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#I just occasionally get very frustrated by how much football is about the money
malereader-inserts · 3 years
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All He Needs
Fandom: Haikyuu Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Male!Reader Summary: Oikawa likes you a lot, he’s just terrible with how he’s gone about it Word Count: 1,193 Request: @boke-saiikai “ Hey! i was wondering if i could request a Tooru Oikawa x cold!crush reader where he is completely smitten by the reader and tries his best to impress him and just constantly flirts with him but the most he ever got was a chuckle than getting ignored, but after a practise match against shiratorizawa he breaks down when he's alone in the locker rooms and the reader finds him and finally breaks down his walls to comfort him and confess. sorry that this is so long! “ A/n: I would love more Hiakyuu requests!
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Oikawa has always been a ladies man, he had his own personal fan club in high school.
But, he didn’t want any of the girls in the school, there was one particular boy in his year that he had his eyes set on. It the other guy who had his own fan club going around school. Whilst volleyball was a very popular sport in their school, the football club as just as popular and it was the captain of the football team that everyone had eyes on.
Perhaps it was your mysterious personality, you wouldn’t entertain anyone’s advances and you try to ignore everyone that comes to talk to you unless it was someone on your class or one of your friends. You don’t seem to show much emotion, there was no happiness when you won the game, you didn’t look pleased when you passed your test.
And somehow, that was attractive to many of your peers.
It really intrigued Oikawa, which is why he has started to get your case. He was getting jealous that Iwazumi was in the same class as you, that he was one of the few people you would talk back to, but you gave nothing to Oikawa. He would come up to you with a new pick up line and you would look him dead in the eye before walking away.
It amuses Iwazumi a lot to see his best friend’s face fall flat. But, overtime Oikawa was determined to get something out from you, a smile or a chuckle, even a few words. The best he ever got was a chuckle out of you.
You like the attention from him, you would never say it to his face because you didn’t need his ego inflating. But, you enjoy seeing Oikawa running up to you, waving his hand above his head calling your name, only for you to continue walking as he tries to strike up a conversation. 
Oikawa liked you a lot, it was your hard work that you put in when you’re playing sports and that you continued to persist on your natural talent, you didn’t want to be left behind in your team and that you wanted to come on top. He liked that you weren’t giving him attention because only his team and you don’t give him the time of day. 
He gets tired of keeping up appearances with people who fawn over him, but with you, you can relate to him. You don’t give much to your fan club that but’s why your fan club loves you so much, but, you get tired of the constant attention and people knowing that you’re going to make it big in the future so many people want pictures and signatures with you, so in the future, they have proof that they went to the same school as you. 
“Hey, (L/n)-chan.”
“Oikawa-san,” You greeted and nodded as Oikawa smiles and started to ramble, you give him the occasional nod that you’re listening, “Don’t you have to be somewhere else?”
“Trying to get rid of me so easily?” There was a wink at the end of the sentence as Oikawa smiles cheekily.
You shake your head as you pointed, “No, Iwazumi-san is coming and he looks furious.”
“Ah shit, practice match!” Oikawa slaps his forehead, before waving, “See you around.”
“Maybe,” You replied as you see Iwazumi grab his best friend’s ear and pulling him to the boy’s volleyball changing room. 
You chuckled to yourself as you head over to the football changing room, to get ready for practise yourself, after the day was over, you were getting your team jacket on, not bothering to get changed back into uniform. You noticed that you weren’t the only one still out and about on school grounds. 
The volleyball changing room had lights on still, you flickered the changing room lights off and locked up as you pulled your bag on you. Going upstairs towards their changing room, you were expecting to hear a lot of voices but was met with soft cries.
You opened the door and was surprised to see who was left behind.
“Oikawa?” You called as he shot up, sniffling away the tears.
“(L/n!)!” He was caught off guard, “Did you wait for me, how cute!”
You looked at him disapprovingly, even with him in tears and upset, he tries to have his fake act up. You sighed as you closed the door behind you as you sat next to him.
“Heard it was a practice match with Shiratorizawa,” You spoke, this is probably the most you’ve talked to Oikawa, “They’re bastards.”
Oikawa managed to chuckle at your bluntness, “Yeah, they are.”
You hummed and nodded, “What’s up? Bad practice?”
“You can say that again, they...” He sighs in frustration, his face in his hands before looking at them, “They are the one school that I just want to beat, I want to get to nationals - that’s all I want to do, especially on my third year.”
“Right-”
“I want to see the look of disappointment in Ushijima’s face when I beat him and finally go to Nationals! As a captain I want to bring my team there, I want to-”
He breaks down crying again, you don’t know how to comfort a person especially one who is crying their eyes out. You lifted your hand over his back before gently placing down, rubbing. 
“I believe in you,” You say after a while, Oikawa managed to calm down, “I’ve watched your games and your team believes in you.”
“You’ve watched my games?”
You tilted your head, “Yeah? School support? I’ve seen you at my games too.”
Oikawa blushed when you straight told him that you’ve noticed him ogling at you at your games, the day he finally figured out that he was in love with you was a big long day for Iwazumi because this prick was dramatic and a mess. He would do anything to grab your attention.
“Come on, we can talk whilst we walk home, I’ll buy you something to make you feel better,” You offered as you stood up, handing him his volleyball jacket.
“You will?”
“Well, yeah,” You shrugged, “I like you, Oikawa, I don’t spend money on people I don’t like.”
It seems to make Oikawa beam as you shot up and locked his locker before rushing outside, telling you to hurry up so you and him can walk to the local shop. Also, to hide the giddiness and blush on his face when you admit to him that you like him.
As the two of you walk out of school grounds, with Oikawa bouncing as he talks. You smile to yourself as Oikawa turns to look at you under the street lamp, he stops and admires you. You looked at him with a soft look with a matching smile, your shoulders relaxed.
“What do you want to buy?”
Oikawa doesn’t care if you like him in that way as he does with you. But, all his frustration and upset washed away as long as he has your support. And right now, that’s all he needs.
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talesofstyles · 4 years
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The Law of Attraction
buckle up my little ballsacks you’re in for a treat. this is pure lawyer harry filth. honestly i’ve got no excuse.
massive massive thank you to @smokeinherperfume​ for letting me ramble about lawyer harry 24/7 and @for-fucks-sake-h​ for allllll the knife emojis FGHSHSGSGH ILY 🥺💛
p.s. all of my fics about lawyer harry are standalones so you don’t have to read them in order. but just fyi technically this one happens after Quid Pro Quo. hope you like it! xx
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An orgasm crashes through YN’s body, causing her back to arch in her chair and her fingers to tug hard at the hair of the man who’s working his tongue between her legs. It’s half three on a Wednesday, and instead of skimming through stacks of her clients’ contracts trying to find loopholes or go through the first set of Interrogatories once again before she sends it to the opposing counsel later today; she’s got her former-nemesis-turned-best-friend kneeling before her chair, her skirt hiked up around her waist and her knickers haphazardly pulled to the side. She lets out a groan, which only eggs him on, and he lashes his tongue against her even harder.
“Enough,” she mutters weakly, her voice barely audible and she’s not even sure if he even heard it. She pushes his head away from her, but the stubborn sod only swats her hands away while growling and doubles up on his efforts. She can feel him shaking his head as he licks and sucks away, slipping his finger deep inside her the second she closes her eyes and proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm in just under two minutes.
She slaps her hand over her mouth as she reaches her high again, and Harry looks at her with a satisfied smile, before licking his shiny wet lips without breaking eye contact. The sight alone is almost enough to make her want to shove his head back to where it was half a minute ago. “Feel better?”
“Mhm,” she hums happily and Harry’s lips quirk into a gentle smirk. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he replies as he stands up, before leaning over to button their lips together in a quick kiss.
“I think the pleasure’s all mine, but let’s rectify that,” she mutters as she pulls away. “What do you want? You tell me and I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to get you off slowly or do you want to fuck my mouth?”
“Fuck,” he groans in frustration. “You’re gonna kill me here. I’ve got a deposition in- shit, two minutes. I’ve got to go now. Catch ya later doll.”
She shakes her head, chuckling as she watches him rushing out of her office. “Later, shithead.”
Isn’t it just funny how the universe works sometimes? Six months ago they couldn’t even be in the same room without having a scream-whisper match, but here they are half a year later, happily handing each other orgasms like sweets on Halloween. Harry didn’t even know exactly what was bothering her today. He just sensed that she was in a real mood when he swung by her office, so instead of splitting a packet of KitKats right on the dot at three o’clock like usual, he closed the door and switched on the panel by the door so the transparent glass wall turned translucent to give them privacy, and then he went down on her without saying another word.
The perks of being friends instead of foes with Harry is that she gets to find out that Harry’s oral skills are not limited to advocacy and sarcasm. And not to mention that he’s a very generous man. Sure, it’s not a trait particularly needed in a best friend and colleague, but fuck if that’s not something that is much appreciated. At first, obviously it wasn’t easy for YN to hang the white flag above her head. Her ego was badly bruised when the firm made Harry Senior Partner instead of her in the beginning of the year, making her feel that all the long hours and the all-nighters she’d pulled were all for nothing. She felt like she gave up her social life for nothing, basically put her life on hold for nothing and gave her all to her firm for nothing. She felt unappreciated, and the easiest target to channel all her anger and frustration was Harry. Because come on, who else was she supposed to be mad at? Her boss? It’d be like being mad at Gandhi.
It definitely got much easier when she finally let the resentment go, the fact that he was the one being promoted. Especially knowing well the reason was only because he came from a bigger law firm, and that he came bearing gifts—the gifts being five huge clients from his old firm—when he came into her firm earlier this year. She’s accepted the fact that him being promoted instead of her doesn’t mean that she’s not a damn good lawyer. Hell, she’s got a hundred percent win record to prove that. It was easier to hate him when she didn’t know him, but as they began working on cases together and she got the chance to get to know him more, she knew he deserved it. 
If you ask YN, she’d most likely tell you that having a work husband surely beats having an enemy in the office. She loves having Harry as her best friend, her most trusted legal confidant when she needs to strategise on a case and well, as an occasional lover on a bad day. He is her number one ally and advisor, the person she can laugh with and be stressed with, have politically incorrect conversations with, and give her bone-deep honest opinions to. He supports her and helps her with her cases—not that she needs help because again, she’s one hell of a lawyer, but it’s surely nice to have an extra brain in the case sometimes. 
Fuck, she really does owe Harry a good one tonight for giving her a nice distraction.
A ding sound from her phone brings her back to reality. She darts her eyes at her phone for a second, and she lets out a heavy sigh when she reads the name on the screen. It’s a text to confirm the dinner meeting tonight at The Berkeley, definitely one that she can’t avoid since he’s a huge client, but more importantly, one that she dreads to meet.
You see, there’s a large part of life that we call normalcy. Eat, sleep, take a shower. Wearing underwear inside our clothes instead of outside like Batman and Superman. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Most people drink coffee in the morning. Thirty minutes of cardio three times a week. 
As pathetic as this may sound, pining for Luke, that said client who also happens to be her ex-boyfriend has been YN’s normalcy for the past two years. Luckily, his company is her client and not the man himself so she got away with keeping contact to a  bare minimum. Meeting him only about two to three times a year and only when it’s absolutely necessary and cannot be handled by his General Counsel. But apparently, his step-father decided to retire and pass his hotel business to him—honestly, as if he’s not bloody minted already—and he needs her now more than ever because even though he knows his way around the business world, this whole thing is a new territory for him. 
This is the second time in a week that he’s arranged a meeting and only God knows how many more meetings with him she could take. Because, as always, his presence means the absence of her sanity. And she hates it.
Welcome to YN’s fucked up life.
***
“I still don’t know why you want me to go with you,” Harry says, turning to look at her when they stop at a red light. Even though it’s dark outside, the neon-blue lights from the interior electronics cast the angles of his face handsomely.
He’s driving both himself and YN to The Berkeley where they’ll be meeting Luke for a dinner meeting to discuss his new business and his plan to merge with another hotel group. Which is an absolutely terrible idea and YN plans to talk him out of it tonight. It’s probably easier said than done though, because she knows Luke and she’s definitely familiar with how stubborn he can be. 
There are a lot of things about Luke that she still remembers. He pretends to hate those mini chocolate muffins but he actually loves them. He drinks his coffee at six thirty sharp every morning, yes, even on the weekends. He loves jogging and sometimes he wishes he’s an athlete so that he can get paid just to run and play football all day long. Even though he’s rich as sin—and God, fit as fuck too—he’s humble and definitely not flashy, so if you see him without his suits, you’d probably never guess that he doesn’t actually need to work a day in his life because he comes from old money. But Luke is different. He never touched his trust fund and he was determined to create his own business from scratch.
He’d just started his business around the same time YN started working in her firm as an associate, so she saw it right before her eyes how hard he worked during those first few years as he nurtured his business. His company was one of the first clients that she’d been assigned to work on, and when she got promoted to Junior Partner, her mentor gave her The White Company as her first official client. The timing couldn’t be more brilliant since she and Luke just broke up two days prior, but she knew there was no way she could turn down such a big business.
Fuck, she’s thinking about him again. She immediately makes a mental note in her head to ask Harry for an extra orgasm tonight to keep him out of her mind. But now she can’t help snickering at the thought because she makes it sounds as if she’s asking for extra ketchup. 
“Cat got your tongue?” He asks and she turns to look at him. He gives her a tiny smirk before his eyes get back on the road, but he reaches his hand out to her bare knee to give her a squeeze. “Still haven’t answered me, doll.”
“Sorry- what did you ask?”
“Why did you want me to go with you?” He asks again. “He wants to merge, right? That’s totally your thing. You don’t need me.”
“You helped me with his crisis a few months ago,” she reminds him. “Just thought we could do his business together again. He’ll be happy he’s getting two partners, the firm will be happy because they can charge double. It’s a win-win, really.”
“Bollocks that,” Harry laughs. “Worst bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s all, honest,” she feigns innocence.
“Honey, I didn’t go through law school for nothing, did I?” He replies without moving his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re using me as a human condom, aren’t you?”
“What the hell does that even mean?” She drops her jaw in shock at the fact that he calls her out on the carpet just like that.
“You’re afraid you’ll catch feelings again if you’re left alone with him, so you bring me as a shield. Am I right?” He asks her with an accusatory eyebrow raise. “You know what, no need to answer that. Of course I’m right.”
“I told you, he’s just a client now,” she insists, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her chest as Harry’s hand inches its way up her thigh. It’s incredibly arousing, but she also finds it a little disturbing since they’re having a conversation about a man she’s head over heels for. She almost want him to stop but fuck if she’s going to ask him.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here,” he says, and it’s really hard for her to concentrate on what he’s saying since he’s squeezing her thigh. His fingers pressing deep into her muscles and she can only wish they’re a few inches higher. “But if in any way you want to get him back, just say the word and I’ll back away, yeah?”
“There’s nothing going on, Harry,” she reassures him. “You’ve got to trust me on this. He’s just a client now.” 
“You sure?” Harry asks again. Turning to look at her briefly before he pulls into a parking space and puts the car in park, but she can tell by the tone in his voice that he doesn’t buy a single thing she’s said.
“I’m sure,” she nods reassuringly.
Harry grins as he reaches up and tweaks her on the nose. “You’re cute when you lie.”
“Shut up, shithead,” she mutters as she pulls on the door handle. It opens and she steps out, taking a moment to smooth down her dress. Leaning back down, she looks inside the car to look at Harry and give him a wink. “Now let’s go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can reciprocate.”
***
“You have it bad for him, don’t you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her accusingly, not even bothering to wait until Luke disappears past the lift to take a call.
YN blinks in surprise at his accusation, but instead of denying it for the second time tonight, she finally concedes. “Is it that obvious?”
“Holy shit,” this time, it’s Harry’s turn to look at her in surprise. He definitely wasn’t expecting her to admit it, but fuck if he believed that bullshit she told him in the car. “No, it’s not obvious. But I know you better than anyone in this room.”
She chuckles, before taking a swig of her Chardonnay. “True.”
“I meant what I said earlier in the car,” Harry reminds her. “Just say the word and I’ll back away. He’s probably still into you too.”
She just stares at him for a second. She’s obviously contemplating something, he can tell. He braces, wondering if she’ll finally tell him to back away. He has to remind himself to be cool, to just nod and smile if she actually does say that. They’re not exclusive, and as amazing as this last six months has been, he knows all good things come to an end. He has no absolute reason to be upset, he knows that. And as her best friend he only wants the best for her. If she thinks Luke can make her happy, then so be it.
