marjorie Liu: Most honorable qualities? Least honorable? Sometimes I think those are one and the same. He'll take care of his friends, no matter what. That's great. But what's not so great for everyone else is that he'll take care of his friends -- no matter what. Even if it means an act of betrayal.

Marvel.com: Do you think the rest of the X-Men really trust Gambit?

Kieron Gillen: Dark, tortured past. Propensity for playing on the other side. Will make out with your other half behind your back. A big part of me thinks they trust Gambit more than they probably should.

Or maybe they don't. The Utopia-era Cyclops-condoned Wolverine-lead X-Force—Gambit wasn't on that team.

Marjorie Liu: No, not really. I don't think they know him, that's the problem. The individuals who do—Storm, Jubilee, X-23—would trust him with their lives, without question. Everyone else? Not so much. To them, he's a wild card, so to speak. They see his reputation first, before they see the man.

Mike Carey: I think they didn’t, and then they did, and now they don’t again. He’s got a lot of lost ground to make up after the Limbo debacle. His past as a thief doesn’t count against him any more, but his past as a Horseman and his past as a Marauder during Messiah Complex do.

Victor Gischler: As long as they keep one hand on their wallets at all times.

Marvel.com: Could Gambit ever be leader of the X-Men again?

Victor Gischler: I don't see it. But that's mostly because I don't think he’d ever really want the job.

Marjorie Liu: My first instinct was to say yes, but the more I think about it, issues of trust and reliability would undermine his position. I'm not sure all the X-Men would feel secure with him in charge, or be willing to follow him to hell and back—and that's a huge component of successful leadership.  

That said, I do think he can lead, just on a smaller scale, with a team that would fit his highly adaptable nature.

Mike Carey: He’d never want that job. It’s too public and too constricting. He wouldn’t be afraid of the responsibility, although he wouldn’t exactly relish it, either—he would be afraid of having his hands tied in a fight by having to co-ordinate what everybody else was doing.

Kieron Gillen: It doesn't seem a natural fit, but I'd never say never. I wouldn't say he could lead the X-Men as they are now. But a hypothetical X-Men team of the future? Yeah, I can see him pulling that off. As long as it doesn't involve all too many of the aforementioned long, boring meetings.

Marvel.com: How does Gambit’s relationship with Rogue color his place among the X-Men?

Marjorie Liu: I wish it didn't!  If this was real life, that relationship would be one of those bad running jokes that people tell each other around dinner, or when there's nothing else to talk about and so you go to the one topic that's only less boring than dull silence. Don't get me wrong, I used to be a fan of Gambit and Rogue, but the relationship doesn't do either of them any favors.

Mike Carey: It’s the main reason why the X-Men feel like home to him. If she left, his attachment to them would be significantly weakened.

Kieron Gillen: What can I say? Heavily.

I know I've been laboring it, but more than almost anyone else, his ties with the X-men are personal. He's happy to exist in a world with the X-Men. He's happy to do the X-Men's work. But he's an outsider, and I think that's a real core of who he is. He needs shadows to step out of.

Mike Carey: Who among the X-Men does Gambit trust? Who does he feel should lead the team?

Victor Gischler: I think he'd trust Storm under almost any circumstances.

Kieron Gillen: Rogue. That's about it. And I don't think he has particularly strong feelings about who should lead the team—but he is interested in the institution of the X-Men. I wouldn't say he's a "Doesn't matter who you vote for, the government always gets in" cynic, but as long as there's an institution which exists to do the job the X-Men have been doing, he's happy. If a leader appeared who changed that role entirely, it's only then Gambit would raise an eyebrow.

Marjorie Liu: I'm biased, but I feel he trusts X-23 and Jubilee, along with Storm. I'm not sure he trusts Rogue, even though he loves her—and I'm sure he's comfortable with Wolverine leading.  

Mike Carey: I think he trusts Cyclops and is comfortable with his leadership. Certainly there’d be more tension for him if, say, Magneto had a leadership role. But the question of who leads isn’t a compelling one for Gambit, because he doesn’t see himself as being a follower. He follows his own conscience: sometimes that takes him outside the X-Men’s big tent. When he’s there, he toes the line, but his allegiance isn’t easily given or given without provisos.

[soliitvde]

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐍  --- ever heard of curiosity killed the cat ?  

(  ayca aysin turan  /  ciswoman  /  she/her  ). introducing  talia aydin , the host for the savant. they’ll be twenty - seven years old, and joined the rogues six month ago. you’ll always see a pocket knife around wherever she is.

𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴

full name : talia kamile aydin 

nickname : n/a 

name meaning : "lamb", "to bloom"

age : twenty - seven 

gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her

date of birth : september fourth

location of birth :  istanbul , turkey  

past residence : brooklyn , new york  

past occupation : theoretical physicist  

current affiliation : the rogues

moral alignment : lawful neutral 

family : lucas campos  ( fiancé ) , kamile aydin ( mother ) , alperen aydin ( father ) 

aesthetics :

playlist : on our own - bruno major , cruel world - active child 

character inspiration : spencer reid - criminal minds , dana scully - the x files , lydia martin - teen wolf 

𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝙳𝙼𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙴

on september 4 1993 , no one was happier than kamile and alperen aydin . for their baby girl had entered the world . she was welcomed with a torrent of happy tears and zealous proclamations of never - ending love as well as veracious oaths to keep their baby daughter protected . they were never going to let her go . 

and as they promised , talia grew up secluded from everything . she was never allowed beyond the boundaries of their house and their gates and fences were far too tall for little talia to even sneak a peek above . and her mother assured her , she wasn’t missing out on anything . but talia couldn’t help but wander , what was that noise ? an ice - cream truck that she’s read about ? or different types of birds and their different types of songs ? or other children , just like her ! who were willing to play tag and hide - and - seek ! she never got the answer 

she was an only child and was home - schooled all her life , the burden of her parent’s expectations were particularly potent , especially about .. well , everythiing . they taught her four languages  . besides her mother - tongue she was to also learn english , french , german and mandarin chinese . but the only sport dignified enough for the aydins was croquet . and then there was physics ; einstein’s theory of relativity , newton’s laws of motion ,  the big bang theory and so many more , biology ; natural selection and evolution , epigenetics , hormones and pregnancy and she was even taught about weedy and invasive plants , chemistry , maths and every other subject that was likely to cause the onset of depression in a pre - pubescent teenage girl . 

but science , science she found a deep love for . it was interesting and magical even , it captivated her completely and her parents were happy to accomodate to her passion . giving her extra lessons and more posters and talia just couldn’t stop her fervid desire to know . and she rigorously dedicated herself to everything about it .  to her it wasn’t about the grades or for the pride of her parents but for herself , for her own mind , to appease her own curiosity . it gave her freedom .  

but as she grew older , the house looked smaller and the walls constantly felt like they were closing in . she was suffocating , she would feel claustrophobic in every room and she knew she had to get out of there before she lost her mind . so she snuck out , past their tall and frightening gates , past her cooking father and sleeping mother . as she took that first step , she felt like she had walked through a portal into another universe . there was such beauty , everywhere . and noise ! all kinds of noise , arguments and laughter , car honks and the roar of motorcycle engines . even the air smelt different . there was an aroma of food , new herbs and spices , it truly was an adventure she would never forget . 

and on the way back , she had meticulously planned it you see , she was to leave at this time , grab these things , say this excuse and then leave at this exact time . otherwise , hell hath no fury like a mother scorned . but the cruel trickster fate , had different plans . on the way back she met a boy . a tourist , from brooklyn , new york . . he had honey eyes and dark skin and there was a strange new feeling that stirred in her stomach , like the flutter of butterflies or the whirring of a malfunctioning machine . they shook hands and exchanged names and talked for a while . but what stuck to her was where lucas was from , america , he answered , the land of the free . she left him with a smile on her face . despite knowing that her plan had  been discarded and there was upcoming consequences to her actions , she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face . partly because of the boy and also because of the prospect of freedom . just a few oceans away , she felt like it was calling to her . 

and , as she had predicted . her parents knew and they were enraged . and of course , talia had seen her parents angry before but this was new and alarming manifestation of their insecurities . they lectured her about the dangers of everything , of the world , of strangers , of cars , of air . ** trigger warning : parents being mean ?  ** and they sent her to the basement ,  where it was cold and dark .  and the only way that talia got through it all , with dry cheeks and a soaring heart , was because of that particular honey - eyed boy . the basement was not a new punishment . and the dark was an old friend . but what the darkness harboured was a stranger to her . her overactive imagination went haywire whenever she was in the basement -- fabricating monsters and gargoyles , winged - serpents and three - headed snakes . when she was down there , she could never sleep , she couldn’t stop shaking either . ** end trigger warning ** but she held on to the hope that she would meet that honey - eyed boy again and share the freedom he glorified in .  

eighteen . she thought it was an age which warranted freedom and trust . but her parents only became more stern and harsh and utterly unyielding in the subject of talia’s freedom . she was to stay at the house , work with her father on his research project . and never leave . she cried about it a lot when she first heard the new guidelines of her existence . but her father explained it to her , her mother had lost one sister to disease , another in a traffic accident and a brother to alcohol . her father’s exact words were , “ she had failed in protecting her siblings but she wasn’t going to fail you . she loves you too much .” and talia understood , the only thing she could really do was accept it . 

she worked with her father on his research project , he was a botanist and loved plants far more than the ordinary individual , he was always seeking for new plan species , even promising talia , that had he ever found one , he would name it after his daughter .  for a while she was content , happy even but it didn’t last , it was never going to . she sought for something greater than the mundanities of a secluded lifestyle , she sought for love . and once she was curious about something , she wasn’t going to stop till her curiosity was satiated with answers . 

at twenty - two , in the middle of the night , she worked up the courage , she stole her parent’s money  ( not before leaving them a detailed letter mostly composing of apologies and proclamations of love and just a sentence or two asking them not to look for her  ) ,  carrying nothing but a backpack and knowing absolutely nothing about the world , except from what she’s read , she headed to the airport . she caught a plane , brooklyn , new york . that was all lucas had told her . but that was all she needed . this was far greater than a boy now , this was about liberty .

at twenty - three , she had gotten a job , she had rented out an old and decrepit apartment and she was alone most of the time , but she couldn’t have been happier . she was free . what greater things were there than the liberty to choose , to be who you wanted to be . then love . love found her and wrapped her up . as though bound by the red string of fate , she and lucas found each other . and they grew to trust each other and love each other and three years on , they were engaged . 

and as a little present for her , a pre - honeymoon , lucas had arranged for them to go on a roadtrip . first stop , delaware . she had heard about midway speedway park ( for go - karting and mini golf ! ) and jungle jim’s ( a seasonal water park with games ! ) from a co - worker and talia was completely enamoured with the idea of go - karting !  and water - slides ! she didn’t stop talking about it for days . and lucas , who knew his fiancé more than she knew herself , was enamoured with the idea of making her happy . 

but as soon as they got there , something changed . like a flip had been switched off and they were hit with darkness . chaos and anarchy ensued and the worst flaws of human nature emerged . people were cruel and merciless and talia , who had been secluded for a great chunk of her life and who was taught to think meticulously and methodically , found it difficult to find the calculations in chaos . and it sent her brain into haywire . * trigger warning : anxiety attacks * she was anxious and panicked and most of the nights were spent with lucas trying to help her breathe .  * end trigger warning *

as long as she was with lucas , she could do it , she could keep going . but a few months in this new reality , they were separated . lucas had protected her , begged her to run while he tried to fight for his life . and talia , who was ready to stay , ready to leave earth with the love of her life , ran . and she ran and ran , until she couldn’t breathe anymore , until her legs collapsed from under her , the screams of her soulmate still ringing in her ears .  that was when she found the rogues , or rather the rouges found her . and everyday after that , all she could her was her mother’s warning voice , curiosity killed the cat . 

but she wasn’t going to give up on lucas . there was a chance he could still be a live .  she thought about everything methodically and meticulously , applying principles of science and laws of nature but love , love was an exception -- lucas was an exception . and that night she decided that nothing could stop her from finding him . yes , curiosity killed the cat . but satisfaction brought it back . 

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴

a kid , actually though . because she was secluded from everything , she is fascinated about everything . she is also very in love with earth , she wants to protect it and capture as much of the old world as possible . so she usually carries around a notebook and a pen , asking people their stories and what their life was . she literally stacked up on disposable cameras and a lot of film when she had walked past it . so she’s taking picture with those too sometimes . 

she’s abrasive sometimes . she didn’t have a lot of interactions with other people . and sometimes she says things without thinking , and even though she had some practice ,  she might still say something insensitive because she didn’t know it was insensitive --- basically , she’s emotionally stupid . and she doesn’t know much about feelings . she feels them and she knows she feels them but its all still quite new to her .

she’s a compliant rogue , she does what she’s asked and abides whatever rules they’ve established . but she’s quite annoying , she calls people out on their stupidity and always kinda like thinks she’s better than everyone . she’s definitely not shy about highlighting people’s mistake and she loves LOOOVES telling people ‘ i told you so ’

she’s very physically weak . she doesn’t have any arm strength and she’s moderately good at running . but yeah , nah . she can’t fight for shit . 

𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙾𝚆𝙽

maybe the rogue who found her all sad and stuff ? and since they helped talia when she was such in a vulnerable state , she really trusts them and confides in them a lot ? and she always keeps them close because she’s scared of them getting hurt or them being separated . 

also , i’m sending a wc form to the main but is there anyone who mayaps want  to write lucas ?? maybe he survived and found the hartly compound ???  ( of couursee you can change their name and their personality , everything is basically up to you !  ) 

someone who’s helping her toughen up ???? 

someone who is annoying but she low - key loves and relies on ?? or vice versa !! 

a little sibling / big sibling kind of dynamic !! 

umm , idk but definitely lots more !!! i’m one - hundo percent up for brainstorming !!! 

TLDR 

been sheltered from everything most of her life , got separated with her fiancee , found the rogues , not giving up on finding her fiancee , she’s very annoying and says things without filtering them in her mind first , she’s kinda uptight , loves to show - off what she knows but loves to tell people ‘ i told you so ’ even more XD 

[pcrushinnerd]

The Cat, Chapter 12

Warnings: Some adult talk, language

A/N: So far it hasn’t come up, but this the first chapter where I’m using a specific name for the love interest, instead of just y/n, l/n, etc., which feels clunky and awkward. Of course as it is a x reader fic, think of it just as a placeholder. 

You dragged yourself reluctantly into work that Monday morning. It was difficult to have to acknowledge that the weekend was over. You couldn’t remember the last time you enjoyed a weekend more, or spent more of a weekend in bed when you weren’t sick. Coincidence, for sure.

Your boss was due to come back on that Monday, however, and you were naturally looking forward to seeing him like a hole in the head. You had a feeling he would be even less thrilled at coming back to work, and would thus find something to nitpick and demean you over.

“Ms. Cullen, can you come to my office for a bit?” he said as he passed by your desk not even half hour after you got there.

You hated when you were right.

You entered Stanford’s office with what you thought was enough mental and emotional preparation for whatever he shot at you, but somehow he always ended up being more devastating than you could expect. And this time he had some good ammunition: your latest system for managing the auto accident cases was flawed--granted, he had conceived of it initially--but you had implemented it in your own way you felt worked, but he had pointed out its flaws and you had to admit he was right about a few of them. Of course, he took full advantage of this opportunity to make you feel like an idiot. All you could do was smile pleasantly.

You wanted more than anything to just go home at 5, but you were stuck cleaning up the mess for an additional two or three hours, which you had suspected would be the case anyway. You had told Arthur not to wait up for you because of this suspicion.

By the time you finally left, you had a lovely splitting headache as a reward for your efforts.

....

The weekend had been euphoric to Arthur. He felt it still even as he emptied his locker and made his exit from Ha Ha’s that Monday morning. All his former co-workers noticed something was different, but only made crude remarks as he made his way out:

“Jeeze, wonder if Arthur got laid over the weekend or something?”

“Arthur?! C’mon.”

Some part of him wanted to go back and sort of defend your honor, or his ego, by stating he had, in fact, gotten laid, multiple times, by the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But again, you were his little secret, one he still guarded jealously.

You also weren’t entirely the reason for the spring in his step after that weekend.

His mother had mentioned you, but in disinterested passing. Referred to you as that “neighbor girl.” She had, in fact, not really noticed his absence. But then, he hadn’t told her he has been fired, either, and working randomly, or just running errands, over the weekend were fairly common occurrences for Arthur.

No one else really knew about you. Not that he had a whole lot of people to tell. He sometimes talked to your other neighbor, Sophie. Someone he had a bit of a crush on at one point. She would ask about his mother and they’d make other, brief small talk when they’d travel the building’s elevator together or meet at the caged mailboxes.

“You seem happy about something...or somebody,” she said that Sunday around noon when he went to check the mail. He’d actually forgotten the day before, the first time in a long time, to check for any letters for his mother.

“Happy....” That nickname that he hated, that always seemed ironic. Now suddenly didn’t.

He just turned to her and smiled a wry smile before miming puling a zipper over his mouth, turning a lock, then throwing away the key.

Sophie smiled as she shook her head. “Good for you, Arthur,” she chuckled.

....

Arthur had left his house that Monday at the usual time. He still didn’t want to reveal his employment situation to his mother. It would just cause her to worry, maybe even have a panic attack. He didn’t want to put her through that, especially if there was something he could do to rectify the situation before he’d even have to.

After clearing out of Ha Ha’s, he’d gone directly over to their competitor in Gotham, Laughing Stock, and inquired about any openings.

“Arthur Fleck.... Hey, aren’t you the guy who brought a .38 to the kid’s hospital last week?”

Damn, word spread fast.

He’d gone to a few other general talent agencies, but was either given the cold shoulder or told there was (supposedly) no openings.

He bought a stack of newspapers. He scanned through their Help Wanted sections after planting himself in a booth at a greasy-spoon diner near his apartment.

“Ya know, we do serve other stuff besides water....” Arthur looked up to see a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed waitress holding a coffee pot in one hand while the other was pressed fisted against her hip.

“Um, coffee, please?”

Waitress Tight-Lips produced a coffee cup and poured some of the dark liquid into it. “Here. Hope you didn’t want decaf,” she said as she already started walking away.

“Thanks...” he said while watching her walk away from him. The coffee wasn’t as bad as might have been expected, but Arthur took his time drinking it.

Later Arthur found his way to Pogo’s, his favorite comedy club in the city. They had open mic nights Mondays and Thursdays, granted there was enough interest. Tonight, like many nights before, he had gone to study the acts of other wannabe comedians, to see what worked and what didn’t.

Arthur was half paying attention. Partly because he had done this so many times now that he felt restless sitting there for the millionth time, listening to somebody who wasn’t him. He wanted to try his hand at this, and felt like this Thursday would be a good day to try.

You were the other reason he wasn’t really paying attention. He hoped you didn’t have to work as late as you predicted, mostly out of concern for your well-being, somewhat out of a selfish need to have you at home when he returned there later.

Memories of the weekend also floated through his mind. Caused him to feel tight; made him wonder whether he shouldn’t dump the glass of ice water on the table into his lap before he got up to leave. Put a huge grin on his face even when no one was up on stage dispensing jokes of questionable quality.

He also thought vaguely of the future. He looked down at his notebook. Your name was written several times on the right page:

Jennifer Cullen

Jennifer Cullen

Jennifer Cullen, etc.

He picked up his pen. He crossed out the last Cullen and wrote “Fleck” next to it. Considered it for a few moments.

Jennifer Fleck. Hmm.

He hated his last name--the sound, look, and feel of it. But it was one of the few things he had to give to you, especially in light of his current employment situation. He wondered, worried, whether you would gladly take it, begrudgingly accept it, or just refuse it.

A part of him wanted to kick himself. It was much too early to be thinking of any of this. How long had you even known each other? What was that an acceptable amount of time before someone started thinking of such things? Was a month or two too soon? It felt sort of soon, but then he could recall watching this couple on the bus once. They were dressed nicely. The girl held a single sunflower in her lap. They mentioned something about traveling to the courthouse.