He’s ready for her to tell him to back away. He does. Not saying that he’ll be happy, but he’ll accept it. So imagine his surprise when she gives him a smirk and says, “let’s go all the way tonight.”
Harry’s head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes at her. “You fucking with me?”
“I was hoping you’d be the one doing all the fucking,” she murmurs, still smiling coyly at him and somehow has the audacity to dip her eyes in a completely fake showing of shyness.
Harry’s eight-inch piece of equipment that had been jumping and twitching like an excited puppy now goes to full mast, pushing hard against his zipper. He drains the rest of his drink in one big gulp, not wanting to waste any time. “Stay here and wait for him to finish that sodding call. Make up an excuse for me and distract him while I go and try to get us a room upstairs.”
“You do realise that my flat is literally ten minutes away from here right? And your place is like, what, twenty minutes tops?”
“Upstairs is closer,” he lowers his voice huskily. “They have beds too.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Beds, huh?”
“What? Don’t fancy shaggin’ on a bed?” He says with a smirk, sitting straighter as he smooths his tie. “I’ll see if they’ve got anything with a balcony then.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” She mocks, rolling her eyes. “Does the word indecent exposure mean anything to you?”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“I did,” she challenges him with a spark of defiance in her eyes. “And what are you gonna do about it?”
“Do that again and you’ll get the palm of my hand,” he tells her ominously.
“You’re all mouth and no trousers, Styles,” she taunts him. 
“Good luck trying to sit tomorrow.”
***
In less than fifteen minutes, YN is standing in a lift with Harry’s lips roaming her neck and his finger sinking deep inside of her.
She didn’t have to make up an excuse when Luke went back to their table after taking the call. Apparently, there was some emergency and he needed to get back to his office as soon as possible for an emergency meeting with the boards. She assured him it was fine and that they could easily arrange another meeting to further talk about his plan to merge with another hotel group.
Harry doesn’t waste much time as he pushes the button to their floor and the doors close. He stalks towards her, cupping her head to bring her mouth to his, and his other hand going directly between her legs. She slips her tongue into his mouth and touches it against his, the vibe of the kiss turning a bit dirty. It’s a thrilling turn on, causing waves of pleasure to pulse through both of them. His tongue ends up dominating hers in the most searing, sexually explosive kiss she’d ever been given.
His hand softly fondles her for a moment, and then he’s inside of her, curling his finger in a way that has her knees buckling. He immediately saves the day by pushing one of his legs in between hers to hold her steady. He knows he doesn’t have time to get her off before they reach their floor, so he breaks the kiss and roams his lips along her neck lightly, moving his finger in and out of her leisurely but so very deeply. Her hips flex against him, trying to demand more, but she’s just going to have to wait.
When the lift starts to slow near their floor, he calmly removes his hand, smoothes her dress down, and gives her a light kiss on the nose.
He’s smiling at her as he closes the door behind them, in a completely relaxed, but thank fuck we’re finally doing this and I’m here to fuck you senseless kind of way, and it manages to show the two dimples he sports on either side of his full lips.
Their lips meet again as he leans in, softly at first, just a taste to whet the appetite. His arms tighten around her, and he increases the pressure, urging her to open up and let him in. He’s a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, and fuck if she’s not thanking her lucky stars that he’s just the same in the bedroom. He moves his lips against hers, making delicious little thrusts and flicks with his tongue, teasing and tantalising, all while stroking her back in the most incredibly sensual way that makes her tingling from head to toe. 
He loves how she just melts against him when he rubs her back, and how adorably dazed she looks just from a kiss. Grinning at her, he reaches a finger out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. The blood in his dick thumps, eagerly demanding to move things along, but he’s determined to take his time with her. 
Her mouth waters as her hands work at his belt buckle. His cock is thick and hard when she pulls him free of his boxer briefs, and she drops to her knees with her hand wrapped around his girth. It’s standing straight up before her after she releases it for a second, and she melts at the sight. There’s one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle, but then it veers off at an angle. And although this is certainly not the first time she sees it, she can’t help but cock her head to the side just to see where it goes. 
He palms the side of her head with one hand and holds her hair in a ponytail at the back of her head with the other. Looking up at him, she can see his jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly.
She squeezes him hard, just the way she knows how he likes, and strokes up and down a few times, making him groan. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, sweetheart.”
“Ssh,” she shushes him before she murmurs low in her throat. “I’ve got you.”
She finally opens her mouth, bares her teeth slightly, and then scrapes them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of him, his eyes remain shut tight. Exhilaration and victory swells within her, knowing that just that one tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness. 
He opens his eyes, gazing at her. His voice is thickened and gruff when he says, “you’ve got no idea how beautiful you look while on your knees before me.”
She responds to him by leaning in, and without hesitation taking the tip of him into her mouth, making him groan in relief. He grips her lightly, his fingers pressing into her scalp as a means of holding her steady and not to force action. She licks and sucks, squeezing and stroking him with her hand. He’s watching her from above with lust on his face, and she’s savouring every little groan she drags out of this normally stoic man. She flutters her tongue on the sensitive underside just below the head of his cock, her hand gently squeezing his balls as she works his shaft. 
“Been dying to get that cherry lipstick on my cock,” he mutters softly, she can barely hear him. He grits his teeth as he slowly pulls out of her mouth. “Knew that red lipstick would look good on me.”
Her eyes slide to his cock, and she has no clue what her mouth looks like, but she’s absolutely sure most of her lipstick is gone since it’s smeared beautifully along the length of his shaft. She tries to take it back into her mouth, determined to bring him into completion that way, but his hand immediately covers her, holding her still while his eyes pin her in place. “Wanna be inside you.”
He helps her stand on her feet, and the next thing she knows, her dress pools around her ankle. His hands come to the back of her bra, flicking it open and pulling it from her. Then he drops to his knees before her. Fingers going under her knickers, he pulls them down just enough to gain access and runs his tongue up her centre. 
He had fantasised about her naked before him more times than he could probably admit that he has to blink twice to convince himself that this time is real. And fuck if it isn’t much better than his dreams.
“Bed,” he commands, and she crawls on it with the intent to lay in a sexy pose as she turns over to face him, but he’s on the bed with her, quick as lightning, and flips her to her back.
Her eyes go up to find him staring at her tits, and she can’t help but joke. “They don’t bite, you know.”
His gaze comes up to meet hers, and his lips curve slightly. “But I do. It’s probably going to hurt a little.”
A shudder ripples through her, and her nipples harden. His eyes flick back down to her breasts. She swallows hard at the anticipation, the thought of him getting a little rough with them is thrilling, but there’s something else she wants more right now.
“I’m fucking dying to be inside you right now,” he whispers in her ear. His admission elicits a deep moan to escape from her lips. “Last chance to change your mind, doll.”
“Please just fuck me already,” she whimpers, her hands roaming his body. Every glide of her fingers over his skin fills him with a fullness he’s never experienced before. “I’m losing my mind.”
With one hand pressed into the mattress, Harry uses the other to take his cock in hand. He dips his hips, pressing the tip right into her entrance. Blowing out a breath, he brings his eyes to hers and holds her captive, finally thrusts deeply into her. She screams, not in pain but in pure fucking ecstasy, as he fills her up. Harry bottoms out, his pelvis pressed hard into hers. 
Baring his teeth, he mutters, “fuck… that feels good.”
“Would feel better if you move,” she suggests with a smirk.
Harry stays completely still inside of her. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them up again, he gives her a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid to move. Afraid I might embarrass myself and blow my load in about two nanoseconds.”
She lets out a giggle, pretty sure that’s the one and only time in her life she’s ever done something so girly. Harry laughs huskily and kisses her hard. He doesn’t move an inch from his waist down but just kisses her deeply with thorough possession. When he pulls away, he tentatively circles his hips, grinding into her.
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and drops his forehead to hers. “Yeah… definitely not gonna last long.”
Her hands go into his hair and she massages his scalp, incredibly touched and turned on over his reaction to her. She tugs on his hair, pulling his face away from hers. “Harry?”
He moves reluctantly and looks down at her with that same abashed look. She tilts her hips, clenches her internal muscles around his cock, and then rubs her thumbs into his scalp.
“Let go,” she commands him softly. “Fuck me hard and come as fast as you want. We’ve got all night.”
***
Harry’s hand reaches out, tapping the screen on his phone to turn the alarm off, laying silently in the predawn gloom pondering about his situation at this very moment.
There’s a naked, beautiful woman on top of him, and fuck if he can remember when was the last time he woke up with someone else in his bed. It’s not that he’s averse to cuddles; if the woman wants a cuddle with him after sex, he’d give it to them. The act of intimacy like that doesn’t scare him whatsoever. But normally he’d be out of their hair long before the sun is up, leaving them to wake up alone and him to start his day as if the night before didn’t happen.
He always tells himself to forget whoever he shags the night before no matter how great of a fuck she was, although he’ll allow himself to bring forth the memories when he jerks off if needed. 
YN fell asleep a few hours prior, spread-eagled over his body right after she collapsed from the most recent fuck-fest. She came, he came, then she fell forwards onto his chest and was out like a light. And he left her right there all night. Letting her lie on top of him, calling it a day well completed and went to sleep himself.
His hand slides down from her stomach right between her legs, his fingers swiping through her folds which become slicker with desire the more he plays. She softly moans in her sleep and her lower body starts to squirm. Her breathing hitches, and the second she cracks her eyes open, she gives him that happy, sleepy, please fuck me again smile. 
He gently eases her down from the top of his chest to lay beside him, rolling her to the side so her back is facing him. Then he pushes her outer leg up, sliding his body down just a little bit, angling his cock to slip into her from behind. 
Harry moves slowly as he’s spooned around her and she moans in pure bliss as he fills her up. The arm that her head is resting on comes up to curve across her chest and hold her tight. His other hand grips the back of her thigh firmly to pin her in place.
“More,” she whispers on a forced exhalation. 
“Fuck me,” he mumbles against her hair. “My girl wants more.”
And he gives her more. Fucking her exquisitely and with no doubt that neither of them has ever had it that good. He takes her higher and higher, the sweet words that he’s whispering in her ear is the complete opposite of the kinky shit they did last night. 
“Balcony?”
YN didn’t hesitate, following right behind him as he pushed the doors open. A light breeze filters in but it’s still muggy outside. They’re on the seventh floor, and they can still hear the rumble of engines and the honking of horns below them. The quiet darkness of Belgravia stretches out beyond.
Harry walked up to the edge of the balcony, which was made of stone and concrete, sitting about three and a half feet high. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a searing kiss. She moaned, slipping her tongue in his mouth and gripped onto his shoulders. The kiss was deep and wet, and honestly, the best kind of kiss.
He pushed her up against the wall, laying a palm over one breast. Squeezing, plumping, testing the weight in his hand. He rubbed a thumbnail over her nipple, eliciting the softest sigh from her. 
He brought his other hand south. Straight shot, right to her centre. Her head dropped to his shoulder as his fingertips continued to circle and rub against her. Within minutes she had his fingers deep inside her and his thumb working her hard. He wanted nothing more than to just line up and push his way in, but he waited. He waited until he saw her trembling became a little fiercer, her body tensed, and when she sucked in a large gulp of air, he knew that was his cue.
He quickly removed his fingers, bracing his hands on her hips and slammed forward. She took him all the way in and he cursed under his breath as he felt her spasm all around him when she came. For a second he thought about hitting it hard, chasing another orgasm, but then he decided against it, wanting to relish the scenery and listen to the sounds of the city.
“Let’s just quit our jobs and fuck all day,” Harry jokes as he drops her leg back down into place.
“Sounds good to me,” she laughs as she reaches around him, grabbing the complimentary bottle of water on the nightstand, taking a sip before she hands it to him and he finishes it in a couple of long swallows. 
“Thirsty?”
“Starving too,” he replies in a way that doesn’t make her think he wants some bacon and eggs. 
Within seconds, he has her on her back again as he slides down her body, roughly pushing her legs apart. Her hands shoot out, grabbing the sides of his head before he gets the chance to descend even lower. “No.”
“What?”
“Let me get cleaned up first,” she says lamely, pretty sure she’s killed the mood. “I mean… I’m filled with-”
Harry ignores her, cutting her off by dropping his mouth right between her legs and begins sucking. She shrieks from the warm contact, surprised by how sensitive she is, and as he lifts his gaze to hers, he murmurs. “That’s you and me together, and we taste fucking delicious.”
Her body trembles from his words, and through a dry and parched throat she croaks, “then by all means.”
“Thank you,” he says with a wink, then proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm that totally wrecks her.
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Text
Sunshine
F/M Pairing: Y/N x Han Jisung (Stray Kids)
Word Count: 12K
Genre: Married Life AU
Warnings: Smut and Language
Summary: Y/N has loved Jisung for her entire life and she would never dream of marrying anyone else. Of course, their life together isn’t always perfect, but they’ve always managed to overcome every obstacle standing in their way.
Note: Feeling soft for Jisung these days...
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I was only 8-years-old when my parents divorced. 
My mother, thinking herself circumspect, blamed it on my father’s long hours at work. But she wasn’t there the night I decided to wait for my father, watching him come home in the dead of night to quietly clean the lipstick painting the side of his cheek. I remember catching his eyes from the bottom of the staircase and the guilt in his eyes was impossible to dismiss.
Those kinds of unfortunate secrets are difficult to hide because they demand to be seen. 
Thereafter, I can recall memories of sitting in different offices, listening to my parents bicker while their lawyers did their best to satisfy bitter clients, especially when it came to their daughter. I was a particularly harsh point of contention, but full childhood custody was granted to my mother who did everything in her power to push my father out of our lives, even packing up our belongings to move to the opposite side of the country. And New York City was just as intimidating as my childish imagination had perceived it to be. My first impression was unforgettable, a city that was large and confusing, constantly streaked with traffic and heavy with the low-set of smog in the mornings when the sun could barely filter through the landscape of skyscrapers.
My mother and I moved to the suburbs and started renting a modest home with the idyllic front yard and friendly neighbors who greeted us with dishes containing different foods upon our arrival. I had always been shy and introverted, choosing the comfort of my mother’s legs whenever a stranger would knock on our door, occasionally offering my mother a flirtatious smile. Like the older man who lived across the street who often made a habit of coming over to talk to my mother in the living room while I hid away upstairs, listening to the sound of their laughter.
Eventually, I could no longer pretend that something strange wasn’t happening, especially when my mother’s new friend brought over his two sons. They were both around my age, sporting thick accents that reminded me of the man on television who liked to wrestle with crocodiles. My mother’s friend introduced them as Chan and Felix, encouraging the three of us to get along because we would be spending a lot of time with each other. My childish innocence didn’t quite understand what that meant, but I wanted to do the very best for my mother.
Even so, I was still hesitant at first because Felix seemed to dislike the idea, ignoring me in exchange for his video games when I would come over to their house. Thankfully, Chan was more willing to comply, sharing his books with me since we both liked to read and the couch in his bedroom was extremely comfortable. He had a wide variety of mysteries and thrillers and my impressionable mind would latch onto those exotic stories and themes, picturing myself in the place of the heroine who somehow managed to always know exactly what to do in the most formidable of situations.
Eventually, Chan invited me to accompany him and Felix to the park to meet their other friends since I was having trouble making them on my own. Felix, of course, remained opposed, very nearly throwing a fit had it not been for his father who scolded his son for being so inconsiderate. Not that I was necessarily excited at the idea of meeting their friends since I would have preferred staying inside to read. Nevertheless, my mother was insistent that we get along, so I reluctantly followed Chan and Felix who were talking about some sort of new comic book that they were both reading. It was all very decidedly boyish things and I had no interest in superheroes who ran around in capes when the real heroes were the common female protagonists of my books.
“Everyone, meet Y/N,” Chan had introduced me, pushing me forward to greet the seven other boys who were all looking at me like I was some sort of extraterrestrial specimen.
One of their older friends, with a messy head of black hair, immediately crossed his arms. “No way, Chan,” he protested, glaring at me with intimidating dark eyes.
“Girls aren’t allowed,” another boy agreed, nodding his head with enough force to send his bangs flying into his eyes.