“How long you been together?” someone asked.

“Three weeks!” the girl said with glee.

“Sometimes, you just know,” the guy said.

....

It was around 9 PM when Arthur got home.

No letter for mom. What else was new.

He traveled upstairs to your floor. He stepped up to your door. Listened. It was strangely silent; he expected the TV to be on or something. He started to worry.

Arthur reached up and felt the top of the door frame. Found the spare key you kept there half hidden in a crack. He slipped it out and used it to open the door.

Your apartment was dark, the only illumination being some slivers of moonlight that fell through some of the windows and past their heavy curtains.

“Jenny? Jennifer?” he called out. Then, more quietly: “Paulie?” But nothing.

“Jenn--” he jumped a bit when he noticed movement on the couch that he wasn’t expecting.

“What?” you asked in a pained voice.

He rushed over, concerned. “What are doing on the couch? In a dark apartment?” he asked as he knelt down next to you.

You groaned into the velour of your couch. “Just.... Funny. My skull feels like someone’s shoved a spear through it.”

“What??”

“I--not--I just have a migraine,” you breathed. “Had a bad day.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and went to stroke your hair, which caused you to flinch.

“Please, just--I kind of just want to be alone right now.”

Arthur drew back.

“Okay.”

He stood up slowly, a little shakily. “You sure you don’t need anything?” he asked as gently as possible.

“No, I’m okay. Relatively speaking.”

“You sure?”

You sighed. “Yes.”

Arthur just nodded before leaving your apartment. He was disappointed, if not a little hurt, by this. Your pushing him away. He walked into his own apartment with a sour mood. He would have done anything to make you feel better. Admittedly...a small, selfish part of him sort of hoped ‘anything’ would include sex, but he had no idea really if that helped with such things as migraines. A bigger part of him would have stayed up all night tending to you and trying to get you to feel better however he could.

He had also wanted to tell you about his day, share all his efforts, get your take on things. Hear your reassurances that everything would be okay. Yours was a big silence when he couldn’t talk to you.

Penny was asleep in her chair again. He didn’t wake her up right away. He looked over at his phone and answering machine. There was a message.

He turned the volume down and pressed play. It was Debra Kane. She wanted to see him for an impromptu meeting as soon as possible--tomorrow, if he could manage it.

Well, what the fuck else did he have to do. Taglist Squad: @ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous @vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker @famousalmondloverangel @lsksl @anonymous034 @just-antiyou @mardema @ughthatimagineblog @bookwormmarvel @creepystalkerinavan  

[back-and-totheleft]

The Vietnam Odyssey of Oliver Stone

The soldier trained his rifle at the ground in front of the feet of the unarmed Vietnamese villager and fired away, yelling "Dance. Dance. Dance." The old man hopped from one foot to the other.

"I wanted to kill him," recalled Oliver Stone. "I hated him. I crossed over into being a monster."

The above incident is depicted in "Platoon," written and directed by Stone, a Vietnam veteran. It and the other events shown actually happened, according to Stone. He's not proud of it. But he owns up to it. "Platoon" is Oliver Stone's atonement. Moreover, it's our atonement, too. "Platoon" is the first Hollywood movie to take the redemptive power of cinema and focus it on the Vietnam War.

If you think Vietnam was John Wayne in "The Green Berets," Robert DeNiro in "The Deer Hunter" or Marlon Brando in "Apocalypse Now," think again. "Platoon" is about the bugs and rain and the jungle and the pain. It's about the unseen enemy, rice paddy stashes and gun caches in thatched-hut villages. It's about boredom, fear, friendship, rage, loyalty, humor and choices - right and wrong. Like the phrase from the comic strip Pogo, "We have met the enemy and they is us," that's what "Platoon" is all about.

Why is "Platoon" drawing critical raves, Oscar talk and large numbers at the box office? Why is it being called the most important movie about Vietnam, or perhaps the most important war movie ever made? Why, 20 years after the war's escalation, are we seeing images of a Vietnam movie on the cover of Time magazine and in the media across the nation?

Oliver Stone has a few theories. The Academy-award-winning writer ("Midnight Express") and acclaimed writer-director ("Salvador") says it took 20 years for the nation to heal its wounds, for historic perspective to settle in and allow Americans to understand Vietnam and welcome home its legacy - the Vietnam Vet. It took the Vietnam monument in Washington, D.C., and, yes, Bruce Springsteen's misunderstood "Born in the U.S." ("Got in a little hometown jam/So they put a rifle in my hand/Send me off to a foreign land/Go and kill the yellow man.") It was an educational process, Stone told a recent gathering of the media in New York.

"We thought the war was over, when in fact it was just beginning," Stone recalled of his return after 15 months with the 25th Infantry Division near the Cambodian border. Stone, wounded twice, was awarded the Bronze Star for combat gallantry and a Purple Heart with Oak Leaf Cluster. He was later transferred to the First Cavalry Division. Of his return home, he says, "There was total indifference. The war happened at 7:15 each night on the news."

Stone, 40, is a bear of a man with a boyish face. He's a very forceful individual who speaks in bursts of words which tumble forth. At the same time, the writer in him is ever observant. He seems impatient, as if he can't wait to get back to the word processor.

Ten days after his return in November 1968, Stone found himself in prison, arrested on a marijuana charge. Adjusting to civilian life for him and some 2 million other Vietnam servicemen would not be easy. But Stone managed to tough it out. What was his salvation? The cinema. Stone studied screenwriting and directing with Martin Scorsese at New York University Film School, receiving a BFA in 1971.

A Canadian firm bought a screenplay, "Seizure," and allowed him to direct the low-budget film. In 1976, Stone moved to Hollywood. Two years later, he won an Academy Award for his screenplay, "Midnight Express," which also brought him the Writers Guild of America Award. Stone also directed another low budget film, "The Hand," and co-authored the script for "Conan the Barbarian" and wrote the screenplay for "Scarface."

It was 10 years ago, during America's Bicentennial, that Stone wrote the script for "Platoon." He says every studio in Hollywood turned it down, telling him nobody wanted to see a movie about the Vietnam War. "It was considered too gruesome, too realistic."

"Platoon" is a Vietnam movie from the grunt's point of view. We see the war through the eyes of Charlie Sheen, who plays Chris, a young recruit (based on Stone), and hear it through his words in letters he writes to his grandmother back home.

The movie depicts a night watch in the jungle turned into an ambush by the North Vietnamese Army, contrasts the boozers (those who drank beer and alcohol off-duty) and the heads (those who used marijuana and other drugs back at base camp), shows a My Lai type scourging of a village by American soldiers and the conflict between a gung-ho, out-to-kill lifer Sgt. Barnes (Tom Berenger), and a mild-mannered eager-to-get-o ut-alive Sgt. Elias (Willem Dafoe). The movie does not paint a glorious picture of the American presence in Vietnam.

" 'Apocalypse Now' was about everyday life in Vietnam. It was more Joseph Conrad mythology," said Stone. " 'The Deer Hunter' was more about Pennsylvania and Meryl Streep than Vietnam."

The characters in "Platoon" are based on real people who existed in three different combat units in Vietnam. The characters and events are composites, but based on reality, Stone said. "My hypothesis was: 'What would happen if the three were in the same Platoon?' "

I asked Stone how accurate the scenes were depicting drug use in Vietnam. Many Vietnam soldiers were introduced to drugs in Vietnam and returned with drug habits. "Not in the field," said Stone. "A lot of us did it in the base camp - mostly marijuana, some heroin."

The tone of "Platoon" is not one of condemnation, but rather understanding - a knowledge that the roots of war are in all of us. Stone called war "one of the greatest highs. There's an adrenaline that flows. Life freezes down to a minute."

As you might expect, the violence in "Platoon" is graphic. But it is not gratuitous. "TV violence is obscene," said Stone of small-screen images of crashing cars, shootouts and fistfights where the participants seem to always mend by next week's episode. "It ignores reality, the real pain, shock and loss. It (violence) has to be done explicitly. Otherwise, you'll deceive the public."

Stone found a willing backer for "Platoon" in England. John Daly and Derek Gibson, owners of Hemdale Film Corp. arranged financing and brought in producer Arnold Kopelson. "Platoon" was brought in for $6 million, a low figure in today's Hollywood where a $15-million budget is average. Orion Pictures is distributing the movie.

Hemdale had produced Stone's "Salvador." Other noteworthy Hemdale movies include "The Falcon and the Snowman," "At Close Range," "River's Edge," "The Terminator" and "Hoosiers." They'll team again with Stone for his upcoming "Tom Mix and Pancho Villa.'

"Platoon" was described "as the flipside of 'Top Gun.' "

" 'Top Gun' was totally irresponsible, really," said Daly. "My friend's son, 12, saw 'Top Gun' and wanted to sign up. I said, 'Wait to sign-up until he sees 'Platoon.' "

To heighten authenticity, Stone and the producers brought the cast to the Philippines prior to shooting for two weeks of "basic training." Sheen, Berenger, Dafoe and the rest were given a shovel, told to dig their home, taken on hikes and climbs, given night guard duty and handed Army rations. Capt. Dale Dye, a retired Marine officer and Vietnam veteran, was in charge.

Dye, who has a consulting firm, Warriors Inc., which advises film-makers on military accuracy, contacted Stone, telling him, "You understand that this is as significant for the Vietnam veteran as anything is going to be. Let's do it right."

Dye was a sergeant in Vietnam where he was wounded in action three times during 31 major combat operations including the battle for Hue City and Khe Sanh during the Tet Offensive in 1968. Later, as a master sergeant he was active in the evacuation of Saigon and Phom Penh.

" 'Apocalypse Now' and 'The Deer Hunter' are war films," said Dye, "but have nothing to do with Vietnam. They are allegorical in nature, but don't reflect the agony and ecstasy of young men who went to fight in that very difficult war."

Dye now has no illusions about war: "I went into it with grand delusions of flashing sabers and lovely ladies on my arm. When I got down to the mud and the blood, I found that to be hollow."

Stone was similarly gung-ho. A son of a stockbroker who met his wife in Paris during World War II, Stone attended the Hill School, Pottstown, before entertaining Yale University. He studied there for one year. In 1965, he got a job with the Free Pacific Institute, teaching Vietnamese-Chinese students in the Cholon district of Saigon. Then, he got a job on an American merchant ship. Two years later, at 21, he was back in Vietnam.

Has "Platoon" helped Stone put Vietnam behind him? Yes, he says. "I was totally warped and twisted by Vietnam. I got rid of all my demons."

-Paul Willistein, “The Vietnam Odyssey of Oliver Stone,” The Morning Call, Feb 1 1987 [x]

[richincolor]

New Releases

Four new highly anticipated reads this week. I would love to buy all but my wallet is still recovering from YallWest, but I can’t wait to eventually add all of these new releases to my book shelf.

Anger is a Gift by Mark Oshiro Tor Teen

A story of resilience and loss, love and family, Mark Oshiro’s Anger is a Gift testifies to the vulnerability and strength of a community living within a system of oppression.

Six years ago, Moss Jefferies’ father was murdered by an Oakland police officer. Along with losing a parent, the media’s vilification of his father and lack of accountability has left Moss with near crippling panic attacks.

Now, in his sophomore year of high school, Moss and his fellow classmates find themselves increasingly treated like criminals their own school. New rules. Random locker searches. Constant intimidation and Oakland Police Department stationed in their halls. Despite their youth, the students decide to organize and push back against the administration.

When tensions hit a fever pitch and tragedy strikes, Moss must face a difficult choice: give in to fear and hate or realize that anger can actually be a gift.

From Twinkle, with Love by Sandhya Menon Simon Pulse

Aspiring filmmaker and wallflower Twinkle Mehra has stories she wants to tell and universes she wants to explore, if only the world would listen. So when fellow film geek Sahil Roy approaches her to direct a movie for the upcoming Summer Festival, Twinkle is all over it. The chance to publicly showcase her voice as a director? Dream come true. The fact that it gets her closer to her longtime crush, Neil Roy—a.k.a. Sahil’s twin brother? Dream come true x 2.

When mystery man “N” begins emailing her, Twinkle is sure it’s Neil, finally ready to begin their happily-ever-after. The only slightly inconvenient problem is that, in the course of movie-making, she’s fallen madly in love with the irresistibly adorkable Sahil.

Twinkle soon realizes that resistance is futile: The romance she’s got is not the one she’s scripted. But will it be enough?

Told through the letters Twinkle writes to her favorite female filmmakers, From Twinkle, with Love navigates big truths about friendship, family, and the unexpected places love can find you.

Monday’s Not Coming by Tiffany D. Jackson Katherine Tegen Books

A gripping, relentless, and timely new novel from critically acclaimed author of Allegedly, Tiffany D. Jackson, about the complex mystery of one teenage girl’s disappearance and the traumatic effects of the truth.

Monday Charles is missing, and only Claudia seems to notice. Claudia and Monday have always been inseparable—more sisters than friends. So when Monday doesn’t turn up for the first day of school, Claudia’s worried. When she doesn’t show for the second day, or second week, Claudia knows that something is wrong. Monday wouldn’t just leave her to endure tests and bullies alone. Not after last year’s rumors and not with her grades on the line. Now Claudia needs her best—and only—friend more than ever. But Monday’s mother refuses to give Claudia a straight answer, and Monday’s sister April is even less help.

As Claudia digs deeper into her friend’s disappearance, she discovers that no one seems to remember the last time they saw Monday. How can a teenage girl just vanish without anyone noticing that she’s gone?

Driving by Starlight by Anat Deracine Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

Sixteen-year-olds Leena and Mishie are best friends. They delight in small rebellions against the Saudi cultural police—secret Western clothing, forbidden music, flirtations. But Leena wants college, independence—she wants a different life. Though her story is specific to her world (a world where it’s illegal for women to drive, where a ten-year-old boy is the natural choice as guardian of a fatherless woman), ultimately it’s a story about friendship, family, and freedom that transcends cultural differences.

[fenton-bus]

Sagan's Comet

(a prologue)

   ∞

2020

 If there is a causal relationship between the popularity of Barry Eisenberg's autobiography and the complete loss of journalistic integrity exhibited by the Manhattan press no one acknowledges it. In spaces formerly occupied by actual news, one can now find awed descriptions of the fun way the eighteen year old Portland native verbally decimates the Buzzfeed contributor brave enough to cross the threshold of his lair. Articles dedicated to examining the significance of his hoodie collection (consisting solely of secondary colors) are written with the zest and intensity of individuals delivering the defining information of the age. Between covering Syrian conflicts and Zayn's solo career these adults with journalism degrees they allegedly worked hard for print wild speculation about what Barry's digital watch says about him as a person, maps his evolution from monosyllables to making a Newsweek reporter cry whilst thanking him for the opportunity through her tears, and publishes three thousand word think pieces heavily suggesting that he is the voice of his generation.

Two months into his junior year at Columbia, Barry becomes a meme.

According to the lanky, mustachioed Starbuck's barista (who enjoys all the benefits of tumblr fame for two glorious minutes before he's brought down by an old "problematic" Burning Man post.) he waits in line every other Thursday before his Applied Calc class, and one morning he is informed-with an unfathomable regret-that they are currently out of bran muffins.

Barry allegedly makes a face that defies the descriptive power of the written word.

Skylar totally believes in fate. He was meant to come in that day, despite dancing on the precipice of being fired for coming to work after ingesting some "herbal refreshment". He was meant to get dragged behind the counter to fix the espresso machine, meant to turn around to grab the wrench at the exact moment Barry made That Face. He grabs his phone, snaps a pic and before Todd can offer the dude a blueberry substitute, twelve hundred people have added gross looking block text to Skylar's post. That Face becomes a universal constant just as relevant when describing reactions to sexism (When ur in a patriarchal society ) as it is to receiving troubling medical news (TMW UR DOCTORS ALL: GENITAL WARTS!!!?!1) . Kids aim That Face at unprepared parents in the aisles of Toys R Us. Girls just trying to enjoy happy hour with their besties clock the dudes halfway across the bar with The Face and the "you're the only ten I see" dies in the bros' throats. Tired moms schlepping their kids from one hellish interpretative dance class to another collapse against the seats of their Subaru Foresters and That Face all over the traffic cop worried about his quota and are let on their merry way with a stern warning. After announcing a pop quiz in Applied Calculus Professor Bevens is hit with sixty-two different versions of That Face.

The effect is so powerful\disturbing the professor decides to take lunch in his office that day.

When Mike Wallace asks Dr. Josef Stenberg why we, as a culture, are so fascinated the noted historian and scholar replies that The Face "effortlessly and intrinsically captures the depth of the human experience."

∞

There is a three day period wherein The New York Times makes a genuine attempt at substance before all parties involve realize how difficult it actually is and decide that mining Barry's first two years at MIT for scandal is much more creative use of their time.

The seven article series proves so popular the rate of traffic often causes the site to crash, to the point where the NYT puts an ad for a new head of IT in its own newspaper. (An error brought to their attention by the former IT supervisor as she storms out of their office making two very rude gestures with both of her hands.) The articles come dangerously close to reporting the significance of the solar ray that's currently powering the campus greenhouses and the fifteen classroom\lecture halls running on fossil fuels before remembering it's audience and veering back to the good stuff: in addition to campaigning long and hard to get one of his professors fired, (because the individual is a plaintiff in a current lawsuit his name has been redacted from all documentation in order to protect his identity. In any further documentation he shall be referred to as Mr. S.) Barry starts a (still active) war between the physics and computer science majors, stages a ninety-day sit in at Lanctom Hall and refuses to attend class until the United States converts to the metric system, attends seven out of his ten classes in his pajamas, builds a Death Ray, stages his own funeral, and has regular off-campus lunches with Neil Degrasse-Tyson where (according to an unnamed source) they discuss plans to reanimate Carl Sagan.

The Times receives countless emails from current and former MIT professors the content of which ranges from "Come on guys" to paragraphs of legal jargon, but because facts are annoying and can easily ruin a good time, they only publish one. For Mr. S who is, at this very  moment, teaching a remedial chemistry class in a Hoboken public school, seeing his words in print gives him the necessary courage to take out an entire page of the Op Ed column for the sole purpose of calling Barry an "odious, mouth-breathing cretin" (among other, more foul monikers) and insist that his time at MIT is "the most convincing super villain origin story I've ever seen." Buried in the seventh paragraph under piles of incoherent rage is a fairly lucid comparison to Lex Luthor, which all things considered, Barry rather likes.

At six-thirty the following morning,

Don't you have young minds to compromise?

appears in the comments section of Mr. S's article. The user name is something banal and forgettable, but the 25 x 37 armadillo icon is responsible for the overjoyed intern's giggle snort and the frantic search for a 2013 Scientific American article in which Barry mentions that armadillos are often underestimated because of their size and deceptively docile demeanor.

∞

2017

So.

Barry wakes up in Naldo's body, which because he invents time travel when he's fifteen and perfects localized teleportation over summer break his freshman at year at MIT isn't even the weirdest sentence he's ever had to type. It isn't even the strangest thing that happens that year, (that literal prizes goes to Sergey Abermoff a stunningly mediocre marine biologist who wins the Noble Prize for his contributions to Alaskan Puffer Fish research. From March to August Barry is engaged in a furious letter-writing campaign to the Academy because seriously? Dr. Gloria Hernandez discovers and isolates what appears to be a second God particle but generous funds are being allocated to his dad's favorite Red Lobster entree? No.) While he makes a concentrated effort to document his daily experiments, and somewhat less dedicated attempts to record his thoughts about more personal subjects (he objects to the use of the word "personal" in this context because it implies a mutual exclusivity between the personal and the scientific where no such distinction exists, but he digresses) spontaneous ionic transference is apparently unworthy of documentation. Reading through the accounts of the incidents of that spring, scholars and historians alike are surprised to find only the briefest, most perfunctory outline of events.