I retreated into myself with each subsequent insult and dismissal thrown my way. It was enough to ostracise even the most outgoing of individuals, but I was quite frustrated because I had tried to resist coming along from the moment Chan first proposed the idea. “I didn’t want to come anyway,” I snapped at the boys, surprising each and every one of them as I stormed away to plant myself down on one of the park benches.
I could hear Chan calling my name but I had decidedly had enough of those boys, including Chan despite the inherent kindness he had previously shown me. In fact, they could have fun without me doing whatever it is that nasty little boys liked to do in the park. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway, even if they had opened their arms and begged me to play along. Of course, I was still deeply hurt that they had dismissed me so quickly, but I had always been a prideful child, which is why my first instinct was to lash out when I noticed a shadow had fallen over my wilted form. “You don’t have to be nice anymore, Chan,” I said, turning away from the approaching boy.
“I’m really sorry.” 
I glanced up in surprise when I realized that the voice was much brighter than Chan’s gravelly tone. Instead, I met a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes from beneath a fringe of blonde-colored hair. The boy held out a flower, a wilted dandelion that had nearly lost its pappus, as if in a gesture of appeasement.
I accepted it from him hesitantly. “Thank you.”
“They shouldn’t be so mean,” the boy continued, waving at his friends who were busy arguing over a silly football. “You’re really tall so you might be able to catch Minho’s long passes.”
I paused at his comment. “Do you want me to play?”
“Of course,” the boy grinned, smiling as brilliantly as the sun bearing down on the two of us. “My name’s Jisung.”
I returned his smile. “It’s nice to meet you Jisung.” He offered me his hand which I gratefully accepted, holding on to him with an unrelenting grip because I had a feeling that I would never want to let go.
This might explain why, years later, I was still waking up next to him in bed with an expensive ring on my finger courtesy of dozens of saved paychecks back when Jisung worked overtime in college. On this morning, in particular, the sound of my alarm might have been enough to wake me up, but the unexpected presence of my husband’s hand groping my chest provided the necessary catalyst to blindly reach out for my cell phone. I silenced the unwelcome disturbance, allowing a low groan when I reached down for his hand because leave it to Han Jisung to feel me up even when we were both sleeping. “What are you doing?” Jisung asked when I tightened my fingers around his wrist, loudly protesting when he squeezed my breast in return. 
“It’s too early for that,” I whined, especially when he started to rub his hard cock against my ass.
“Just let me put it inside for five minutes,” Jisung pleaded, his other hand roaming down to tug on my panties. 
“What good will that do?” I asked him, slowly wriggling away from his arms despite the show of childish outrage from my immature husband who still sometimes forgot that he was an adult.
“You’re gonna make me show up to work like this?” Jisung pouted, expression painted with his betrayal as he watched me walk around our bedroom. 
“Take a cold shower,” I said, tossing a towel in his direction. 
“Y/N,” Jisung said. “Let’s think about the practicalities of the situation. We haven’t had sex in a week and my dick feels like it might fall off at any moment.”
“And if we look at this situation scientifically,” I added. “I doubt your dick will fall off because that’s assuredly impossible.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Jisung asked in an exaggerated fashion, burying his face into our nicest set of pillows.
“Because I’m meeting Seungmin and Jeongin for lunch and you have a field trip to chaperone. Plus, I don’t want to listen to Changbin complain to me on the phone tonight when you show up to work late again.”
“Seungmin and Jeongin are more important than me?”
“Lunch is more important than you,” I corrected him with a smirk, reaching for my bag. “Have a nice day at work, babe.”
“No kiss goodbye?” Jisung questioned even as the door to our bedroom shut soundly behind me.
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Being amongst the youngest, me, Seungmin, and Jeongin frequently made a habit of eating lunch together on Saturday afternoons. It was a traditional affair, primarily allowing the three of us to gossip about the others without fear of reprimand. And ever since our Freshman year writing lecture, we’ve enjoyed greasy fast food while commenting on everything from Chan and Changbin’s sudden obsession with the gym to our theories that Minho was secretly married to a rich aristocrat who supplied him with the endless amount of money he spent on his cats.
“Hey!” Jeongin protested when I reached over to steal a piece of his steak.
“It looks better than mine,” I attempted to justify, speaking over a mouthful of food which my mother would normally offer criticism.
“Felix has been acting weird lately,” Seungmin randomly commented, a frown confusing his features as he scrolled through his phone.
I chewed the stolen beef before asking, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he only ever gets like this when she’s back in town.”
I let out a heavy exhale, understanding exactly why Seungmin was concerned. “How long?”
“A week or so,” Seungmin said. “He never comes out with us anymore.”
“Does Changbin know?” I asked, sliding my plate aside in exchange for this piece of juicy gossip.
Changbin’s sister, better known as the object of Felix’s most intimate desires, has managed to whole-heartedly capture Felix in some sort of deadly trance. My step-brother, notoriously known for being a playboy in college, became whipped around Changbin’s sister, following her around like a lost puppy begging for attention. “Of course he does,” Seungmin replied. “But he says that Kara hasn’t tried to contact Felix at all.”
“Obviously,” I snorted. “Changbin thinks Kara is the epitome of perfection. His little sister can’t possibly do wrong in his eyes.”
“I think Felix shares his opinion,” Jeongin commented, trying to sound perfectly serious while he sipped on his chocolate milk.
“We’re having a family dinner tomorrow night,” I said with a sigh. “It’s a good opportunity to interrogate my step-brother.”
“Please, Y/N,” Seungmin said, eyes round and soft. “Felix always tells you everything.”
“And you can immediately tell us in the group chat,” Jeongin chirped happily.
“Of course!” I agreed, reaching over to ruffle Jeongin’s hair until my phone abruptly started ringing. “Yes, Hyunjin?” I sighed into the other end.
“Y/N! We have an emergency!”
I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. “It can’t be that bad.”
“We don’t have straws! I repeat, the cafe has no straws and people are asking for straws, Y/N.”
“Jesus, Hyunjin,” I groaned. “Just go next door and buy some straws.”
“Y/N,” Hyujin huffed impatiently. “There is a bigger problem here and you don’t even realize! That kid you hired last week? I think he’s out to sabotage the cafe. I put him in charge of ordering supplies and guess what isn’t supplied?”
“The damn straws,” I muttered, suddenly having a million regrets for agreeing to open the cafe with Hyunjin in the first place.
“Now you finally understand.”
I carefully lowered the phone from my ear, cupping the receiver to look at Seungmin. “Do you mind coming with me to the cafe? I’m supposed to have the day off but Hyunjin’s losing his shit over straws.”
“Sounds like Hyunjin,” Seungmin smirked. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
“Hyujin,” I repeated into the phone. “Please don’t scream at that poor kid, I’ll be there in five minutes.”
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The cafe was originally supposed to be an independent endeavor until Hwang Hyunjin found out about my plans and demanded some sort of involvement. Despite our friendship, I was still hesitant to consider Hyunjin as a business partner, especially considering his performances in the lectures we shared in college. Hyunjin was the type of student to arrive to class five minutes before the professor, desperation clinging to him persistently while he begged me to explain the homework assignment. Nevertheless, Hyunjin somehow graduated from the business school at the same time as I did, albeit without the honor’s recognition, proving himself despite the doubts of nearly everyone in our friend circle with the exception of Jisung who always managed to see the good in everyone.
Shortly after graduation, Hyunjin and I took out a small loan from the bank to open our cafe in a very strategic location close to a nearby university. From the beginning, I had primarily handled the more elaborate side of our business ranging from accounting and point of sales to ordering supplies and handling employees. Hyunjin, on the other hand, took care of the creative aspects including designing what he deemed an “elegant” menu while also trying out new recipes that our mostly college-aged clientele greatly enjoyed in the form of free samples. 
“Y/N!” Hyujin gasped as soon as I walked in the door with Seungmin and Jeongin. “Well?”
I held up a grocery bag full of the straws I had just purchased. “It’s fine, Hyunjin.”
“It’s not fine,” Hyunjin protested, walking over to yank the bag free from my grasp. “I’ll have you know that one of our usual customers left us 4 instead of 5 stars for satisfaction.”
“What will we do?” I deadpanned. “Where’s the new kid? Did you scold him thoroughly?”
“Of course I did,” Hyunjin said, pointing to the kitchen. “I sent him to wash dishes.”
“He’s a cashier.”
“It’s punishment, Y/N,” Hyunjin said. “We can’t have him thinking he can get away with potentially damaging our public image.”
“These kids will still get their morning coffee,” I said. “They don’t care if we’re out of straws as long as they have somewhere to loiter around all day to finish their essays.”
“That’s another thing,” Hyunjin said. “I think we definitely need a bigger place and I know the owner next door said something about moving out.”
“Renovations are expensive,” I said. “And you don’t know if the landlord would be okay with us tearing out the wall to expand.”
“What if I found out?”
“Talk to Seungmin instead,” I suggested, tugging the younger boy forward. “I’ll see about this new guy you’ve decided to torture.”
“Punishment, Y/N!”
I rolled my eyes because I was still frustrated that I had to come into the cafe because of the worst excuse for an emergency in the history of mankind. But what else did I expect from Hyunjin? “Remember to breathe, Y/N,” I whispered to myself. 
Back in the kitchen, our newest employee, donned in his decorative jacket courtesy of Hyunjin’s obsession with bright uniforms, was currently bent over the sink with thick gloves pulled up to his elbows. I felt bad for the guy because it was obvious that he wasn’t used to doing something like this. “Hey, kid,” I said, surprising the younger boy who immediately dropped one of the cups back into the sudsy water. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”
“I-I don’t mind,” he stuttered, eyes wide as he held tightly to a sponge.
“It’s not your job,” I insisted, carefully taking the sponge from him like he was a deer that might dart away at any sudden movement. “I’m sorry Hyunjin told you to come back here. To be honest, he was probably trying to avoid this work himself.”
“But I messed up the order,” he said, hanging his head. “It’s my fault.”
“Not it’s not and don’t let Hyunjin tell you otherwise,” I said. “Next time, call me if you’re having trouble with the order.”
I reached into my bag to pull out my business card, holding it out for his reluctant hand which was still slightly damp from his unexpected dish duty. “You’re not mad?” he asked reluctantly.
“No way,” I reassured him. “I used to work during college too, you know. I kinda get it, kid, so don’t worry about anything.”
His smile was sincere, looking at my card like it was the key to the world. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Get back on register,” I encouraged him. “That’s what I hired you for, and next time Hyunjin gives you any shit, you just let me know.”
He nodded enthusiastically, vacating the kitchen as if he was actually thrilled by the idea of returning to the register. I knew all was well when I could hear Hyunjin’s shrill voice from the other room: “Y/N!”
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Jisung managed to beat me home and I walked inside to find my husband laid out on the couch with a glass of orange juice in one hand. “Headache,” Jisung pouted at me.
“Take some Advil,” I said with a smirk, ignoring the way his hands reached out for me in exchange for the possibility of a snack from the kitchen.
“Y/N!” I heard him groan my name. 
“Sungie,” I returned his call. “I hope this isn’t some sort of elaborate set-up because we have dinner with my mother tomorrow night.”
Jisung was silent in the next room and I shook my head while dumping a sample of chips into one of our plastic bowls. I came back out into the living room to find Jisung rolled over onto his stomach, face buried into the cushions of our sectional. “Baby,” I cooed, trying to lure him out from his hiding place.
“I forgot about the dinner,” Jisung said, voice muffled against the furniture.
“I figured that,” I said, somewhat sympathetic to his plight. For as long as I could remember, Jisung had always feared our family dinners mainly because my mother had a personal vendetta against him. Ever since he first stepped foot on the porch wearing a rented suit for Junior year prom, my mother had deemed him unworthy of my time. Her feelings only worsened when she found out that Jisung was majoring in elementary education. “A teacher, Y/N! That boy isn’t going to be able to support the two of you!”
Subsequently, every visit to my mother’s house meant that Jisung had to listen to my mother read statistics on how poor and destitute teachers were in the city. Meanwhile, Felix also received the same treatment from his father who was absolutely horrified when he found out that his youngest son wanted to open a dance studio with Minho. It didn’t help that my step-father loathed Minho because he found him and Felix in the back of Minho’s corvette smoking enough weed to satisfy the entirety of our high school. 
It was a complete contradiction because while Jisung and Felix were constantly reprimanded, Chan and I were bathed in compliments and adoration. “Channie,” my mother would smile. “How are your cases?” Chan was some kind of small claims lawyer in the upper Bronx which meant he made enough money to buy a Rolex for every day of the week while driving an expensive Tesla. 
“And Y/N,” my mother would address me. “How’s the cafe?”
“We always do well around Finals season,” I told her.
“That’s wonderful darling!” she would always say while glaring in Jisung’s direction who would visibly falter under my mother’s judgemental stare. “How are your...kids, Jisung?”
“They’re great,” Jisung would laugh nervously. “I had to stop one of them from eating a bottle of glue the other day.”
I would laugh and affectionately run my fingers through Jisung’s hair while my mother remained statuesque-still. “How amusing.”
The pattern persisted to this day and I knew Jisung tolerated the dinners for my sake, but he always protested in different ways. For example, last month Jisung agreed to babysit our neighbor’s Pomeranian because he thought I might allow him to stay at home. And I almost let him get away with his impromptu plans when I remembered that Jisung would have to make dinner on his own and I was horrified by the idea of Han Jisung anywhere near my kitchen.
“Tell your mother I’m dying,” Jisung said, pulling me from my thoughts. “That should make her happy.”
“Han Jisung,” I scolded him, reaching down to gently massage his leg. “I’m not leaving you home alone. You’re prone to more kitchen fires than anyone else I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll order takeout,” Jisung said, kicking his foot out against my thigh. 
“If you’re gonna act like a child, then I’ll have to treat you like one,” I said, giving his ass a firm smack before rising from the sectional.
Jisung jolted at the unexpected contact, raising his head to briefly consider me. “What was that?”
“Do you not want to play?” I returned, grinning when Jisung immediately sat upright from his position on the sofa, leaning forward in expectation. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“Perhaps if you decide to stop being so stubborn about the dinner,” I said, dropping to my knees in front of him.
Jisung’s eyes grew wide with lust, hands reaching out to pull my head closer to his crotch. “I’ll go to as many dinners as you want, babe.”
“That’s better,” I smirked, efficiently undoing his belt. “It’s only for a few hours.”
Jisung was ecstatic, pulling down his jeans and underwear. “I’ll just sit with Felix in the dining room alone.”
“Is that so?” I asked, curling my fingers around his hardening cock. 
Jisung nodded, hair falling into his eyes as he watched me with rapt attention. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him recently.”
“What a good sport,” I teased, jerking his cock a few times because I liked the way Jisung’s eyelids would flutter with his pleasure. But he was being remarkably good, so I decided he had earned an end to his apparent sexual frustrations. I took in the tip of his cock, running my tongue along the slit dripping with milky white pre-cum. 
“Please,” Jisung begged, grip unrelenting on my hair as he encouraged me to swallow more of his cock, slowly taking him in until I could feel him at the back of my throat. “Can I do it?” Jisung asked with desperate eyes and I nodded once, giving him the permission he desired to move my head up and down the length of his erection, warm and rigid against my tongue. I made sure to moan around him because I knew the resulting vibrations felt really good, enjoying the sounds of Jisung’s grunts as he fucked my mouth.
While Jisung did a majority of the work, I tried to amplify his pleasure when I could like running my tongue along the prominent vein on his cock or using my teeth to drag against the fleshy part of him. My fingernails dug into his thighs, leaving behind marks that would probably vanish after a warm shower. Tears were steadily streaking down my cheeks courtesy of an instinctual reaction to Jisung’s cock repeatedly sliding in and out, hollowing my cheeks to accommodate him. “It feels so good,” Jisung said, palms clammy as one hand came to fan against my cheek, wiping away the smeared streaks of my mascara. 
Throughout our years together, I had learned a lot about Jisung including his apparent oral fixation when it came to sex. Jisung loved when I gave him a blowjob as I discovered for the very first time locked away in the Janitor’s closet, tasting Jisung on my tongue for a few seconds before he was cumming down my throat, apologizing incessantly for not being able to last longer. As if I really cared because I was quite proud of myself for breaking him down so quickly. But as much as Jisung liked to receive, he also loved to give and feeling his tongue on my pussy was a guilty pleasure, watching Jisung eat me out like he belonged between my thighs. 