It's an odd, tangential footnote in most textbooks, and even the larger more expansive biographies tend to refer to it transiently. One of the foremost examples of this phenomenon being Edgar Chen's Event Horizon which glosses over the events in a way Joan Collins of the New York Times calls "whimsically dismissive". Of the archived articles, research papers, essays, books, films, digital recordings and miscellaneous sundries that number in the thousands only two hundred and eighty-six contain references to the events of the spring of 2017. Of that number one hundred and thirty-seven are passing references, eighty-five are footnotes, five are visual references ( two screen grabs, a gif, and two vague scenes in the Cern documentary and the feature film Singularity, all of which are subject to intense and varying interpretation) forty- two are allusions in popular fiction,  twelve are auditory, and seventeen are references to supplementary reading material that contain descriptions of the events so vague they border on unintelligible. In chapter four of Jackie Iron's (famed director of the Crabnormal Behavior Octo-thrilogy) tell-all Shellin' Out, Barry writes:

"I've never been fond of the "body-swap" trope. At best it's a cheap device used to create a sense of empathy between two characters possessing diametrically opposing viewpoints. At worst it's a study of the traumatic power of unrelenting body horror, a state of such brutal, paradigm-shifting physical and emotional dissonance that it's difficult to imagine surviving the encounter without constantly testing the tensile strength of  reality for the remainder of one's natural life. Why would a writer subject their audience to something so terrible?"

Strangely, Barry's autobiography makes only a passing reference to the event. He glosses over his years at Columbia (there are a few offhand references to a Washington think tank he attends in the summer of 2017) but expands upon graduate school in such unrelenting, excruciating detail that chapters forty-seven through fifty-three are known to make a few students nauseous. The clinical, almost detached narrative  prompts  Melanie Fung, freshman human interest columnist of the Columbia Daily Spectator, to write: "The text habitually  bathes Eisenberg in the soft light of scientific heroism, but the more personal, and possibly, more interesting threads of the narrative are glaringly absent."

It isn't until Jill Suarez publishes The Eisenberg Principle that the personal elements of Barry's life-coming out to his parents, the bullying he experiences in school, the two week period he spends in Renaldo Montoya's body-are recounted in detail.

[your-dietician]

She Went on a PR Tour for Her Sick, Adopted African Child. Was It All a Lie?

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/latest/she-went-on-a-pr-tour-for-her-sick-adopted-african-child-was-it-all-a-lie/

She Went on a PR Tour for Her Sick, Adopted African Child. Was It All a Lie?

Photo Illustration by Elizabeth Brockway/The Daily Beast/Screenshot/Youtube

Last summer, Sophie Hartman was fixated on her 6-year-old adopted daughter Carmel possibly showing signs of early puberty.

The 31-year-old single mom from Renton, Washington, scheduled an appointment at Seattle Children’s Hospital with a pediatric endocrinologist, a doctor specializing in glands and the hormones they produce, according to a Renton Police probable-cause affidavit.

Hartman, a white, Jesus-loving former missionary, strapped Carmel—a little Black girl born in Zambia—into a wheelchair and rolled her into a medical room, where they met with the endocrinologist. Carmel was “a very handicapped child” who was showing “cyclical symptoms” such as a “discharge” in her underwear, Hartman told the doctor. The symptoms were occurring for four straight days around the same time every month, she added.

Carmel went through a battery of medical exams, including blood work and X-ray imaging. The doctor found “modest clinical findings of early puberty,” but not enough to confirm Carmel was indeed accelerating into womanhood.

During a follow-up appointment at Seattle Children’s in October, another endocrinologist ran more tests on Carmel. The doctor found no signs of active puberty in the child, but informed Hartman about two treatments used to suppress pubescence. One involved giving Carmel injections; the other option was more drastic, requiring “surgically lacerating” Carmel’s skin with a scalpel to insert an implant used to suppress early puberty.

The doctor warned Hartman that the implant would be difficult to remove after it was inserted into the skin. Yet she was “emphatic” about getting the implant for Carmel even though it wasn’t medically necessary, the physician later told Renton Police Detective Adele O’Rourke.

On March 17, O’Rourke met with Hartman in her home. During a recorded interview, police say, Hartman admitted she wanted the surgery for Carmel. “Even though doing an implant is more invasive, it really isn’t that big of a deal,” Hartman told O’Rourke, according to the probable-cause affidavit. “I think that would be better.”

Story continues

After doctors ruled out ovarian cysts as the cause for her daughter’s alleged symptoms, Hartman said she wanted to proceed with the implant. “I was like great,” Hartman allegedly said to the detective, recalling her last conversation with the endocrinologist. “Let’s get this on the schedule.”

Authorities didn’t give Hartman the chance.

The same day, Washington’s Department of Child, Youth, and Families placed Carmel and her older sister, Miah, whom Hartman also adopted, into protective custody. Hartman’s quest to stifle Carmel’s alleged early puberty is just one of several bizarre episodes documented in a probable-cause affidavit that led King County prosecutors to charge Hartman last month with two second-degree felony counts: assault on a child and attempted assault on a child.

According to the charging documents, Hartman subjected Carmel to “unnecessary surgical interventions and restraints” and also attempted to “substantially escalate” her daughter’s medical treatment by requesting “increasingly invasive and unnecessary medical procedures.”

The charges, which Hartman denies and to which she has pleaded not guilty, landed with a thud in the sometimes tight-knit world of white, American Evangelicals who adopt children from abroad. But the case also brought attention to the obscure crime of medical child abuse, in which a primary caregiver forces a child to undergo unnecessary treatment.

“What I am reading in the arrest report doesn’t sound at all like my friend,” Shannon Dingle, a single mom from Raleigh, North Carolina, who also has adopted African children and met Hartman in 2016 at an adoption conference in Seattle, told The Daily Beast.

Dingle said she and Hartman became friends and have remained in constant contact via text messaging and online chatting the past five years, as well as meeting in person during Hartman’s trips to Raleigh.

She still believes in Hartman’s innocence.

“How we got to the point that Sophie is being blamed for being abusive by having medical procedures that medical teams had to approve is something I don’t understand,” Dingle said. “It feels like a lot of responsibility is being put on Sophie that were team decisions.”

In addition to Dingle, Hartman has at least one well-renowned medical child abuse expert in her corner. Dr. Eli Newberger, a former Harvard medical school pediatrics professor who founded the child protection program at Boston Children’s Hospital, wrote to prosecutors on May 17 in an attempt to discourage them from filing charges against Hartman. However, legal experts believe there’s a strong case against the Washington mother.

Lawrence Gostin, a Georgetown University national health-law professor, told The Daily Beast that he reviewed the allegations in Hartman’s case and found authorities acted appropriately in removing her daughters from her care and investigating her for medical child abuse.

“The first thing you have to do in a case like this is ensure the safety and the well-being of the child,” Gostin told The Daily Beast. “Putting children under medical procedures that are unnecessary is just as harmful, and maybe more so, than physically abusing a child.”

Efforts to reach Hartman for this story were unsuccessful. Her attorneys Robert Flennaugh II, Jessica Goldman, and Adam Shapiro did not respond to phone messages and emails containing detailed questions. But in a previous joint statement released when she was charged, Hartman’s lawyers insisted prosecutors did not have a case against their client.

“These charges are based on false statements and misrepresentations of the medical record by a doctor at Seattle Children’s Hospital who has never seen the child or spoken with Ms. Hartman,” the statement said. “Ms. Hartman is innocent of these charges.”

Dr. Rebecca Wiester, medical director of Seattle Children’s Protection Program, is the doctor Hartman’s lawyers referenced in their statement. She penned a Feb. 21 letter to Washington child protection services that was co-signed by Carmel’s primary physicians. The three-page memo outlined their concerns about the danger Hartman was putting her daughter in. “It is not necessary to know the motivation of the caregiver, only the outcome of the behavior,” Wiester wrote. “The risk to [Carmel] is profound in this situation.”

Wiester declined an interview through Seattle Children’s spokeswoman Kathryn Mueller, who noted Washington health-care providers are required by law to report suspected cases of child abuse. “The health and safety of our patients is Seattle Children’s highest priority,” Mueller said. “Out of respect for privacy, we will not comment about specific cases.”

Based on a referral from child-welfare investigators, Detective O’Rourke led a four-month criminal investigation into Hartman. That included poring over hundreds of pages of medical records and interviewing dozens of medical professionals, physical therapists, and teachers who interacted with Hartman and Carmel on a regular basis, according to the 21-page probable-cause affidavit.

Renton Police Department Investigations Commander David Leibman and King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office spokesman Casey McNerthney declined comment for this story. “We’re going to let the court documents speak for themselves,” McNerthney said.

But their findings painted a disturbing picture of a woman who constantly sought medical treatment for her daughter even as she burnished her public profile.

Between 2017 and 2018, they concluded, Hartman convinced physicians at two hospitals, including Seattle Children’s, to surgically insert tubes into Carmel’s digestive organs to help nourish her and expel bowel movements. This, they say, was solely based on the mom’s account that her daughter had trouble swallowing, had chronic vomiting episodes, had excessive diarrhea, and had debilitating bouts of constipation.

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Since being removed from Hartman’s care, they added, Carmel—who is identified by her initials in the affidavit and charging document since she is a minor—was eating food like a normal person, and the tubes were set to be removed.

Hartman also forced Carmel to wear orthotics, gait trainers, and ankle and leg braces since she was 2 years old, police say, adding that the mother also regularly strapped the girl to a wheelchair for long periods. The mom ignored directives that Carmel needed normal activities to develop appropriate muscle strength and physical development, according to doctors who were interviewed by investigators.

Meanwhile, teachers told detectives that Carmel had no problem walking, running, and performing normal childhood activities at school when she wasn’t under Hartman’s supervision.

Finally, Hartman claimed Carmel was diagnosed with alternating hemiplegia of childhood, or AHC, a rare neurological disease that causes repeated, prolonged episodes of paralysis, by leading neurologists at the Duke University Institute for Brain Sciences. In a recorded statement, Dr. Mohamed Mikati, Duke’s chief of pediatric neurology, told O’Rourke that Carmel does not have the genetic mutation that causes AHC and that he relied on Hartman’s descriptions of Carmel’s symptoms to make his diagnosis. Spokespeople for Mikati and Duke Health did not respond to emails requesting comment.

If there were any doubt behind the scenes about the nature or extent of Carmel’s illnesses, her mother’s public posture suggested otherwise.

Throughout Carmel’s ordeal, Hartman invited donations and routinely garnered publicity, the probable-cause affidavit states. She wrote a book about her experience traveling to Zambia for missionary work and returning with her two girls, and was a featured author at a Barnes and Noble meet and greet in 2016. Local media outlets published and produced human interest stories about Carmel, as Hartman promoted a social media presence for her daughter by creating an Instagram account and a private Facebook group so people could follow the little girl’s daily activities, according to the probable-cause affidavit.

In 2018, the Make-A-Wish Foundation arranged for Carmel, her mom, and her sister to travel to a ranch in Oregon to ride horses, per the affidavit. Police allege the trip was paid from donations to the nonprofit. Hartman also gave a speech about Carmel at a Make-A-Wish fundraiser. A friend and Hartman’s congregation at Pursuit NW Church in Snohomish, Washington, raised $15,661 and $30,583, respectively, so that Carmel’s mom could purchase a handicapped accessible SUV.

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Press accounts burnished an image of Hartman as a single mom struggling to care for a severely sick kid. But police say her own words suggested she may be someone who is prone to making things up.

As a result of a search warrant for her house, Renton Police investigators took Hartman’s personal journals and found pages in which she described lying in the past about injuries and illnesses she sustained as a teen, the probable-cause affidavit states. In one passage about her freshman year of high school, Hartman wrote that she “used a pen to bruise my hand and faked a broken hand,” as well as not telling the truth that she had “mono and meningitis.” On another page, Hartman allegedly indicated that she was “angry” and “abusive” with her children.

“Oh Lord, what have I become,” she wrote in the journal, according to the affidavit. “Who is this bad soul? It’s me.” She also allegedly wrote on a loose piece of paper: “When it comes to suffering, I am a compulsive liar/exaggerator.”

As law-enforcement authorities built their case against Hartman between March and May, her lawyers brought in Newberger, the Boston-based child-abuse expert, to bolster her defense—and debunk the findings of Wiester and the other Seattle Children’s pediatricians.

Newberger claimed he reviewed the medical records and witness statements mentioned in the probable-cause affidavit, according to a May 17 letter he wrote to King County deputy prosecuting attorney Celia Lee.

“Duke medical staff, third party witnesses, and videos of Carmel corroborate significant symptoms that were documented with assiduous care and accuracy by Ms. Hartman,” Newberger wrote. “The medical records show that Ms. Hartman did not simply invent symptoms.”

In a brief phone call, Newberger told The Daily Beast he could not comment about his findings because he expected to be called as a defense witness. He said he was referred to Hartman’s lawyers by a prominent legal scholar who has written about medical child abuse. “I reviewed the information and made an informed decision within my ethical threshold,” Newberger said.

Legal experts, on the other hand, argue King County prosecutors have documented enough evidence of medical child abuse to present a strong case against Hartman.

“The criminal procedure against the mom is drastic,” Gostin, the Georgetown professor, said. “But if the facts are as alleged, it is a legitimate prosecution.” Taking Hartman’s daughters into protective custody was also justified, he added.

Despite having her kids taken away and being criminally charged for child abuse, Hartman hasn’t spent a day in jail. She participated in her June 3 arraignment hearing via Zoom from her home; King County Judge Tanya Thorp set her bail at $100,000.

On June 10, Hartman was administratively booked after posting her bond, a process that allows a person to show up to the King County jail to be fingerprinted and photographed and be immediately released upon payment of bail. In addition, she was allowed to have supervised visits with her daughters in April and May, and Thorp granted her continued visitations while her case is pending. According to the probable-cause affidavit, doctors kept Carmel under observation for 16 days after removing her from Hartman; during that time, the girl walked and ate food normally without any medical issues.

Meanwhile, fellow Evangelicals, neighbors, and friends are either distancing themselves from Hartman or else refusing to believe that she could be so cruel to her adopted daughter.

Russell Johnson, Pursuit NW Church’s head pastor, told The Daily Beast that he and other church leaders have not seen or heard from her in the last year. “As were so many others, the leadership of the Pursuit NW was horrified to read the charges against Sophie Hartman,” he said in an email statement. “The Pursuit NW has a zero-tolerance policy for child abuse. We pray for these precious children and that justice be done.”

Matt Dimeo, who lives in the house next-door to Hartman, was more equivocal. He described her as a “good gal” and a “very nice person,” ultimately declining to opine on the accusations against her.

“Whether I am surprised or not, it doesn’t make a difference,” Dimeo said. “We are going to trust the system, and hopefully it is a positive situation for the children.”

Read more at The Daily Beast.

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[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

Synonyms for Painful - Part 1;  SHINee’s Key

20 - difficult; had anyone told me before, I would’ve laugh and said they’re stupid. Only now without you here do I realize how difficult living without you is.

A/N: hullos, I’ve finally decided to post this Part 1 of ‘Synonyms for Painful’. In case you’re new, I will not be posting the sections of this series in chronological order because none of the parts, unless mentioned otherwise, are really connected at all, unless indicated. The numbers before the prompts are just for organization purposes. Without further ado, please enjoy part 1!

and yes... i did take some artistic license to key’s character. 

you should also listen to this nice song as bgm; (x) 

I only have one thing to say about working in an office building; it’s boring as hell. There’s no dragons flying around setting buildings aflame with their fiery breath, there’s never a damsel in distress hanging precariously with one hand from a ledge of a 50-story tower. There’s no dice of destiny deciding your fate; dice that -with one roll- could grant you all the treasure in the universe or trap you in a slow, excruciating death.

Yeah, nope. It’s pretty boring.

Every day it’s the same thing. It’s just me and my office, Kim ‘Key’ Kibum in our shared office as the hours tick by slowly with only a flickering light bulb hanging above us. From the crack of dawn to the first sign of nightfall, our bgm is the the quiet buzzing of the weak light bulb.

The most exciting thing that’s happened throughout our relatively uneventful careers must have been 

that day a storm burned out the electricity in the building and Key and I played poker and b.s. by candle light for the rest of work day. Long story short, life as us was really boring and repetitive and neither of us had a problem with it. We both preferred the serene and recurring safe haven in our shared office. We both preferred life boring.

I’ll admit to staring at him and his delicate features for more than was required time and time again, but it was hard not to. He was decorated with prominent cheekbones, a peaceful smile, and eyes that always scrunched up when he smiled, which was not often. He was around the smaller size when it came to men, perhaps because Asian men were infamous for being short, but he still managed to look good in it. Every day, he surprised me with a new variation to the strict dress code we were stuck working with. I always wondered where he got the money for such clean and professional looking clothes, after all, we didn’t have a very high salary.

Key got his nickname from my first day of work. I had forgotten my office key that first morning. Fortunately, upon walking through the hallway on the floor I was appointed to be in for the next long while, I was only mildly pleased to realize I was sharing an office with the attractive Asian male I had been sneaking glances at on the elevator ride up and that he had his keys. I still remember the way he looked over me, a half smirk painted on his lips when he realized one, that I was doomed to being his office mate for however long we were going to be working here, and two, that I didn’t have my keys.

Ever since that first day, we fell into a pattern of me ‘forgetting’ my keys, and him always there to greet me with keys, that half smirk I might or might not have fallen for and a cup filled with my usual white chocolate mocha.

Yes, it was boring. Yes it was repetitive, but we didn’t mind. So we kept it the same.

That is… at least until one day, he didn’t show up to work and I was forced to ask the secretary for a spare key. At first, I didn’t think much of it, after all, though we had each other’s personal numbers, we never really contacted each other outside of work. There was a good chance he was on sick leave, the flu had been passing through our building.

After about a month of becoming awkwardly acquainted with the secretary, a pleasant, small female with round glasses, dimples, and a crazy amount of unwavering patience, I started to get worried. After another week of racking up the courage to ask her if she knew anything about Key, I finally asked.

This time, I wasn’t met with the same, patient smile. In its place was a sad, sympathetic one. She stared at me with unshed tears painted in her eyes and handed me a plain manila folder. Upon entering the soundless elevator, I pondered the pain in her eyes and the sadness in the wordless silence she had greeted me with.

Arriving at our office, I finally opened the manila envelope, expecting to see a pink slip with his name on it or something. Instead, I was met with the appearance of a hastily written url on a torn piece of paper along with a neatly folded letter. Opening my personal laptop, I quickly typed in the url, not expecting much to pop up. I have never in my life been more wrong. What popped up exactly 0.72 seconds later was a news article whose headlines stopped my heart for a brief, jaw dropping second.

No. No. It couldn't be. Scrawled across the top of the screen were the following words; Terrible 10 Car Collision on the 805 north. 5 People Killed, 7 mortally wounded.

I scrolled down further with my hand shaking badly and tears collecting at corners of my eyes. The list of the deceased drivers finally crawled into view and the dam holding back my tears broke. His name was the first one there.

Dropping my expensive personal laptop, I slid to the floor in shock. I covered my mouth, the tears running down my face and bile building in the back of my throat.

I would never see him again. He would never be there to open the door for me with that snarky smile of his. We could never play b.s. again during our breaks and speak about the older lady next door who wanted to set him up with her granddaughter. I would never get that last cup of white chocolate mocha he always bought for me in the mornings. He was gone. Dead. And to think we were foolish enough to promise to marry each other if by the time we were 45 we hadn't found someone else.

After about an hour sitting there on the floor, crying my eyes out, someone knocked on the door.

Shakily opening the door, the secretary I had been recently getting to know appeared with a smile and letter in her hands. She left shortly after, saying she had spoken with our boss and that I had the rest of the day off.

On the letter was the familiar chicken scratch of my late co worker and best friend. I slowly read his writing, savoring the one sure thing I had left of the man I didn’t realize was my best friend until it was too late.