“Cumming,” Jisung warned me, grip tightening as his hips stuttered, pubic hair brushing against my nose while the bitter taste of his cum was swallowed down with effort because my throat was now incredibly sore.
Jisung fell back against the couch, fingers pushing my hair back from where it had fallen messily into my face. I shakily climbed into his lap, kissing him greedily because there was no better sight than Jisung completely spent after a good orgasm, especially when it was because of me. “Is that better, baby?” I asked, pecking him on the nose.
“I love you,” post-orgasm Jisung told me entreatingly, eyes swimming with tears as he proceeded to plant dozens of soft kisses against the exposed skin of my collarbones.
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Jisung pulled into the driveway of my mother’s house with a morbid expression. “It’s not too late to cancel, right?”
I ignored his comment, opening the door to step out into the bitterly cold evening. “Babe, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“No need to pretend,” Jisung grumbled, reluctantly following me to the porch where I hit the doorbell, smoothing down my skirt because my mother always liked it when we dressed up for these dinners.
But the last thing I expected to see on the other side of the door was Kara, especially a version of Kara dressed in an appropriately sized skirt. “Y/N!”
I’m sure my expression of shock matched the one present on my husband’s face as we both took in the sight of Changbin’s little sister. “Kara?” I questioned stupidly, holding tighter to Jisung’s sweater because I needed something to ground me in the reality of this unanticipated situation.
“You guys look great!” she declared. “Come inside!”
“Of course,” I said softly, pulling Jisung behind me as I stepped into the foyer, shrugging off my coat which Kara took from me to hang in the closet like she had been doing it for years. 
“Y/N!” my mother squealed, interrupting the unanswered “why are you here?” hanging between the three of us.
“Mom,” I said, accepting her hug with a wince because my mother was never gentle in her affections.
“And Jisung,” my mother frowned, eyeing my husband up and down. “What the hell are you wearing.”
Jisung looked down at his corduroy pants which I had warned him repeatedly to destroy. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Oh nevermind with you,” my mother said dismissively, reaching out for Kara. “Look, Y/N, Felix brought home a very nice friend. Are the two of you acquainted?”
“She’s Changbin’s sister,” I told my mother. “Why would I not know her?”
“Oh don’t give me that attitude,” my mother said. “Kara was just telling me about the marketing firm she works for! Isn’t that impressive?”
“My brother’s jealous,” Kara said. “He’s stuck working with kids all day, isn’t that the worst?”
My mother giggled at Kara’s comment while I reached behind me to give Jisung’s hand a reassuring squeeze. I didn’t even need to see my husband’s face to know that he would be fuming over Kara’s words. “I think you can do Felix some good too,” my mother said, now leading Kara towards the kitchen. “That boy is an absolute mess sometimes.”
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I found Chan in the living room, eating his way through most of my mother’s groceries. “Channie,” I said, hurrying Jisung along despite the way his feet drug against the carpet. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Chan barely glanced up from his food. “What is it?”
“In private?”
Chan offered me a blank look to which I grabbed his hand, forcing him to the opposite side of the room and away from any potential eavesdroppers. “Why the hell is Kara here?”
“Beats me,” Chan shrugged. “Felix said they’re just friends.”
“Just friends my ass!” I hissed at him. “Chan, you know how stupid Felix gets around her! Since when has Felix brought any of his ‘friends’ to one of these dinners?”
“I don’t want to get involved, Y/N,” Chan said. “It’s really none of our business.”
“But does Changbin know she’s here?”
Chan shrugged helplessly. “How should I know? I don’t see Changbin much these days.”
“Ah, you’re useless,” I declared. “There’s a potentially catastrophic disaster unfolding right in front of your eyes and yet food is more concerning to you.”
“Of course it is,” Chan nodded solemnly. “Why do you think I sacrifice a Sunday night at home to drive an hour over here?”
“What a good son you are,” I said, pinching one of his cheeks. “I’m sure your father would be pleased to hear that.”
“Y/N, I seriously don’t know anything about Felix and Kara,” Chan said, smacking my hand away. 
“Listen to me, Chan-”
I broke off when my mother suddenly entered the room with Kara on her heels, holding out a tray of cheese and crackers. “Appetizers!” my mother exclaimed, immediately chastising Jisung when he accidentally dropped one on my mother’s coffee table.
“Leave it alone,” Chan warned me, sparing me no further attention as he joined the others in the living room. I followed him to the couch where I planted myself between my step-brother and Jisung, eyeing Kara suspiciously as she sat herself directly on Felix’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. 
“I think your mother likes me the least tonight,” Jisung whispered anxiously into my ear.
“That’s because Felix has something shiny and new for her to mess with,” I said, patting his thigh soothingly. 
“Everyone, help yourselves!” my mother announced, ushering my step-father into the room with a glass of wine in hand.
I handed Jisung a plate. “Do me a favor and keep the food where it belongs.”
Jisung pouted at me. “You act like I’m clumsy on purpose.”
“I don’t need to feed you, do I?” I asked him, ignoring the way he reached down to pinch my waist in warning.
The remainder of our dinner progressed slowly, more so than usual because my mother seemed to have hundreds of questions for Kara. In fact, as opposed to Jisung and Felix being the objects of my mother’s contempt, that title seemed to belong to everyone excluding Kara. Chan and I were rarely spoken to, and Jisung was only addressed when my mother complained that he was chewing too loudly. “Do you see my son-in-law?” she complained to Kara like they were old friends. “He’s never had good table manners.”
I held tightly to Jisung’s hand when I felt him tense next to me. “Jisung’s always been that way,” Kara replied with far too much affection for my liking.
Her comment forced me to recall the very first time I ever met Kara back during my third year of high school. She was a year younger than Jeongin, so she came into our high school as a shy Freshman with only Changbin as an ally. And Changbin loved to brag about how smart his sister was, claiming that she didn’t even need to study because she could memorize everything the teacher said in class. But Changbin hadn’t been exaggerating and I had been slightly jealous of Kara’s easygoing nature, seamlessly inserting herself into our lives as if she had always belonged there. The truth of the matter was that Kara had been attending a private school for most of her life because of her higher intelligence. The school was located hours away from where we lived so we never saw Kara except in brief passing when she came home on the weekends. However, Kara insisted that she wanted a normal high school life, so she enrolled at our local public institution with the goal of making new friends and getting a taste of what her brother always talked about in their long phone conversations.
At first, Kara stuck tightly to Changbin’s side, but it didn’t take long for her to open up to the rest of our group, including Felix whose crush started the moment Kara first walked through the doors. My poor step-brother was enamored, jealous when Kara would start dating some of the older Seniors. Of course, it didn’t help that Changbin remained adamant that Kara never dated any of his friends because they were, in his words, completely unworthy. So, with the exception of the unfortunate incident of Junior prom, Kara obeyed her brother and only showed the other guys affection in the form of a pat on the head or a gentle shove when they said something funny.
By the time I graduated with Hyunjin, Seungmin, Felix, and Jisung, Kara had become another pillar in our dynamic, even appealing to the older ones like Chan and Minho. Yet, when Jeongin finally entered university with the rest of us, something changed with Kara and she no longer hung out with us as much as she had before. Then, there was the matter of her attending college in an entirely different state, only coming to visit sporadically when Felix would bend over backward to make sure she attended one of his fraternity parties. By the time I graduated from college, Kara was more or less nothing but a distant memory, only coming into fruition on rare occasions. Thus, seeing her here today was definitely disorienting, especially since it was only because of Felix that she was here in the first place.
“Kara, you’re such a wonderful girl,” my mother said. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”
I rolled my eyes because my mother seemed to forget my Junior year of high school almost as much as I did. “You’ve been such a gracious host,” Kara said to my mother.
“It’s getting late,” my mother sighed, glancing at my step-father who was moments away from passing out on the couch. “We should get to bed, but the rest of you are more than welcome to stay and chat. I know I took up a lot of the conversation.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jisung muttered.
“Anyways, I’ll call you later on this week, Y/N,” my mother said, offering me a lazy wave before collecting Kara into one of the tightest embraces I had ever seen.
Once my mother and step-father had wandered up the steps, Kara came back into the room with mischievous eyes. “Let’s play a game,” Kara suggested, urging us all around the coffee table. I groaned when Jisung pulled me back into his arms, burying his face into the side of my neck like he was prone to do when he was the slightest bit tipsy. 
“No more alcohol for you,” I said, swiping the bottle away from my husband who protested half-heartedly.
“What do you suggest?” Felix asked, looking at Kara with starstruck eyes.
“Maybe truth or dare?” Kara said, squealing like she had forgotten that everyone around the table now had a full-time job.
“Why not,” Felix said, reaching for his discarded bottle of Corona. “Would you like to go first?”
Kara giggled when Felix leaned in closer, lips teasing her exposed collarbones. “Keep it PG,” I requested, glaring at Felix.
“Okay,” Kara said, taking the bottle and placing it onto the table. 
“If someone can dare me to get laid, that would be nice,” Jisung said and I reached around to elbow my husband in the side for his smart comment.
I watched as the bottle spun around in its defined circumference before landing on Chan who groaned loudly. “Truth or Dare, Chan!”
“Truth,” Chan said, picking up his bottle of beer. “Knowing you’d guys, I’d be forced to drink the rest of this on a dare and I have to be at the office at six.”
“Are you seeing anyone, Chan?” Kara asked, leaning in close like she was about to hear a juicy secret. Of course, I knew better than anyone because I was often the recipient of Chan’s late-night phone calls when my step-brother would complain to me about his sadly lacking love life.
“No,” Chan huffed, reaching out to give the bottle a powerful spin. “I’m always single.”
I reached across to pat him tenderly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Channie, there’s a girl out there waiting for you!”
Felix let out a drunken squeak, turning to look at Kara with a smile. “Truth or dare, Felix?”
“Dare,” Felix said, bouncing up and down from his spot on the floor like a loose spring.
“I dare you to...
“...call Changbin,” I spoke over Kara, enjoying the identical looks of matching horror on their countenances.
“What?” Felix questioned, intoxicated brain undoubtedly having trouble keeping up with the flow of our conversation.
“Call. Changbin.” I repeated, much slower this time to leave no room for a potential misunderstanding. Unsurprisingly, Kara hesitantly shook her head at Felix as if asking him to ignore my request. “Those are the rules,” I informed her smugly, watching Felix as he took out his phone with a shaky hand. He dialed Changbin’s number and we all sat forward in profound expectation of what was about to happen.
That is until Changbin’s voicemail picked up.
Kara snatched Felix’s phone and quickly hung up the call. “He’s not answering, so let’s move on to something else.”
I frowned as I sat back against Jisung’s chest, frustrated because Changbin had probably chosen an early night’s sleep in exchange for answering a friend’s important phone call. “Truth or Dare, Y/N.”
“Truth,” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest even as Jisung started to rub gentle circles into my hips as if picking up on my irritation.
Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Were you jealous when I kissed Jisung at prom?”
The room was dead silent following her vengeful question. My cheeks flushed at the reminder, feeling Jisung squirm uncomfortably behind me. It was a horrible thing to ask me, especially considering the circumstances surrounding the unholy night that Minho had silently termed “the worst day of Y/N’s life.” But I suppose that Kara felt warranted to ask me considering the fact that I had just tried to expose her to Changbin. “Of course I was,” I snapped at her, twisting the bottle while maintaining a penetrative staring contest with Felix’s love interest.
My shoulders relaxed when the bottle landed on Kara, and I quickly intervened before Felix could give Kara an easy way out of what was rapidly becoming a terrible mistake. “Are you dating Felix again?” I asked, watching as her eyes narrowed from my choice of words.
“It’s truth or dare, Y/N.”
“Are you afraid to answer the question?” I asked her. “Or are you just using Felix like always?”
Another long silence enveloped our gathered group. 
“I guess I don’t get a turn?” Jisung whispered into the tense silence of the room.
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“Holy shit!” Hyunjin exhaled when I finally finished explaining everything that had happened at my mother’s house the previous evening.
“She’s a total bitch,” I said. “Everyone knows that we don’t talk about that night.”
Hyunjin nodded in agreement. “Do you remember the ugly suit I wore?”
I glared at my friend. “You’re not helping and we have customers.”
Hyunjin offered me a salute, returning to the register to accept another order while I aggressively wiped down our counters. One of our waitresses watched me with a gaping mouth until I turned to glare at her. She quickly picked up her tray to retreat back into the crowd of college students. 
Now, let me start by saying that Junior year prom was never something I was looking forward to attending. The only reason I even went was because Han Jisung asked me to go and my attraction for him had skyrocketed by this time, to the point where I found myself staring at his ass whenever we had gym together and he decided to demonstrate the correct technique for a pull-up. Our friends deemed our relationship inevitable, the romanticized soulmates who met as kids and grew up together with agreeable personalities. Of course, it also helped when puberty hit and suddenly Han Jisung looked less like the little boy I played with on the playground and more like a man whose dick I really wanted to taste. 
For a lot of my classmates, Prom meant an unsanctioned night away from the school where they could lose their inhibitions when someone inevitably spiked the punch bowl. There were no school officials present at the event, only volunteers, and since it didn’t take place on school grounds (but inside of a nearby YMCA) everyone could basically do whatever they wanted without consequence. Thus, the next day’s rumor mill was spinning with tales of romance and deceptions, break-ups and hook-ups, and even the occasional wild story of someone stealing from the radio store next door.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Jisung asked me nervously the moment we first walked inside.
“Sure,” I told him, affectionately adjusting the cute bowtie he had chosen for the occasion, cheeks rosy red as he hurried away.
“Y/N!” Hyunjin said, taking Jisung’s place in front of me. “You look great!”
“So do you,” I told him honestly, appraising his suit which likely cost a thousand dollars just to rent for this one occasion. “Where’s your girl?”
“Who knows, she was just meant to be arm candy,” Hyunjin said dismissively and I snorted at his explanation. “I only came here for the drama and the alcohol.”
“Anything interesting so far?” I asked, grinning when I saw Jisung accidentally knock the punch ladle into the floor.
“Changbin came with a Freshman,” Hyunjin said. “I talked to them earlier and he’s definitely only interested in her ass.”
“How crude,” I remarked. “What about the others?”
“I guess Seungmin and Jeongin came with each other,” Hyunjin snickered. “And I haven’t seen Felix yet.”
I paused. “Felix is coming?”
“It was a last-minute thing,” Hyunjin explained. “Apparently, Felix is bringing someone he really likes.”
“I didn’t know Felix was interested in anyone,” I said, with the exception of Changbin’s little sister, of course.
“It’s getting late,” Hyunjin remarked. “He might have been lying.”
“He wasn’t dressed when I left the house,” I said, remembering the sight of my step-brother teasing Jisung and I from behind our parents while they took an endless amount of pictures while relentlessly questioning Jisung about his appearance.
Speaking of which, I graciously accepted the punch Jisung offered me, taking a sip before wincing. “I think someone added way too much.”
Hyunjin reached for my drink, sniffing the rim before downing the rest. “Not too bad.”
Jisung watched him with wide eyes. “Isn’t that strong?”
“Not strong enough,” Hyunjin complained. “I’m going to find something better. Have fun you two, make sure you use a condom if you’re gonna fuck.”
I glared at Hyunjin’s back as he disappeared into the crowd.
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Yes, Prom might not have been high on my list of priorities, but the way Jisung was currently kissing me definitely made it more appealing. After ingesting an appropriate amount of alcohol, a tipsy Jisung had latched himself to my side, whispering rather inappropriate things into my ear before I inevitably found a place where we could be alone, safely tucked away inside the locker room. I drug Jisung to a bench where I immediately straddled his thighs, kissing him with enough force to throw him off balance, hand splayed across my hip as he forced his tongue inside my mouth tasting strongly of alcohol. I struggled to pull in enough oxygen to counter the dizziness threatening to send me falling into the floor. Jisung certainly wasn’t helping matters, squeezing my breasts spilling over the neckline of my dress while pressing sloppy kisses to my throat, erection hard through his dress pants and I had never felt hornier in my entire life. And that includes the time Minho bought me a vibrator for my birthday as a joke but I still tried to use it and ended up masturbating to the thought of Jisung fucking me on my mattress. 
“You feel so good,” Jisung whispered to me now, rolling his hips into mine as he sought additional friction. I held tightly to the lapels of his jacket because it felt really nice through the thin fabric of my dress when he would move just right, pressing against my clit with a wonderful pressure that nearly made me cum before he could even put it inside.
“Sungie,” I panted into his ear, tasting every inch of his beautiful honey-golden skin. “Please fuck me.”
“Can I?” Jisung asked, thrusts growing erratic as if affected by just the thought of his cock hot and heavy between my thighs. “Yes, of course, baby. I’ll do that for you.”
“Condom?” I managed, reconnecting our lips because I was quickly coming to the realization that Jisung was a wonderful kisser. 
“Shit,” he cursed against my mouth. “I left them in the car.”
“I’ll get them,” I said, reaching deep into the pocket of his suit pants for the key, inadvertently brushing against his cock. 
Jisung moaned loudly. “Hurry back, baby.”
“And this!” I said, standing up from his lap to reach into my cleavage to pull out a piece of fabric.
“That was in there the whole time?”
“Not important,” I said, shoving the fabric at him. “Put this on?”
“What is it?” Jisung asked, unraveling the cloth.
“A blindfold,” I said and he looked up at me with evident surprise.
“Why do you want me to wear a blindfold?”
“Just put it on, please,” I begged him.
“Why?” Jisung whined, a complete contradiction to the mess he looked with an erection still prominent in his pants. 
“I don’t want you to see me,” I said, blushing at the thought of Han Jisung seeing me naked because I was certainly nothing like those busty girls in the porn magazines I found under his mattress.
“Okay,” Jisung grumbled, probably because he was just as aroused as I was even if that meant doing something that might seem utterly ridiculous to anybody else.
“Don’t take it off,” I warned him, glancing over my shoulder to see Jisung tying the blindfold in place. 
Satisfied, I silently rushed back into the gym, making my way to the exit despite the obscene displays taking place all around me courtesy of several pairings of passionate couples. I did my best to ignore them, even though I was pretty sure I saw Hwang Hyunjin in the center of the dance floor, shirt unbuttoned and chest exposed for everyone to see. But Hyunjin loved to be at the center of attention, so I left him to entertain the majority of the women flanking to him like a magnet while I jerked open the door to Jisung’s Sudan, finding the condoms across the dirty backseat of his car. 
I grew even more excited just by looking at them, hiding them carefully in my hand as I rushed through the parking lot in my haste to find Jisung again. At this point, the party was in full swing, music loud and pounding, testing the acoustics of the YMCA which probably never hosted anything else this insane and chaotic before. But I was on cloud nine, ready to finally have sex with someone I had been crushing on ever since Jisung had shown off his abs to a doubtful Changbin. However, when I re-opened the doors to the locker room, I stumbled in my heels as I was greeted with an unfortunate visual. An unforgettable image of Kara on top of Jisung, kissing him passionately while she practically forced him to grope her chest. “Y/N,” Jisung moaned, apparently completely unaware of who was actually grinding on his dick.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” I finally shrieked, completely horrified at the display that would forever engrain itself into my subconscious.
Jisung immediately pulled off his blindfold, eyes widening in shock when he unceremoniously dumped Kara into the floor who loudly protested. “Y/N?”
“Jisung,” I said, looking back between him and Kara with panicked eyes and a broken heart. I had never felt so betrayed before in my entire life, and there had been moments when I felt downright disgusted with my poor choice in men. But Jisung was more important to me than the casual flings from my past, which probably explains my sudden desire to escape the situation that was forcing messy tears through the mascara clumping my eyelashes together. I left Jisung behind in that nasty locker room before losing myself to the crowd of my classmates.
There was only one person I wanted to see, and I found Hyunjin now re-clothed, talking to some other girls when he first saw me approach. He greeted me cheerfully, only realizing my condition once he stopped to notice the tears falling freely from my tired eyes. “Y/N,” Hyunjin said, expression falling as he pulled me into his arms tightly. “Why are you crying?”
“I saw her with Jisung,” was all I managed to get out before Hyunjin’s eyes were practically blazing with fury.
“That little shit,” Hyunjin cursed, grabbing my hand and leading me through the partygoers who were too busy drunkenly grinding on one another to notice the two of us. “Changbin,” Hyunjin said, interrupting the older boy who was currently fingering the edges of a freshman girl’s panties, practically dry humping through their clothes. 
“What is it?” Changbin snapped at Hyunjin, eyes narrowed until they landed on me. “Y/N,” Changbin said, tone much softer as he abruptly dismissed his date who whined about their loss of contact. “What happened?”
“Jisung needs his ass kicked,” Hyunjin said and Changbin needed no further encouragement.
“Where the hell is he?”
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It was frigidly cold in the parking lot and there was way too much going on around me. I could barely handle the yelling between Changbin and Felix, my step-brother having found us outside with Jisung trailing behind him, but Hyunjin was arguing with Seungmin and Jeongin, refusing to let Jisung close to me. This night was rapidly becoming one of the worst of my entire life and that says a lot because I had once watched my own father walk out of the house without so much as a goodbye.
“Get out of the way, Felix,” Changbin suddenly growled, fists balled at his sides.
“It’s not his fault,” Felix tried to explain. 
“Why is Y/N upset, then?” Changbin demanded, shouldering his way through Seungmin and Jeongin who were certainly no match for a physically stronger Changbin.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Felix said. “It’s Kara’s fault! She didn’t need to take things that far-”
“Kara!” Changbin interrupted, now even more furious than he was before. “Did you do something to my sister?”
“Not him,” Seungmin suddenly interfered. “Kara and Felix got into a fight and Kara snuck into the locker room to get back at him.”
Changbin took a step back, suspicion bright in his dark eyes. “What did you say?”
“I thought it was Y/N,” Jisung finally spoke up, eyes wet with tears. “She didn’t say anything to me. She just came over and I was waiting for Y/N!”
“What happened to my sister!” Changbin growled.
“She kissed me,” Jisung said, flinching a little when Changbin tried to charge at him, intercepted by Seungmin and Jeongin who held him back by his with as much force as they could manage together. Jisung turned to look at me, gaze entreating as he reached out a hand. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought it was you.”
I shook my head, refusing to even look at Han Jisung because my heart was hurting in my chest and the night just continued to grow more and more confusing. “I’ll take care of Y/N,” Hyunjin finally said, sending Jisung a nasty glare before guiding me further and further away from the source of my pain.
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But don’t ever let anyone tell you that Seo Changbin didn’t have a soft spot for Han Jisung because, at the drop of a hat, the older boy would immediately be at my husband’s side. And I thoroughly took advantage of this when I asked Jisung to invite Changbin over to our house for dinner one night, the two of them arriving together with Changbin clutching tightly to his sleeping bag. “I guess you’re spending the night,” I remarked.
“Why wouldn’t I? We work at the same place,” came Changbin’s usual response, tossing his bag onto the couch while he followed Jisung into our bedroom, complaining about something to do with the air conditioning. “Your apartment is so much nicer than mine!”
I finished cooking in relative peace, making sure to keep Changbin’s wine glass constantly full because a tipsy Changbin was much easier to deal with than the serious version who would likely explode when he heard my story. “So nice of you Y/N,” Changbin said as he slurped his spaghetti. He and Jisung were always messy when it came to pasta so I tried to ignore their nasty habits. 
“Changbin,” I said, studying the older carefully. “I heard Kara was visiting.”
Changbin shrugged, shoving more food into his impossibly small mouth. “She’s been staying at my place.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why haven’t we had a chance to meet her again.”
Changbin glanced up at me. “You don’t even like, Kara, so why would I bother?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “She’s your sister, of course, I would be interested.”
“She stays busy a lot,” Changbin said.
“With who?”
“With work,” Changbin said, taking another long drink of the expensive wine I bought just for this occasion. 
“She could have come tonight,” I said carefully, but I had been apparently pushing too far because now Changbin was suspicious.
“What are you getting at, Y/N?”
I took a deep breath, sensing Jisung watching the two of us over a mouthful of noodles. “I saw Kara the other day at my mother’s dinner.”
Changbin paused, considering me with a scowl. “What?”
“She came to our dinner,” I repeated. “With Felix.”
And with the exception of Jisung’s chewing, the room had grown relatively silent. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”
Changbin turned an accusatory gaze at Jisung who just rapidly shook his head and drank more wine. “Probably because she didn’t want anyone to know,” I said. “I think your sister might be trying to start something with Felix again and we both know how badly that turned out last time.”
Changbin dropped his fork, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “So nice of everyone to keep me informed.”
I relaxed a little because Changbin wasn’t reacting as violently as I thought he might. “I wanted to be sure and I got the information I needed today.”
Changbin sighed. “What information?”
“Minho looked through Felix’s phone at their dance practice,” I said. “He saw some messages with Kara. Apparently, they’re going to dinner tomorrow night. Isn’t that nice?”
Changbin’s jaw clenched as he took in this news. “And I’m assuming you have something planned?”
“Maybe,” I said with an innocent shrug. “It could be that Minho, Hyunjin, and I happened to make a reservation at the same place.”
“You’re gonna spy on them?”
“Would you rather us not?”
Changbin scoffed, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Are you asking me to come?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Well of course I do,” Changbin grunted impatiently, reaching down for another forkful of spaghetti while I sat back in my chair with satisfaction.
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“This is surprisingly classy of Felix,” Hyunjin remarked, rolling down the window of Minho’s SUV to perch a pair of binoculars on the end of his nose.
“Aren’t you taking this too far?” Minho asked his friend.
“These?” Hyunjin asked, adjusting the lenses. “How else am I supposed to see what’s going on?”
“This is my sister we’re talking about,” Changbin spoke up, tugging at the frayed sleeves of his borrowed jacket.
“And Y/N’s stepbrother,” Minho added.
“I don’t claim him by blood,” I said, reaching over to slap Changbin’s hands. “Stop messing with that, you’re gonna ruin it, and this is Jisung’s nicest coat!”
My husband in question had opted to stay at home since he was probably the smartest out of all of us when it came to potential confrontations. “You’re rich enough to buy him another,” Changbin grumbled.
“He doesn’t wear them,” I said. “I buy him all sorts of clothes, but they always sit in his closet.”
“Who’s he trying to impress at an Elementary school?” Hyunjin snorted.
“Can’t we just go inside already?” I asked, slowly massaging my throbbing temples.
“Yeah, but can you shimmy the lock on your door?” Minho requested. “I’m pretty sure it’s broken.”
I accommodated his request before the four of us walked into the restaurant with an air of nonchalance. Nothing but four friends since childhood deciding to eat out together for a gourmet meal. It reminded me of college when the four of us shared the same lecture, a one-time occurrence because Minho forgot a general education course, and we always ate together because it ended in the early evening. 
Of course, there was always the matter of the other three using me to find the answers to our homework assignment because they didn’t feel like completing the calculations.
The hostess inside the restaurant greeted us, checking Hyunjin’s reservation before leading us to our table. “Do you see them?” Hyunjin asked, deciding not to be so discreet in the distracting way he moved his head around, surveying the restaurant landscape with a sharp eye.
“This is so stupid,” Changbin grimaced. 
“Are you too cool to eat with us?” Minho joked, gasping when he noticed the free wine samples menu.
“I’ll look around,” I said. “Give me five minutes.”
“And then what?” Hyunjin asked even as I was already moving away, sticking to the outskirts of the finely decorated tables. According to Minho, Felix and Kara should have already been at the restaurant for half an hour, probably weighing the consequences of keeping their new affair a secret from the rest of us. But I had no intention of letting them sneak away with anything, determined to get to the bottom of whatever relationship Felix was attempting with Changbin’s little sister, the same person who had openly scorned and rejected Felix in the past. This really demonstrates just how powerful a crush can be when it involves someone as determined as Felix.
“Aha!” I murmured quietly, discovering the couple together near the private dining room at the back. Reaching for my cell phone, I sent Minho a quick text message, waiting for a moment or so before I could see the three boys carefully making their way to my hiding spot. 
“Ridiculous,” Changbin muttered, but he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw his sister and Felix together. “I guess you were right.”
Changbin was squatting down in front of the display of plants, peeling back the branches to find a better view. “Damn, Changbin,” I said, reaching down to give his ass an appreciative slap. “Who are you trying to impress?”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Changbin snapped at me. “It’s not my fault that Han’s flatter than his vocal pitch.”
“Burn,” Hyunjin remarked while I scoffed in response.
“Jisung is a great singer.”
“Yeah, the kids are so impressed,” Minho giggled, ignoring the glare I sent him over my shoulder.
“They can’t be dating,” Changbin said. “I would have known about this. Kara would have told me!”
“That definitely looks like a date to me,” Minho teased Changbin.
“Unless friends share five-star meals now,” Hyunjin commented, glancing at me. “Interested in eating out again tomorrow, Y/N?”
“Only if you pay,” I replied dryly, watching Felix and Kara with intent.
“I can’t stand this,” Changbin declared, attempting to blow our cover by rising to his full height. 
I desperately tugged on his shirt. “They’ll see us!”
“I don’t care,” Changbin grunted, pulling away from me only to march down the staircase to where Felix and Kara were laughing together over a meal of what appeared to be filet mignon and cabernet.
“Should we watch or get involved?” I asked, grinning when Felix finally realized that Changbin had spotted them. The all-consuming look of existential dread passing across his features was well worth the price of admission, including an outrageous gratuity fee.
“Definitely watch,” Minho nodded, tossing an arm around my shoulders. “You did good, Y/N.”
“Unless Changbin causes a scene,” Hyunjin remarked.
“I hope he does because I can record it for Jisung later,” I said, letting out a satisfied grin when Changbin stopped at their table.
Minho was one step ahead of me, pressing the record button at the top of his phone. “Maybe we’ll become YouTube famous!”
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“I can’t believe you told him,” Felix snapped at me later. The six of us were outside the restaurant, having decided to pull Changbin and Kara away from the reproachful eyes of the upper elite who wanted to dine in peace. 
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m looking out for you.”
“By outing me to Changbin?”
“Of course,” I nodded, watching as Kara received a stern lecture from her older brother. “You can’t honestly be considering a relationship with Kara?”
“Is there something wrong with that?” Felix asked. 
“You must have a selective memory,” I said. “Or did you forget what happened in high school?”
“That was a long time ago!”
“She also used you during college. Don’t tell me you think she came around campus just for your company?”
Hyunjin, from somewhere to my right, let out a low whistle. Minho stood next to him, taking in the drama unfolding around him with eager eyes. “I don’t care about any of that!” Felix protested. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Felix,” I said, lowering my tone. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Well you’re doing a really bad job with that,” Felix snapped.
“It’s not because I don’t want things to work out,” I said. “I just know who she is and what she’s capable of.”
“Is that so?”
“You were too, Felix! Everything she ever did to you was always in an effort to hurt you. That’s why I have to interfere, to make sure that she doesn’t do anything like that!”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t care. You aren’t my real sister, so stop trying to act like it!”
His words were crushing and I suddenly felt equivalent to the world’s smallest person as I watched Felix walk away into the haze of city lights.
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Jisung was sunshine and he once told me that he would do everything in his power to make me happy, even getting down on one knee to propose at our college graduation ceremony, nervous hands sliding a beautiful ring onto my finger. Jisung always knew when I was feeling sad or angry, dropping everything that he had been working on to make me feel better. Like in instances such as this, when my step-brother publicly disowns me, walking away without looking back once to assess the damage he had made of my fragile heart. “I deserved it,” I told Jisung, closing my eyes against his chest as I enjoyed the soothing water of the bath he prepared for me. 
“No, you didn’t,” Jisung countered, wrapping his arms tightly around my middle. “You thought you were helping him.”
“I guess I have no right to interfere,” I said. “Even if I’m worried that Kara will only hurt him again.”
“And she might,” Jisung agreed. “But I think Felix can handle it. Sometimes, you forget that he’s all grown up.”
“I ruined our relationship,” I said. “Felix won’t ever talk to me again and Kara is probably mad at Changbin.”
“Felix can’t avoid you,” Jisung said. “You have the same friends.”
“Ha,” I snorted. “You don’t know Felix very well. If he sets his mind to something, then there’s nothing that can stop him.”
“Actually, I do know Felix, and that’s why I’m pretty sure he’ll call you any day now and ask to talk.”
I turned around in his arms, trying to see any hint of teasing in Jisung’s brown eyes. “Why do you think that?”