My favorite person in the whole world~

If you’re reading this and I’m not here… That means something bad happened.

I don’t know if you remembered that one conversation that happened a couple years ago, but during that conversation, I promised never to leave you. I know… it was a stupid promise to make, knowing separation is  inevitable, eventually, one of us might have left. I guess it had to be me. I broke that foolish promise and I cringe to think I ever promised you something so impossible and unrealistic.

If you’re reading this… it also means there’s a possibility you don’t know how much you really mean to me. In the case that you already know, I’ll tell you again. In the case that you don’t… I’d swim across the sea for you even though you know I hardly know how to swim. I’d trek across the hottest desert to make sure you were safe and sound. I’d scale the highest mountain and throw myself in front of a train for you. Chances are though… I never told you all that. I’m saying all these things, yet I didn’t have the balls to tell you in person. I’m such an cowardly idiot.

You know I’ve never been the best expressing myself verbally. I hope you forgive me for promising such a stupid thing when we both knew life is short and could, in a flash, be gone. I wish I could promise to never forget you. I wish I could promise you all the dumb, fluffy things we ridiculed while watching those absurd romantic movies. I wish my promise never to leave you had not been the empty promise it ended up as.

My only wish now is to hope this somehow gets to you and that you’ll never forget me… Don’t forget to find that guy that’ll spice up your life like I should have when I had the chance.

Your Key for however long you’ll want to remember me,

Kim Kibum

By then, his written words were hardly visible from behind the torrents of tears falling from my eyes. I was torn. I was angry. I was in complete and utter despair.  My heart was broken. I wanted with all my being for this to be a cruel joke. It’d been too long without him though. It wasn’t just a cruel joke. He was truly gone. And with him, he took a good sized chunk of my heart I didn’t realize he had grasped in the first place.

I took sick leave for the next week. I scavenged the new papers, I sailed through the news clips. My worst nightmare was confirmed. I would never have a steaming cup of hot white chocolate mocha waiting for me. I’d never see his beautiful naturally contoured facial features or hear his teasing laugh again. I’d never get to braid his hair while he slept, I’d never get to read the ending of that story he was in the process of writing.

Had anyone told me before, I would’ve laugh and said they’re stupid. Only now without you here do I realize how difficult living without you is.

[mfslinguistics]

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DISCLAIMER! I am not a native English speaker and my Japanese is at beginner level. I am just a linguist with an interest in Japanese. There are bound to be errors in my translations and glossings. If you see any, please let me know so I can correct it. Also, I'm not a grammarian so my glossings do not follow a singular grammatical theory.

    What is a glossing?

Glossing is the linguistic term for providing a grammatical explanation alongside a translation of any sentence in a language other than English. The point of a glossing is to provide the reader with an understanding of the grammatical features of a given language, even if they don't speak than language themselves. Glossings are used in academic papers when providing examples of linguistic phenomenon. Glossing comes with certain rules and formalities that must be followed in order to make the glossing readable and universally applicable. I've taken certain liberties with my glossings, since they're not used for academic articles and are specifically used for Japanese.

    How to read a glossing

My glossing of Japanese consists of four lines. The third one is the most difficult to read and will be explained in the most detail.

The first line is the sentence or lyric written in kanji, hiragana and katakana.

The second line is the sentence or lyric written in romaji (Latin letters). I don't adhere to a Romanization system but just romanize however I find most visually pleasing. It is probably closest to some sort of Hepburn.

The third line is a verbatim translation of each word. Nouns, adjectives, verbs and adverbs generally receive an English translation, while pronouns, particles, inflections and function words receive a grammatical term that has been abbreviated. The explanations for the abbreviations is provided below. Furthermore, when a word contains more than one grammatical element or both a translation and a grammatical element, the elements are divided by a period (.). Traditionally, dashes (-) are also used, but the difference in the uses is beyond what I need for my translations.

The fourth line is a translation into natural English where I try to retain the meaning of the sentence or lyric, but not necessarily the grammatical structure. These translations are based partly on Google Translate and my understanding from the glossing in the third line. I try to make it sound as much as natural English as possible.

    Grammatical abbreviations explained

Below, I provide a list of all the abbreviations I use, as well as an explanation for each of them. If you want to know more in-depth about a certain grammatical phenomenon, links are provided below to the websites I usually use. The list of abbreviations is provided alphabetically. Abbreviations will be added as they become necessary. I’ve made up some of the abbreviations and terms to fit my needs.

Abbr Linguistic term Explanation 1PL 1st person plural pronoun Translates to ‘we’ in English. 1SG 1st person singular pronoun Translates to ‘I’ in English. 2SG 2nd person singular pronoun Translates to ‘you’ in English. ADJ Adjectival (particle) A particle to link a na-adjective to the noun it modifies. ASS Assertive (particle) Indicates that something is an assertion. CAUS Causative (verb form) Indicates that someone causes something to happen or lets something happen. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabesaseru’ = ‘make someone eat/let someone eat’ CO Coordinator (particle) Translates to ‘and’ or ‘or’ in English. CON Confirmative (particle) Indicates that something is a question, for which one seeks confirmation. Translates to ‘right?’ or ‘huh?’ in English. COND Conditinal (particle) Translates to ‘if’ in English. CONT Continuative (verb and adjective form) Connects two adjectives or two verbs. DES Desirative (verb form) Indicates that someone ‘wants to do’ X verb. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabetai’ = ‘wants to eat’ DIR Directional (particle) Indicates that something is the direction or place of the action in the sentence. FOC Focalizer (particle) Indicates that something is the focus of the sentence. Meaning-wise ‘X’ + focus can be translated to ‘X is the one that…’. IMP Imperative (verb form) Indicates that the verb is a command. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabete’ = ‘eat!’ INST Instrument (particle) Indicates that something is the instrument to do something or the manner in which something is done. ITER Iterative (particle) Indicates that something is done repeatedly, often or many times. NEG Negative (verb, noun and adjective form) Translates to ‘not’ in English. NOM Nominalizer (particle) Turns a sentence or word into something that can function as a noun. PAS Passive (verb form) Indicates that someone ‘is being’ X verb. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘taberareru’ = ‘is eaten’ PAT Patient (particle) Indicates that something is the thing an action is carried out upon. POS Positive (particle) The opposite of negative. Indicates that something is in fact the case. POSS Possessive (particle) Indicates ownership or that a word or sentence modifies another word or sentence. Usually translates to ‘of’ in English. POST Postulative (particle) Indicates that the speaker is uncertain and wondering. POT Potential (verb form) Indicates that someone ‘can do’ X verb. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabereru’ = ‘is be able to eat’ PROG Progressive (verb form) Indicates that a verb is progressive. Progressive tense translates to ‘is X-ing’ in English. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabete iru/tabeteru’ = ‘is eating’ PST Past (verb form) Indicates that the verb happened in the past. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabeta’ = ‘ate’ QUO Quotative (particle) Indicates that something is a quote or direct speech. TOP Topicalizer (particle) Indicates that something is the topic of the sentence. Meaning-wise ‘X’ + topic can be translated to ‘As for X’. VOL Volitional (verb form) Indicates that someone decides or chooses to do something. Example: ‘taberu’ = ‘eat’ ‘tabeyou’ = ‘let’s eat’

A remark on Japanese particles: my understanding of these is still pretty shallow, but I try to take a semantic approach. Japanese doesn't have grammatical relations like subject and object, so I won't be using these terms. I'm sort of making up my own terms to fit my needs and understanding. Also, I'm a lumper, not a splitter.

    Links to websites I use

www.romajidesu.com

www.cooljugator.com/ja

www.japaneseverbconjugator.com

www.maggiesensei.com

www.en.wiktionary.org

www.nihongomaster.com

www.tanoshiijapanese.com

www.guidetojapanese.org

[startwithmaps-blog]

Spanish Love Notes (c.m x reader)

hey!! thank you all for the feedback for Loud Mouth and our insecure! jared headcanons!! we would love to get more requests and we are currently working on the couple of jared requests and we even got a ben request!!! by the way, this story was so much fun to write considering we are latinas so we wrote this based on our experiences!

ship: connor murphy x latina! reader (this is a female reader!!)

requested: sí

warnings: cursing & angst

word count: 2248

In a town overrun by the English language, it wasn’t that hard for you to be recognized as one of the best students in your 8th period Spanish class. Spanish, being your first language, was like second nature to you. It was actually kind of difficult to explain things to your friends when you had initially moved there, because the use of “Spanglish” was so common where you came from. But, after a few years of living there, you were considered the go-to for answers in that class (even if you didn’t give it to them most of the time).

The Spanish teacher, Ms. Martinez, loved you, to say the least. She always called on you to read some lines from a book, even if you didn’t like to. Ms. Martinez just loved to hear you speak Spanish so fluently (unlike many of the other students).

But, not everyone was blessed with such talent. A boy by the name of Connor Murphy was considered one of the worst in the entire class. He never seemed to understand the concept, let alone actually care for it. No work was done or turned in, and he fell asleep in class a lot; he was the complete opposite of you. You were actually very glad that you didn’t have to work with him when it came to group projects, you felt like he would hold you back, and even ruin your ‘goodie goodie’ reputation. That is, until one day your teacher decided it would be great to give you some news…

The bell had rung one day, dismissing you to go home. But on this certain day, as you made your way out of the room, you heard Ms. Martinez call out to you.

“Y/N, darling, can you come over here for a second? And Connor, I’d like to see you too,” She said sweetly.

A few of the students that were walking out of the room began to make sly remarks about you being called by the teacher. You managed to ignore them the best you could, but couldn’t help but think; what could she possibly want to do with me and him?

“Is there something wrong miss?” You questioned nervously, trying not to take notice of the pale boy who walked up next to you.

“No no, just a request. Mr. Murphy here isn’t exactly the brightest when it comes to Spanish, as you may be aware of. Would you be able to tutor him over the weekend? I have this packet he needs to complete for extra credit,” She explained, as she handed a fairly thick packet to Connor.