“Because Felix respects you, even if you make him mad,” Jisung said, surprising me with a gentle kiss. “He told me all the time when we were younger that he thinks you’re one of the coolest people he’s ever met.”
“Felix said that?”
“Yeah,” Jisung nodded. “And I completely agree.”
“You’re obligated to say that,” I said. “Marriage and shit.”
“But I’ve always meant it, Y/N,” Jisung insisted. “You have a really good heart and you always have our best intentions in mind, even if that means you feel the need to spy on your step-brother.”
“Now it sounds creepy,” I complained.
“I can’t imagine you dragging around Changbin, Minho, and Hyunjin, hiding behind tables in the middle of an expensive restaurant.”
“That’s funny because I can’t imagine you in an expensive restaurant at all.”
“Really?” Jisung grinned, digging his fingers into my sides. “Try saying that again.”
I squealed in his arms, pleading for mercy. “I thought you wanted to relax?”
“This was all for you,” Jisung said, pulling me onto his lap. “I think we should go to bed early.”
“I am tired,” I smirked.
His cock was hard against my lower back. “What if I let you ride my face?”
“Then you’ll be the best husband in the world.”
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The following Saturday, Jisung’s prediction came true when Felix’s name flashed across my phone screen while I enjoyed lunch with Seungmin and Jeongin. “It’s Felix,” I hissed at them before taking the call. “Hello?”
“Y/N,” Felix’s deep voice greeted me on the other end. “I hope you’re not busy.”
“I’m just having lunch,” I said, waving my hand at Seungmin who was attempting to mouth imperceptible words at me from across the table.
“I want to apologize for the other night with Kara,” Felix said. “At dad’s house and at the restaurant.”
“I’m sorry too, Felix,” I said. “I shouldn’t have told Changbin about his sister.”
“No,” Felix sighed. “But Changbin deserves to know the truth. He called me the other day and told me that Kara had left the next morning. She didn’t even bother telling him where she was going.”
I felt my heartbreak for my step-brother. “I didn’t think she would do that.”
“You don’t have to be nice, Y/N,” Felix said. “Everything you said about Kara was true and I should’ve listened.”
“I never did any of that to teach you a lesson, Felix.”
“Yeah,” Felix murmured into the phone. “It doesn't matter anymore. Kara’s gone and I’ll have to move on.”
“But I still feel really bad,” I said. “Maybe we could all hang out tonight? Like we did before we had adult things to worry about.”
Felix chuckled. “I think that sounds nice.”
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“Keep your hands away from the food,” I scolded Jisung, giving his ass a firm slap before directing him out of the kitchen. “This is for the party tonight!”
“But it smells good,” Jisung complained.
“You can have as much as you want later,” I said, frowning at Changbin from across the room. “Are you trying to break my mother’s vase?”
The older boy scowled at me. “I can’t reach, alright? You were the one who asked me to decorate.”
“Please help him,” I said, sending Jisung rushing to hang up the streamers before Changbin could possibly sabotage our apartment. The others were due to arrive at any moment and I was already unprepared, food still cooking and my husband and his friend proving to be completely inept at decorating. I wanted everything to be nice for Felix, but honestly? He shouldn’t expect much from this crew.
Graciously, the arrival of Hyunjin brought about an extra few inches of height, allowing the streamers to hang gracefully from the mantlepiece. “What would you do without me, Y/N?” he inquired innocently, handing me the cake he had brought from our cafe.
“I’d need to buy a step ladder,” I teased him, rushing back into the safety of the kitchen to avoid his retaliation. In the meantime, Jisung happily answered the door for our other guests, ushering them inside to crowd our living room. Sadly, our apartment was never meant to be large enough to accommodate this many guests, but it was strangely cozy with all of us together. 
“It’s been a while,” Chan remarked to Changbin. “Why don’t we do this sort of thing anymore?”
“Beats me,” Changbin replied. “But Y/N has a nice selection of wine.”
“I’m glad that’s the reason you come around,” I remarked, bringing out the final tray of food to fill out the rest of the table. “Whenever Felix gets here we can eat.”
“He shouldn’t be so late,” Minho said, trying his best to sneak a cube of cheese from the corner.
“Patience my friend,” I said. “It will make everything taste so much better.”
“Not with your cooking,” Minho teased, protesting when I threw my oven mitt at him over the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room.
“You’ll never change,” I remarked.
“Why would you want me to?” Minho asked, ignoring my glare when he grabbed a handful of popcorn.
“Do you want to be suspended from my house?”
“Jisung would never allow it,” he said, whining at my husband. “Right, Sungie?”
Jisung looked back and forth between the two of us. “You two are sometimes worse than my kids at school.”
Before I could offer a compelling comeback, the ringing of our doorbell paused our conversation. The sound indicated Felix’s arrival and Seungmin was the first to greet him, holding him close as they entered the dining room. “Nice of you to join us,” I said, handing my step-brother a plate. “This is all for you.”
“I’m honored,” Felix said, accent thick as he abruptly pulled me into a vice-like grip that nearly knocked me off my feet.
“Too much,” I choked out.
“Don’t kill my wife,” Jisung joked, intervening before Felix could possibly squeeze any more oxygen from my lungs.
The remainder of the evening passed by with a nostalgic tone, the nine of us gathered together in the living room to watch anime on TV while Hyunjin complained about our newest hiree again. “Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers in my direction. “He already had two strikes. One more mess-up and he’s gone.”
“He’s just a kid, Hyunjin,” I said. “Remember when you used to work at Starbucks? I’m surprised you even managed to stay on for an entire year!”
Hyunjin protested loudly over the laughter of 8 other people who clearly remembered sitting in Starbucks on Campus just to watch Hyunjin mess-up orders while whining at the customers to slow down when he was in charge of the register. “He gave me a macchiato when I asked for an Americano,” Minho said. 
“One time, Hyunjin closed the store an hour early because he forgot about our project,” Seungmin interjected much to Hyunjin’s chagrin who was now very much embarrassed.
Jisung pulled me closer to him on the chair next to the fireplace, watching our friends talk with obvious affection. “I think Felix is happy.”
I nodded my agreement, observing him from afar. “We did a good job.”
“You did a good job,” Jisung corrected, leaning in closer to whisper directly into my ear. “I love you, Y/N.”
“Love you more,” I said, gripping tightly to Jisung’s hand with no intention of ever letting go because our hold on another had never lessened from the very first day we met as kids, unaware that we would be sharing the rest of our forever together.
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yee-fxcking-haw · 4 years
Text
What Happens Next?
A/N: This chapter is kind of short, so I hope you still enjoy it! The next chapter will definitely have a lot of smut and cheesy stuff in it so stay with me lol. If you want added to the taglist or if I was the worst and forgot to tag you please just message me and let me know!!
Summary: You and James finally have that long avoided talk.
Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of mental illness, implications of sexual assault.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four Playlist
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Part Five
Annie's Diner
James orders two chocolate milkshakes and plate of fries, thanking the waitress with a beautiful smile. Sitting in this diner with him feels absolutely surreal. It's obvious to you why you've refused to say a word to him since prom. He makes you weak. You feel yourself falling again, you're so easily swayed by him and you don't even want to fight it.
"Are you sure that's all you want to eat?" He asks, obviously trying to be careful with his words.
You just nod without a word. You keep your eyes glued to the table, pretending to be very intrigued by it. It kills you that this is almost awkward. You never dreamed that you and James would ever have a moment that would feel this unnatural.
"Doll?" He says, his voice has a questioning tone.
"I told you not to call me that." You say without looking up. You don't want to hear him call you that name ever again, he poisoned it when he used it for that other girl.
"What's her name?" You ask quietly, glancing up at him.
He sighs deeply, accepting the inevitable question.
"Elise, I never wanted to take her to prom." He explains.
"So you dumped for me somebody you didn't even like! That makes me feel so much better, thank you so much James." You say, filled with anger at his sorry ass explanation.
"She started the rumors about you, not me. As soon as she got into the gym that night she started spreading them." He blurts out, obviously desperate to convince you of his innocence.
"Honestly, I don't care who started the rumors. It almost makes it worse that you didn't. If you had, then you would at least be able to plead the case of clinging to your own lie, of not wanting to embarrass yourself by telling everyone that you were an asshole that made that shit up. Since somebody else started them, you had nothing to lose by telling everyone the truth. You didn't though, so that's what matters, not who started them, but the fact that you didn't stop them." You finish your little rant with a huge sigh.
Does he really think that he's going to get out of this by blaming somebody else? James just sits there, eyes wide. He looks so defeated already, like you just sucked all the life out of him. Maybe he's really starting to grasp just how much pain he's subjected you to.
"You're right, I didn't. Because I cared too much about what people thought and I was scared. I was stupid, and selfish, and it made me lose the best thing that's ever happened to me." He looks at you with pleading eyes.
"Save the Shakespeare bullshit, James. If I was the best thing you've ever had you wouldn't have thrown me away for somebody who meant nothing." You retort.
"I did not fucking throw you away. I did not dump you. I showed up expecting to meet you with Elliot and Henry, but then the girls were there like an ambush or something." He says, his voice laced with frustration.
"Listen to me, if I had turned Elise down right then and there, your life would have become a living hell." He says, lowering his voice like he's scared somebody will hear.
"Right, because she didn't do that anyway." You snap, words dripping with sarcasm.
"Do you remember that girl at the beginning of the year, the one that sang the national anthem at the football game?" He asks urgently.
You try to think back, you do remember her a little. She wasn't here for very long though, just long enough to sing the national anthem and then she left the school abruptly. She had the most beautiful black hair, that seems to be the only detail you can remember about her.
"Elise wanted to sing that, but the principal liked the way Wendy sang it." You begin to put the pieces together.
"When Elise found out that she wasn't going to sing it, she got very close to Wendy all of a sudden. She found out that she was pregnant because she was foolin' around with one of the football players." He explains.
"So she told the principal and got Wendy expelled." You fill in the rest.
"Where's Wendy now?" You ask.
"Last I heard she left town, she was about 6 months pregnant when she moved. Her and her parents just up and left one day." He says.
"Is that according to Elise?" You ask.
"That's according to Andrew, the guy that knocked her up." He states.
You sit quietly for a second, could one girl really hold that much power over a school? You think back to when you were called to the principal's office that Monday afternoon. You had plead your case honestly, but all the principal had to say was, "Evidence suggests otherwise". What the hell did that even mean? It sort of made sense now. Adults have never been good at taking people your age seriously. Especially if it's a grown man being asked to listen to a young woman. Unless of course, that young woman has something to offer him.
"So you were scared of what Elise might have done, then you saved your ass by pretending you didn't know me?" You ask, not really angry just trying to understand.
"I hate myself for it, but yes." He says.
"How did she even know you'd be there?" You ask, realizing how stupid the question is.
"Elliot told Annette, then Annette told Elise. You know how it goes." Annette is obviously one of the two girls that accompanied Elise that night.
"She was the one stalking me." He says.
"Stalking you?" You ask, your eyebrows shooting up in shock.
Just then the waitress shows up with your milkshakes and fries, sets them down quietly and asks if you need anything else. You say "no thank you" a little too quickly, trying to get back to the story James is telling as fast as you can.
"You've gotta be kidding me." You say, popping a fry in your mouth. Your anger is disappearing slowly, but you still cling to the fact that he hasn't made it right until now though.
"She was obsessed with me man." He says, sipping his shake.
"I caught her driving past my house, I even caught her looking in my bedroom window when I came home one night. I was scared what she might do to you if I didn't go along with what she wanted at prom." He seems genuinely stressed, visibly upset by how everything played out.
You just sit and listen, munching on your fries, occasionally drinking your shake. Every part of you wants to be mad at him, to yell at him for not making it right before now. He didn't even want to make it right really, he just happened to be at the dance hall tonight. By pure coincidence he saw Daniel dragging you out of there. Right? He couldn't have known you would be there tonight… unless.
"Molly?" You ask, realization suddenly hitting you like a bus.
He's not confused at all, his eyes just go wide.
"Molly set this up with you didn't she?" You say, voice growing in volume.
"She may have given me a call." He says calmly.
"Oh my God." You whisper.
"Doll, please-." You cut him off by staring daggers at him for using the nickname.
"Sorry, just please hear me out." He says cautiously.
"That's what I've been doing." You scoff.
He ignores your snark and keeps talking, taking it as some form of permission.
"I couldn't show any sign that I knew you at prom, for obvious reasons. I couldn't come talk to you after, I never found out where you live, I never got your phone number, I had no way of reaching you except for at school where you wouldn't even look at me. For good reason I know, but I just couldn't get to you." The words spill out of his mouth like he's running out of time.
"Then of course there was Elise, she was always breathing down my neck constantly. I tried to confront her one time, asked her what the hell her problem was. All she said was that I should watch it or she would get the principal involved. I can only guess that her rich ass parents were pumping money into the school, or maybe she was-"
"Or she was sleeping with the principal?" You interrupt to ask out of morbid curiosity, your eyebrows high and eyes wide.
"That's a possibility." James says.
"Either way, she had some kind of hold on him. Something that made it very difficult for him to combat anything she told him." He says.
"Jesus, this is like some twisted murder novel." You exclaim.
"Now I hate to use this line, but please believe me when I say this." He says with begging eyes.
"In a very messy way, I was trying to protect you. And when you wanted nothing to do with me, I couldn't force myself back into your life because that would just make you hate me more. I couldn't tell the school the truth because Elise would have dragged you down with me. If it had just been my own ass on the line I would have told everyone and their mother the truth, but I couldn't let her make things worse for you."
You both sit in silence, him waiting for a response, you waiting for him to go on.
"As soon as I could I found Molly and told her everything. She told me it would be hard to do, but that she was certain we could fix this."
"Traitor." You mutter, earning a chuckle from him.
"I had to wait. I'm not just saying this to sound dramatic, I was genuinely afraid of what Elise might do if she ever found out how I felt about you. Which are feelings I still have, by the way." He says quietly.
You just sit there, dumbfounded. He was being stalked, genuinely stalked. That's why he was so stiff that night, so unlike himself. Holy shit. James actually has a pretty good reason for what he did. It's not perfect by far, and you could sit here all night arguing about other options he may or may not have had. That would be a waste of time though. There's just one question burning in the back of your mind.
"Why didn't you ask Molly where I live, or what number to call?" You ask.
"I told you, I couldn't force myself into your life with you already so angry with me. While Elise could hurt me with words, I'm quite confident you could whoop my ass if I pushed you enough." He says, a teasing smile on his lips.
"I didn't want to ruin it doll, the most I could hope for was a night like tonight. I told you, I had to just wait. If I had pushed you or cornered you that would have been the last straw and you know it. I had to hold on to that hope that I had a sliver of a chance to…" He stops for a second, his face knits into a very pensive look.
"A chance to love you again." He finishes, seemingly content with the words he's found.
You hate how much sense it all makes. If Elise is really that batshit, he really had no other option than to just let everything play out until he could find a way to talk to you. A chance like tonight.
"That afternoon, it's irreplaceable. I know a lot of it happened really fast, and a lot of it was really intense." He says, the look in his eyes tells you he's thinking about the way you made love. Both of you were so reckless and full of passion. Your chest burns with desire, heart aching for his touch again.
"Well then what about now, James? Are we supposed to just be together and expect Elise to be over it just because we're not at school anymore? Is she still stalking you?" You ask.
"She's not here anymore. Her family moved to Florida, not before she broke one of the windows in my house for not calling her back though." He says and lets out a little laugh.
"Well shit." You say.
"So let me get everything straight. One of your friends let it slip to one of her friends that you would be at prom. She surprise attacked you and then you panicked and did your best to make it seem like you didn't know in an attempt to protect me. That wasn't good enough for her, so she started the rumors about me being your stalker for good measure?" You ask.
He nods silently.
"Then I was so pissed off that I wouldn't talk to you, for good reason in my mind. You couldn't expose the rumors as lies without painting an even bigger target on my back, so you just gave me my space, waited for Elise to not be a problem anymore, then conspired with my best friend to get me to the dance hall so you could finally have your chance to explain?"
Another quiet nod.
You chew your lip, it does all add up. You try to think of what you would have done in that situation. Of course you want to say you would never throw James under the bus, you would stand up for him and bravely profess your love, but human nature is a bitch. People panic and scramble to do what they think is best based on instinct. That's what James had done. You can't even be mad at him for not trying to get you alone to talk sooner, because you know you would have been too blinded with rage to do anything except flail your fists at him like you had earlier tonight.
"I am so fucking sorry doll." You don't even flinch at the name now.
"After I've said all of that, I need you to know that I know it's my fault. I should have told you about Elise that night on the roof, I should have warned you and kept you safe that way. I just didn't know how to really throw in the fact that I was being stalked without absolutely ruining everything. It was all so perfect, everything was perfect with you. It was all so new and overwhelming, I couldn't think straight. So when I saw you there, in those damn boots and that dress, I just fucking panicked. I only ever wanted to keep you safe, that's all I wanted. I just fucked it up. I really fucked it up." There are tears in his eyes now, he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and breathes deeply in through his nose.
He's watching you with those beautiful eyes, waiting for you to say something, anything.
Then it hits you, there's something he still hasn't done. With Elise gone he has no reason to not tell everyone she made it all up.
"Then why haven't you told everyone the truth? That I never stalked you, that Elise did, that it was all a lie and-"
"I have, everyone I could get to listen, I told. I told them as soon as Elise left." He says.
It makes sense that you never heard of him doing so. You've avoided everyone from highschool since you graduated. That would definitely explain the lack of stares and whispering at the dance hall. Your presence no longer caused anxiety in everyone, because they knew the truth.
"Why didn't you ever call the police on her Buck?" You ask, slipping back into the habit of using his nickname. His shoulders relax a little bit when he hears it leave your lips.
"What good would that do? She's too young to go to jail, so the only other place they'd put her in is the asylum." He says, his voice very serious.
You start to feel very sorry for Elise. She has all that beauty, but she's so very sick. You understand how somebody could be that crazy over James, he's everything a girl could want. Your mind wanders to what all Elise must have been through in order to be so unstable. Your heart aches for the girl you only spoke to once. You had seen her around school a handful of times now that you think about it hard enough. Always smiling, always talking to somebody, always looking so pretty. Even after she ruined prom for both of you, even after she stalked him at his house and damaged his property, he didn't want to ruin her life.
"Her friends came and talked to me after she started driving by my house. Of course I asked them what was wrong with her, all they could say was that her parents were both too obsessed with their wealthy socialite lives to give her the time of day, so she became desperate for any attention she could get, to the point of getting involved with faculty. They told me her family was moving eventually and begged me to let them and Elise's parents deal with the situation. That way Elise wouldn't get herself into a bigger mess." He says the last part with a low serious voice, your jaw drops when you catch his implication.
"Good God." You gape at him.
"So they begged you to wait until she had moved to tell everyone the truth, so she wouldn't snap and get herself into legal trouble?" You ask, filling in the blanks, everything making sense now.
He nods, "She left two weeks after graduation. She came to my house and cried on my porch for two hours the morning they moved."
He seems like he feels guilty, like he wishes he had done more.
"There's a million things I could have done differently, and I'm so sorry for all the things I should have done. I'm sorry for not telling you everything right away, I'm sorry for being so fucking cold to you at prom, I-"
"James." You say, reaching across the table to grab his hand, he stills completely and looks at you like a deer in headlights.
"It's ok. It was all a shitshow, and you were doing the best you could. I understand now, I can see how you were just trying to protect everyone. It's ok." You tell him.
Every ounce of anger and pain has left your body. It all makes sense now. James did all that he could to keep everyone involved from hurting anymore than they already were. At his own expense, maybe his execution wasn't flawless, but he did everything he could to make it right. He's still doing everything he can. He's sitting here with you, begging you for another chance, owning up to all the ways he fucked up. Had he really though? You realize something you haven't yet, James may very well have the biggest heart of anyone you know. Filled with enough kindness to even want to protect a person who made his life hell.
"She's sick James, you didn't want to fuck her life up anymore than it already had been. I don't blame you for that, I don't blame you for how you handled it." You explain.
God this night has done a complete turn around. As soon as you saw him, you agreed to talking with him and you fully expected him to tell you that he and Elise had been together all along, that he had gotten caught up in the moment with you and that he was sorry for leading you on. You never imagined that James had been carrying this load all by himself the past few months. It's all absolutely insane, and incredibly difficult to wrap your mind around. You feel so much relief at the fact that James had never lied to you about his feelings, and a significant amount of guilt for never reaching out to him to give him a chance to explain.
"I'm sorry that I never even-"
"Doll, don't. You had every reason to cut me out of your life. You were trying to protect yourself." He says, he squeezes your hand for reassurance.
You feel like you should have trusted what you shared that afternoon instead of acting purely on emotion, then maybe you would have been able to heal quicker. Then you remember the sensitive timeline with Elise, she would have done everything in her power to ruin what you and James have if she had been around to see it. Everything that happened had to happen that way for the safety of everyone involved.
"I haven't stopped loving you. I can't, I know I can't. Which sounds absolutely fucking insane, but I just feel it. You're still the most incredible thing I've ever seen." He says.
You don't even feel like you're in the diner anymore, it feels like you've floated to the roof and you're suspended in the sky, high off of the feeling of being loved again.
"It's ok if you can't say it back, I know we've only really spent half of a day together, but I've been miserable without you and I can't see myself ever feeling this way about somebody else so, I know what I feel. I know that I love you." He says it like somebody's about to cover his mouth to stop him from telling you.
You open your mouth to tell him that you love him too, that everything is ok, that you guys are going to figure it out, but you freeze when you hear the bell of the door jingle then see a large man in uniform walk through the door. You feel your entire body tense up, anxiety welling in your chest as your throat closes and your palms begin to sweat.
"Oh shit." You say quietly.
It's fucking Daniel, how the hell did he find you? He's accompanied by the boy that danced with Molly, and one other stocky blond man.
"What?" He asks, bewildered he turns his head towards the door.
"Oh shit." He says, whipping his head back around to look at you with terrified eyes.
"What's the plan if he-" James starts to say, but he's cut off by a loud voice.
"Hey punk, that's my girl you're sitting with." Daniel states, slurring his words just a little at the end.
James' chest inflates and he gives you a stern look. Anger flashes in his eyes.
"James don't." You try to say it as harshly as you can, but he's already moving before you can get the words out.
Everyone in the diner is frozen, watching with dropped jaws and wide eyes. Even the wait staff has paused to observe, those behind the counter have halted their cooking so they can gawk. This stupid small town, everyone's always so desperate for drama.
"Oddly enough, I don't remember her ever agreeing to be your girl." James starts, rolling up his sleeves as he talks. Is this idiot really about to try and fight off three soldiers?
"-but you don't strike me as a man who cares too much about consent." He says, dropping his voice a little to stress the weighty implications of his words.
Daniel's fists ball up at his sides, his friends start to glance around the diner with anxious eyes.
"Boys, if there's to be a fight y'all better take it outside." One of the older waitresses says loudly, obviously sick and tired of all these young bucks bringing their nonsense into her diner.
"What a great idea ma'am. Shall we gentlemen?" James asks with all the confidence in the world. God he really is an idiot.
"James-" You start, but the men are already stomping through the door into the parking lot.
"Fucking hell." You huff, you throw money down on the table out of your clutch, inevitably taking out way too much for some shakes and a plate of fries.
"Keep the change!" You say with an urgent voice as you gather yourself and run towards the door.
The boys have circled around to the side of the building, horrible fluorescent lights illuminating the scene. They've got James completely surrounded, almost backing him into a wall already. You know you aren't going to be able to stop this, not with all the damn testosterone and adrenaline already pumping through all of them. The most you can do is make sure it's a fair fight.
"Alright look. If y'all are gonna fight, you're not going to do this bullshit where you just outnumber him so you can win." You nearly shout.
"This is between James and Daniel, you goons need to step off." You say it like you're a strict teacher telling them off for whispering in class. You can't fucking believe that you're playing referee for this idiotic dick measuring contest.
"Unless you're all cowards who don't feel like you could beat him unless the fight is unfair." You finish then cross your arms, your plan to challenge their masculinity obviously working.
"I could take this prick in my sleep." Daniel says, rolling up his sleeves with clumsy drunk hands, "Watch and learn boys." His two friends glance at each other then take the cue to step back and let this fight be his.
James gives you a quick look, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a cocky smirk. His eyes say thank you, while he rolls his shoulders back and brings his fists up while Daniel steps towards him. Your fool in shining armor runs a hand through his hair and winks at you, you assume to thank you for getting Daniel's cronies to back off. You internally curse him for looking so damn handsome.
"Was one hit not enough pal? You want some more?" James says, cocky as ever. Your stomach twists with nerves, he's pushing it. He and Daniel are about the same size. Daniel is maybe an inch or two taller, but James has more bulk to him. Of course you want to say James is going to win, but it could really go either way.
Daniel sneers at him then cracks his knuckles, taking a hulking step towards James. James opens his mouth to make another snarky remark, but is cut short by Daniel's fist landing right on his jaw. Right where you hit him earlier. It makes a horrible cracking sound and blood sprays out of his mouth. You gasp and have to fight the urge to run and stand between them, knowing that would only make James more bent on fighting for you.
He seems completely dazed by the impact, stumbling back while he holds his face. He pulls his right hand away to look at the blood pouring out of his mouth. Before you can even process it, Daniel lunges at James, knocking him to the ground. They both smack on the pavement with a grunt, Daniel has James pinned to the ground and he just starts swinging, hitting anywhere he can, much like you did earlier. Except Daniel is drawing blood. James has his arms up, acting like a cage over his face. They're taking most of the blows, but Daniel occasionally gets his fist through to hit his face again.
"Fucking do something!" You scream at his gawking friends. They both jump and look at each other, not having any idea what to do.
"Stop!" You scream, running over to where Daniel is still laying into James.
You know you won't stand a chance just using your fists, so all you can think to do is kick. Kick like hell. You run up to Daniel, you bring your upper body in tight then let your right leg swing forward, bringing your foot full force into Daniel's face. He howls and falls back off of James, who takes the opportunity to jump and scramble backwards.
"You fucking whore!" Daniel yells, standing up to stalk towards you. That's when his friends finally intervene, each grabbing an arm to hold him back.
"Call the police, somebody call the police!" A woman's voice yells from behind you. You look wildly around, unaware of the crowd that had gathered.
Daniel and his friends panic at those words, faces white as they scramble back towards their car. Daniel turns and spits at you, swearing under his breath while his friends drag him away.
You hear James groan and your heart freezes in your chest. He's lying flat on his back, hands holding his face.
"Oh God, James." You run to him and drop to your knees. There's blood coming from his nose and his mouth, and his left eye is already swelling. He lets out a breathy laugh, gazing at you with heavy eyelids.
"I'm alright doll, doesn't hurt half as bad as when you socked me." He says, lopsided smirk spreading across his lips.
"You fucking idiot. Bucky, what the hell were you thinking?" You ask, cradling his head, you wipe his hair off of his forehead and cup his jaw. He looks up at you with an earnest look in his bright blue eyes, they appear almost silver in this lighting.
"He said you were his girl." He says with a weak voice.
"So?!" You almost yell at him, but you catch yourself.
"You're my girl." He says simply, then he winces and screws his eyes shut. His face relaxes and his head goes limp and falls to the side. Your chest fills with terror.
"James? James!" You yell, shaking him while you do. You know he isn't dead, but he's still unconscious, and that's enough to panic you. You hear somebody yell about an ambulance, but all you can focus on is James. God, this is all your fault.
@b-o-n-e-daddy @lillsrecs @all-art-is-quite-useless @brownlee-22 @peace-love-hobbitness @pinknerdpanda @supernaturalwintersoldier @can-i-sin-right-now @pennyroyalcreep @jessyballet @calwitch @aurora-sweet @learisa
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Skeletons in the Closet-Two
Biker!Neighbor!Steve Rogers x Wealthy!Good Girl!Reader High School Au
Warnings-Swearing, sandals, attempted kidnapping, kidnapping, cheating, smoking, drinking, alcoholics, drug addicts, bullying, illegitimate children, abuse, and violence
With all the money the Mitchel’s have, many assume their lives are as picture perfect as they seem. Behind the glamorous vacations, luxurious mansion, and success that everyone sees, their lives are far from it. The only heir to the fortune, their perfect daughter Y/N, faces the worst of it. Beneath her perfectly curled hair and her flawless grades, is a closet full of skeletons just waiting to get out.  
Their next door neighbor, Steven Grant Rogers, is far from your typical boy next door. He wore a leather jacket rather than button ups, sweat shirts, and tees like the boys in the movies. He opted for a smirk rather than a sweet smile. And to top it all off he chose a motorcycle over whatever you’d picture a cute boy in. But then again, Steve Rogers wasn’t cute, he was irresistible. 
Atleast to most girls. Y/N refuses to give into the boy that likes to cloud her thoughts. The last thing she needs is a biker added to the list of things to keep from the media. A lot is expected from the heiress, and at the top of the list, right under taking over the empire, is having the perfect image. A hot, dirty biker is the last thing her image needs. However, her needs differ greatly from those of her image. And compared to everything else she keeps hidden, the media wouldn’t give Steve a second thought. 
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Besides being private and attended by the offspring of the wealthy, your high school was much like any other. Maybe it was all a bit nicer, but it still had many of the same problems. Your gym and locker always had a smell, regardless of how recently it was all redone or how often it was clean. For example, yours had been redone again last year and is cleaned daily, but still smells like dirty socks and sweat. There are cliques, not quite as extreme as many movies show them to be, but everyone has a group. You have yours, which primarily consists of those that actually give a shit about earning the future set out before them. You were all 4.0 students with a company or brand just waiting for you to reach a certain age. And lastly, your school still had bullies. Your eyes flick to where the cheerleaders were sitting, specifically Jackie Erickson. She gets her kicks from tormenting you, primarily because there is nothing you could do about it. As if she could hear your thoughts, she shoots a glance your way, still hanging all over the jock in her lap. Trevor Andrews. He was on the football team and that's where your knowledge of him ended. He and Jackie had been inseparable for the last week or so, which meant his time is about up. She never keeps them around for long. 
You look away, trying to avoid any of Jackie’s attention but in the process turn to meet another set of eyes. These ones are crystal blue and even more stunning up close. Steve Rogers had his own group. Everyone knew their names. Bucky Barnes is his best friend and never far when there’s trouble. Everyone knows Sam Wilson, he’s friendly with a smart mouth that either gets him out of trouble into it, figuring out which is like flipping a coin. A good portion of the school is afraid of Natasha Romanova. She’s known to be a bit ruthless and has been arrested more than a few times but her dad is a big shot lawyer that manages to get her out of the trouble she’s always in. She’s practically in Bucky’s lap which leads you to believe they’re dating again. They’re one of those couples that are in an endless cycle of on again and off again. You and Nat were best friends in elementary school but faded apart as you grew and became such different people. You’re ready to continue scanning their group when a voice is cleared next to you. 
“You’re staring,” Wanda chuckles. Wanda has been by your side all through high school. Your fathers are business associates which means the two of you will still be working together as adults when you take over. Wanda’s situation was a bit different because she and her twin brother, Pietro, are both set to inherit Maximoff Incorporated.They would be partners in everything which is beyond frustration for Wanda. Her brother isn’t as driven or focused on their future. In fact, he was probably behind the school with his friends at the very moment smoking. He’s befriended a handful of potheads and they aren’t very good at hiding it, even at school. You didn’t have anything against them, more the fact that they’re throwing away everything they have. Half of this lifestyle is the image others see. 
Yours, for example, is very put together. Your hair is always in soft curls, typically pinned back around your temples, and you keep a simple but shimmery makeup look. It was a bit of a hassle but your mother insisted on creating your own brand. She also makes sure your clothing sticks with it. Everything you own is neutral and soft. Colors primarily white, cream, light pink, and occasionally a light gray. You were allowed jeans as long as they were a light wash or a dark wash, no in between and definitely no holes. 
“I need to run to my locker,” You stand quickly and smooth down your skirt, “See you at lunch?’ Wanda nods and you’re off. The day had barely started and you were already to be alone on your balcony underneath the stars. 
You find your locker, quickly turning the combination. As you’re opening it, a hand above you presses it closed. You turn to find your body enclosed by Steve Roger’s. His black leather jacket back and hanging open to reveal his whit tee, sunglasses hanging from the neckline. 
“Hey, doll,” He whispers, “I couldn’t find you after our little exchange Friday.”
“I left,” You say through your clenched teeth, trying not to think about how amazing he smells. Or how gorgeous he is this close. 