He took the papers and looked at it in disgust. Suddenly, you saw him look back at you, and you gave him a polite smile, which seemed to throw him off guard a bit. You looked back to Ms. Martinez and say

“Alright miss, I’ll gladly do it,” You definitely did not want to mess up your reputation, so you decided she may owe you one because of this.

“You got to be fucking joking me,” Connor groans as he runs his hands through his hair. You decide to keep your mouth shut even though you would gladly have said no and walked away from this boy.

“Great! Why don’t you two just exchange numbers and get that done over the weekend? This packet is due next class, so I think that’s more than enough time,“ Ms. Martinez advised.

“Fucking bullshit,” Connor muttered under his breath, earning an eye roll from you.

“Will do miss, I’m sure we’ll get this done in no time!” You said sarcastically gleefully.

Connor, not wanting to be a part of the conversation any longer, walked out of the classroom quickly. This forced you into a position of having to chase him down the hall and try to get him number.

“Murphy! Wait up!” You yelled down the empty hallway.

He surprisingly came to a halt, and turned around quickly, shooting you a glare. Not wanting to make him wait too long you tried to speak as quickly as you possibly could.

"Look, I’ll just give you my number, and you can text me so I can have yours, got it?” You asked.

Without a single response, he reached into his pocket to get his phone, opened it, and handed it to you. You then put in your number, and saved yourself as “Y/N/N” in his contacts. Once you gave the phone back, he turned around, and you watched him make his way out of the school.

You sighed, and ran your fingers through your hair.

Well this is going to be, troublesome…

You had been home from school a couple of hours, trying to complete as much homework you could before heading to bed. Suddenly, your phone buzzed, notifying you of a text message you just received.

From- Unknown hey its connor

Right after reading the message, you saved him into your contacts.

From- You alright, then how about we talk about when we’re going to meet up?

From- Connor M. k

From- You how about sat @ 3? could we possibly do it at your house? my family is a lot to handle.

From- Connor M. k

From- You if you don’t mind I’ll need your address

From- Connor M. k (Connor M. sent his location)

You rolled your eyes at how lazy this guy is, but locked your phone and continued on your work. But, you weren’t able to complete anymore of it because you mind was set on the day to come, and how things were going to work out; nervous to find out if any of the rumors you had heard were true.

Waking up early on Saturday morning was a normal thing for you, but today was so much different. You couldn’t help but think of what was going to happen when you were there. Occasionally, when he was especially upset, you have seen him lash out towards the teacher, and that alone scared you. Worrying too much was something that always happened, you got easily overwhelmed, especially when you had no one else to talk to. You spent your time laying in your bed and playing with the sheets of your bed before realizing you had to get going.

All this for studying.

When you looked at the clock, it was a quarter to 3. There was a deep pit in your stomach, but you tried your hardest to get settled and not let your nerves take over. You looked at your phone to check where his house was, and realized it was only a block away, so you decided to walk.

Everything will be alright.

You approached his house and practically forced yourself to ring the door bell with clammy hands. Anxiously, you waited for the door to be opened. You heard some heavy steps coming up to the large wooden door, and it was then opened very slowly. An unimpressed teen emerged from behind it, his eyes rested calmly on you.

Your cleared your throat before you were able to peep out,

“H-hello,”

Connor gave you a strange look, which made you calm yourself a little. Without a word spoken, he signaled you to enter his house. Hesitantly, you made your way through the door, and he began to make his way up the stairs, so you followed. The first impression you had of his room was 'Oh my’. His room had one wall that was just lined with books; classics such as Jane Eyre, To the Lighthouse, and T.S. Elliot. You stood there in awe as you examined the beautiful bookshelf that adorned his wall, and how organized he was, even though he was not the cleanest, Connor was still able to keep things where they could be found.

“Are you just going to stand there like a fucking idiot?” Connor questioned, a bit of irritation in his voice.

You quietly laughed it off and placed your bag on his bed. Yet you still felt uneasy, you thought about the task at hand and threw the nervousness out of your head.

You’re strong enough, he can’t hurt you unless you give into it. Plus those are just some stupid rumors anyways, treat him like anyone else.

You toughened up, looked over to him with a grin and said

“Let’s get things rolling, shall we?”

Studying with him wasn’t easy, but it went a lot better than you had thought. It was just that every time you asked him a question about something you had just gone over, he would either answer like a smart ass or not at all. But one thing you did have was patience. You were willing to go over the topic again and again, and help him out as much as you could. That’s what you were there for anyways.

“Connor, perro does not mean parrot, it means dog,” You explained, giggling quietly

“Then why do they both start with the letter 'P’? Are you trying to say that I’m stupid?!” He began to yell.

“No Connor, you’re not stupid. It’s ok that you don’t know everything when it comes to Spanish. You can’t be good at everything,” You reassured him, as you gently touched his shoulder in attempts to calm him down.

“Just because you’re not good at Spanish doesn’t make you a failure, you just have other strengths. I can see you like to read, and that’s so amazing. I honestly would have never expected you to be one to read, but you obviously seem to enjoy it very much. Everyone has something they’re good at, no one is stupid. You’re far from that Connor,” You added on, hoping he would actually listen.

Connor looked at you in a way that you didn’t understand what he was thinking. He looked as if he were going to say something, but stopped himself and just calmed down after he took some deep breaths. The two of you had agreed on continuing, and each time he got riled up, he took a bit of time to calm down. Yet you never noticed it, Connor would occasionally look at you in slight admiration, feeling almost flustered that someone intelligent, patient (and quite good looking) was helping him out.

CONNOR’S POV

When I opened the door up for her that first time, she was a fucking nervous wreck, to say the least. She wouldn’t say a word, and she seemed so innocent. I’ve seen this girl all around the school, everybody fucking loved her to death, and she always had a smile on her face. I thought she was like everyone else I fucking knew. She had good grades, teachers loved her, she had so many friends, what could possibly be wrong with her life? She was perfect, but when it can to me, she probably thought of me as a freak, and I bet she was planning on telling her little fucking friends how much she hated me and wants to make me feel like a fucking loser. Because that’s how I thought everyone was going to be like.

But I was wrong.

She walked into my room (surprisingly) and looked at all my books. I couldn’t tell if she was going to make a joke about me because how fucking big of a nerd I was or if she actually liked classics. Then, right in front of my eyes, this girl became a totally different person from the one who just walked in. She looked to be a lot happier to be here, but I still didn’t know if she was playing tricks on me or not.

When we began to work, she was able to explain every little thing there was in the Spanish language. Hearing her talk was something I would have never thought I was have actually enjoyed. She spoke silently, but it was loud enough for only me to hear. She spoke so clearly and eloquently, I began to see why teachers loved her so much in the first place. Still, I wasn’t sure if she was doing this for her own benefit, or because she actually cared. My way of trying to find out if she was shitting on me or not was by being a fucking smart ass, or really how I always act (why would I want to be nice to some trick ass bitch). This didn’t seem to faze her at all, she explained and we kept working. But, I do remember she said something very important that made me think twice about her.

“…no one is stupid. You’re far from that Connor,”

If anyone else were to say this to me, I would have told them off right on the spot, and not listen to anything they would have wanted to say. But when she said it, I felt different. Everything feeling inside of my being got soft, I couldn’t understand why. To try and describe how I actually felt, it was as if I were a puppy waiting to be adopted, watching as all the other got to go to new homes, for then to finally one day be noticed by someone, and given new opportunities. I felt the need to try and say something, but I was never in these type of situations where someone was actually praising me for being, well, me. I ended up looking like a fucking weirdo because all I managed to do was open my mouth a few times like a fish out of water. But before anything could be said by me, she suggested we keep working. I would pay attention here and there, but I thought about doing something that I had seen done in some of the books I’ve read. But, every time I was paying attention, I would usually burst and get mad. And every time I did, she gave me a look that reminded me about what she had told me, and I was able to calm down so easily, which would never would have happened if I were with anyone else.

That’s because she wasn’t anyone else. She was Y/N.

Impressively, you two were actually able to finish up that packet in 3 hours flat. Both of you were really happy once you finished it, even though it only seemed like you were the only one who seemed to be celebrating about this accomplishment.

“You know, I usually don’t say things like this, but uh, thanks for helping,” Connor said quietly as he avoided making eye contact.

“The pleasure was mine, Connor. You’re a very smart guy, you have a lot of potential. I loved working with you,” You told him, as you pulled him into a tight hug. Connor, not having expected the embrace, tensed up, but quickly calmed down and hugged you back. You giggled, and let him go, as you gave him a very loving smile.

Connor smiled too, just not as big, but it was big enough to make you feel like a winner.

Getting back to school was oddly exciting for you that Monday. Since that day that you spent your time with Connor Murphy actually went well, you felt like you could have spent the entire day with him, maybe even hang out more often.

You were the first one to get to class, so you always had the chance to sit towards the back, where you liked to sit. Other people walked into the class, taking a seat in the surrounding desks, but you simply ignored them. But, one person you failed to notice coming your way was a certain Connor Murphy, who weaved his way through the tables, and all the way to seat next to yours. He sat down, and tried to act as if he weren’t there for you. When you looked in his direction, he was ravaging through his bag for something. Then, he handed a note over to you.

“I need you to, uh, proof read it,” He confessed, looking towards the floor.

“Oh, sure thing,” You said as you grabbed the note to take a look at it.

As you carefully unfolded it, and quickly read through it, not paying attention to what it actually meant. You turn to him and nod to let him know that it’s all correct. He got a good look at you and laughed a bit.

“Did you actually read it?” He questioned, still chuckling. As you gave him a questioning look, you turned your gaze onto the note once again, and read the words on the paper.

Q U I E R E S    S A L I R    C O N M I G O

Your eyes went wide. It was something you would have never expected in a million years, especially from him. It seemed like something that came straight out of a book.

W I L L    Y O U    G O    O U T    W I T H    M E

A blush creeped onto your face, and your hands were shivering from excitement. You dropped the paper in less than an instant, and scooted over to lock him into a strong embrace. Leaning your head close to his ear, you ecstatically whisper

“Sí,” and giggle softly as he (somewhat) hugs you back.