His smirk grows, “You know I would have been more than happy to give you a ride.” You glare back but have to crane your neck a bit due to his height. “On my bike.”
“Maybe next time,” You bite out, pushing him back and reopening your locker to get your binder and a pen. This time when you turn around, Steve is gone. 
“Having fun with biker boy, are we?” You hear Jackie’s voice and flinch a little. She steps in front of you, “How would that make daddy feel?” She pauses, expecting a response. She won’t get one. You stopped responding years ago, sick of giving her the satisfaction. She twirls a black strand of her hair, “Tell him hi for me.” With that she struts down the hallway and you roll your eyes at her antics. 
Too long later, you’re finally home and out of that hellhole. Changing into some silk shorts and a matching tank, you put on your thin robe and step out onto your balcony with a book. You’d finished the homework for the week ahead of you and now had some you time. You have a lounger off to one side which has been your designated reading spot for years now.
In no time, you’ve dozed off, your book spread across your chest, until the sound of something hits the ground next to you. You’re instantly awake but manage to keep your eyes shut, slowly cracking them to see what was happening. Someone had just jumped over your balcony. 
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Chapter Seven of Can’t Find My Way Home, my travel AU, is up! Sorry for the delay--real life and travel of my own got in the way. Read the rest at Ao3.
Chapter Seven
Baz
Simon tells me about his coursework, the various pursuits that have culminated in his degree in Social Work.
It’s not surprising that he has spent the last four years sharing a flat with Bunce. The continued warmth and closeness of their relationship is evident in his words.
He’s taken this year off to earn some money and gain some work proficiency. It sounds as if the entire endeavor is more a volunteer experience than a truly compensated one. Simon may be the Activities Director at this care home but he’s being paid a pittance for all the hours he puts in.
His equanimity about it all is humbling.
“There’s not much of a budget for such things, Baz. We didn’t even have formal Activities Directors at the homes I was in. One of the matrons would organize a day-out here and there but nothing consistent. Occasionally some rich bloke would donate a small sum or a football club would give us free tickets to a match, but that was about it. This place has a discretionary budget for outings and events. I’d rather they spend that money on the kids than pay my wages.”
“You’ve still got expenses, Simon.”
It eventually comes out that he’s been obliged to move to a smaller place now, in a much dodgier neighbourhood, since Bunce moved to America.
I don’t like it.
I think of my London flat, in the heart of Chelsea: sleek, minimalist, modern.  
Cold and sterile.
And with my move to New York, unoccupied.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something but what? “Move into my place?”
It’s absurd. I chide myself for even letting the thought form.
I don’t know what we’re doing, what the last twenty-four hours mean. If this means anything.
It means something to me.
But it certainly doesn’t translate into suddenly offering Simon Snow—a man I haven’t seen in over four years, a man I’ve barely been civil to for more than a day—my flat.
My thoughts take their own course, spiraling downward onto their own gloomy path.
I’m fooling myself. It’s been nothing short of a miracle, the last twenty-four hours, but it can’t be destined for more than that. Not with Simon in London and me in New York. Not with that sort of distance. It’s too much to expect things to change that much for us.  
Simon’s still chattering on. I shake my dark thoughts away and try to focus on him again.
“I like the work. I’m trying to structure it—art and creative play for the little ‘uns, more physically strenuous activities for the older boys—I always felt like there was a fire snaking its way under my skin when I was in the homes. It never felt like I could expend the energy that was building up in me.” He sighs. “Probably why I got into so many fistfights.”
“So, it wasn’t just me you punched?” I give him a sidelong look.
Simon grins. “Nah. Although you certainly asked for it.”
“I did not.”
His grin gets even wider. “You did, you posh twat. With your cutting commentary, open hostility, unparalleled arrogance. And that condescending sneer I couldn’t wait to wipe off your face.”
“Such fond memories you have of me, Simon.”
His eyes go soft. “I do now.”
My breath catches. I blink at him for a moment before dragging my eyes back to the road.
When he says things like that . . . it makes me think . . . it makes me feel my world has shifted. That nothing will ever be the same.
That’s just wishful thinking.
He may be here with me now.
But London and New York are worlds apart.
Simon
It’s unexpected, seeing Baz get rattled so easily.
I like it. I like that I can do that to him.
It’s been so agreeable, being with him. If someone had told me four years ago, four months ago, four days ago—that I’d be spending part of last night and most of this morning snogging Baz Pitch I’d have told them they were stark raving mad.
I’d have told them they were mad if they even suggested I’d be able to carry on a civil conversation with him.
Yet here we are.
It’s good. It’s too good to be true, honestly. And that’s what scares me a bit. What is this?
What happens next?
I promised myself I wouldn’t let Baz pretend nothing had happened between us. I’ve managed that. But what about after we get home?
I’ve got his number. He’s got mine. That doesn’t guarantee anything. What are the chances of him calling me, once he’s back in New York?
I’ll be in London. He’ll be here.
Whatever this is, it’s possible it could be over before it’s even gotten started.
I’m not prepared to let that happen.
Not on my watch. I want to know what Baz is thinking.
I had a sense of what he was like, at school, but that impression's been blown to bits over the last forty-eight hours. I can’t predict him anymore.
“Baz.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got another question.”
I can see him tense up again, shoulders going rigid.
“What is it?” His words are quiet, almost hesitant.
“What’s going on?”
I hear his sharp intake of breath. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. What’s going on? With us?”
Silence.
“Baz?”
He doesn’t answer. I lean towards him, trying to get a better look at his face.
His words come out as a whisper. “There is no us, really, is there, Simon? Just this very pathetic and misguided road trip I’ve dragged you on.”
“That’s bollocks and you know it.”
He darts a look at me. I stare right back at him.
“Come on, Baz. Don’t say that. There’s more going on than just a road trip.” He can retreat into himself faster than anyone I’ve ever met.
He’s so close and then he pulls away from me. Like always. But I’m not going to let him. Not this time.
His eyebrows lower.
“Pull over.”
He does look at me now. “What?”
“There’s a rest stop up ahead. Pull over.”
“This is already taking us longer than it should. There is absolutely no reason to stop. We don’t need more delays.”
“We also don’t need me taking a piss in the car now, do we?”
Baz grimaces but puts the turn signal on and navigates to the right lane.
He pulls into the nearly deserted rest stop, finds a parking spot close to the structure, and then turns to me. “Here you go, then. Time is of the essence.”
I don’t move.
He gestures to the building in front of us.
I shake my head.
He leans his head back and sighs. “I thought you had to piss.”
“I might. I might not.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Baz turns to me, frustration and confusion clearly visible on his face.
“I asked you a question.”
“Are you serious, Snow? You had me pull over for this?”
“Yes, I did and it’s Simon.”
He sinks down in the seat and looks out the window.
“Baz.”
“I don’t know what to say, Simon.” “You could start off by saying nothing’s going back to normal after this.”
“Why? Because we’re friends now?”
“We’re more than that and you know it.”
He looks away from me again.  “A few kisses and you think the world is upside down.”
I unbuckle my seat belt. He turns at the sound.
I lean over the console and take him by the back of the neck, pulling his face to mine. “More than a few kisses,” I whisper, silencing him with my lips.
The car is fogging up by the time I pull back and meet Baz’s eyes. He looks dazed.
“This is more than a misguided road trip, Baz.”
He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. Then he nods. “It’s more.” He swallows and then continues, his voice so low I can barely catch the words. “It’s more than I ever hoped for.”
“What do you mean, Baz?”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps his forehead pressed to mine.
I need to keep him talking to me, I can’t give him the chance to pull back and hide under that bloody mask of his again.
The silence stretches out.
I suppose the talking is up to me, then. “What I’m trying to say is I like you, Baz. I like this. I like us.” I push a strand of his hair away from his face. “I’m enjoying every minute of it. And I think you are too.”
Baz pulls away from me slightly.  His grey eyes open and one eyebrow arches. It’s as infuriating and entrancing as ever. “It’s not been as disagreeable as I expected.”
I can’t help the laugh that spills out of me. Typical Baz. He’s such a git.
“Oh, shut up. You told me I was pleasant company earlier.”
“I’ll be tempted to revise that opinion, if you keep delaying our progress.”
“You just confirmed it. That I’m pleasant company. Caught by your own words.” I let my fingers trace along his jaw. “Admit it, why don’t you?”
Baz’s eyes close once more.  The silence stretches out for longer this time. It’s finally broken by his sharp intake of breath just before he closes the distance between us again.
It’s awkward, positioned like this in the car, the armrest digging into my side. I don’t care. All that matters are Baz’s hands in my hair, his lips on my mouth, the heat of his touch searing me as he murmurs words into our shared breaths. “I like you, Simon. Christ, I’ve liked you for years.” His voice drops even lower, so I have to strain to hear him. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve dreamed of.”
My brain ceases functioning. I think I’m having a snog-induced auditory hallucination. I can’t have heard him right.
I think Baz just said he’s liked me for years? And dreamed of . . . of this?
That can’t be right. Can it?
I want it to be. I can’t believe how much I want that to be true.
Baz pulls back to look at me. “Simon?”
Oh. Right. Yes, snogging Baz, that’s what I was doing when my brain went off the rails there.
“Baz, did you just say what I think you said?”
His face flushes.
“I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to.” His eyes dart away from me and the flush on his face deepens.
He’s nervous.
I’ve seen many unexpected facets of Baz in the last forty-eight hours. This may be one of my favourites so far.
“You know what I’m referring to. ‘All I’ve ever wanted’you said?” My lips brush his again and I can’t help but smile as they do. “Tell me more about that, would you? I quite like the sound of it.”
I do like it. I like it quite a lot. It’s got my heart racing and my brain is whirling with the implications of his words.
Baz drops his head onto my shoulder and groans. “Ugh, you won’t do me a favor and pretend you didn’t hear that, would you?”
“Absolutely not. I want to hear you say it again.”
Baz groans once more but as I glance down at his bowed head I can see his lips curving up.
“Come on, Baz. Don’t leave me hanging like this. ‘For years?What’s that even mean? I spent all that time convinced you hated me. I’d have said you still did, if you’d asked me last week.”
He grumbles into my shoulder but then sits up, facing forward in the driver’s seat. He goes to pull his hands into his lap but I grab onto his arm, slide my fingers down to grip his, and hold on tightly.
“Alright, I know I was a complete wanker at school.”
I snort. “No argument there.”
Baz darts a sidelong look at me. “Yes, well.” He takes a deep breath and then exhales a rush of air without speaking. He frowns and glances at me again. “This is going to sound ridiculous.”
“Don’t care. Come on. Spill. For someone who’s in such a rush to get to the airport, you’re taking far too long giving a simple explanation now.” It’s exhilarating to see him so uncertain. I’m usually the one tripping over my words. I tug on his hand, reminding him that I’m holding it.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, closes his eyes and takes another breath. “Fine. Yes, I was a wanker, I’ll admit that.” His eyes stay closed. “I’m a bit of a prick in general, even Dev and Niall won’t argue that point, but I was quite a prick to you, Simon.” His chews on his bottom lip and I’m dazed at this side of Baz I’ve never seen before.
This reluctant, hesitant side of him.
It doesn’t last long.
“Oh, fuck it all.” His eyebrows come together and he turns to look at me, lips in a thin line and forehead creased. Alright. This is more like the Baz I know. It still makes me want to smile though. “There’s no good way to say this so I’ll just come out with it.”
His fingers squeeze mine painfully hard. “I’ve liked you for so long, Simon. Maybe even from the first day we met.” He shakes his head at what must be my no-doubt incredulous expression. “Let me just finish. I can’t believe I’m actually confessing to this. You asked for an explanation and I’m doing my best to give you one, painfully mortifying as it may be.”
His frown shifts to something softer, but more troubled and uncertain. “Simon, you were all I could think about. By fifth year, you were in my thoughts day and night, even when I was home for the holidays. I never wanted you to know. I’d no hope you’d like me that way.” His brow furrows again. “You were Simon Snow, the boy everyone liked, the gorgeous, straight boy all the girls swooned over. The Headmaster’s chosen one.” His eyes flick away from me. “I was the posh arsehole everyone disliked.”
I tug on his hand. “The girls swooned over you far more than they swooned over anyone else.” It was true. Even Agatha had a crush on Baz. That was one of the reasons I’d disliked him. How could I ever measure up to Baz? “Fuck, Baz. Even I thought you were fit.”
His eyebrows go straight up to his hairline and it’s my turn to blush. “What?”
I roll my eyes. “You heard me.”
Baz’s features settle into a look I know well, one eyebrow arched and he repeats my own words back to me. “I want to hear you say it again.” There’s a quirk to his lips now.
“Arsehole.”
“No argument on that.” He’s grinning now, the tosser. How did he turn things around like this? This was his confession, not mine. Bloody hell. He’s always managed to get me tripping over my own words. That’s not changed.
“I said I thought you were fit.” I mumble the words, face flaming now. “Still do, you fucking twat.”
“I’ve thought you were fit since I first figured out what that meant, Simon.” His smile becomes fond. “Still do.” Baz’s hand reaches up, fingers tracing my jawline. “I had such a hopeless crush on you, Simon Snow. I was so certain it was to be forever unrequited. I did everything I could to make you hate me, in the hopes of making myself hate you in return.” He leans closer. “I never managed to do that.” His lips crash into mine and it’s electric, the touch of him sending shivers through me, his fingertips leaving trails of heat along my face, my jaw, my neck.
I’m breathless by the time he pulls back.
“I suppose it’s never too late to apologize?”
“I’m due eight years of apologies, Baz.” My heart is pounding in my chest. “If that’s how you intend to apologize then I mean to make sure you account for every single day.”
Baz’s smile makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. “I’ll strike one more day off the accounting, shall I then, before we get back on the road?”
It’s probably about three days’ worth but I’ll never tell him that.
We’re back on the road before I realize Baz never answered my question. I’m still a bit dazed. I’ve not been this well-snogged since . . . since . . .
Well, since this morning, I suppose.
Fuck.
He just drives every thought right out of my head when he says things like that. And does things like that. I almost feel drunk. On Baz.
I’ve never had a chance to just look at him, like I do now. Just let myself indulge in the sight of him. I wasn’t lying when I told him I thought he was fit. I’ve thought that for years. I just didn’t let myself follow that concept to its logical conclusion.
It took me awhile to figure it all out. That I’m attracted to blokes too.
Baz must notice me staring. He gives me a sidelong look. “What?”
I swallow but keep my eyes fixed on him. “You never actually answered my question.”
“I did.”
“You did not. I asked you what this was.” I wave a hand between us. “You gave me a stunning confession, an overdue apology, and then a bloody good snog. But you didn’t answer the question, Baz.”
His brow creases but his eyes rest softly on mine before he returns his attention to the road. “I don’t know if I have an answer, Simon. I know what I want the answer to be.” He darts a glance at me again. “But I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”
“Dating?” I find that hard to believe.
“What?” I get a glare from him this time. “Of course, I’ve dated, you absolute numpty. I meant I’ve never had a long-distance relationship. London to New York is a bit of a stretch.”
I scoot so I’m resting against the door. “Oh, well that’s all right then. Pen and Micah managed for years between Chicago and London. This shouldn’t be any harder.”
Baz
I just stare at him. There he sits, leaning against the car door, nonchalantly dismissing the fact that we’ll be on completely different continents, for who knows how long, with a careless wave of his hand.
It sends a rush of warmth right through me. I think Simon can make anything seem possible.
Even this.
The last two days have been surreal. I keep expecting this to be a dream and that I’m going to wake up in my drab Manhattan flat, alone and morose, like usual. But then it keeps going. It’s not a dream. It’s like a wish fulfillment only so much better than my imagination could conjure.
“The distance doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course, it bothers me. But it’s not like it’s going to be forever, right? You’ll be coming back to London in the spring, maybe? Or permanently, if the job doesn’t work out.” He tilts his head back to rest on the window. “I dunno. It doesn’t feel like something we can’t handle.” His grin is unexpected. “We managed being roommates who detested each other for years. I’m thinking being boyfriends will be a bit easier, yeah?”
He’s ridiculous. He’s a gorgeous muppet with no concept of the real world. No comprehension of the unpredictability of my profession. The stress long-distance puts on a relationship.
He just used the word boyfriendsin reference to us and I feel light-headed. I breathe in and out for a moment before I answer. “You’d be willing to try that?” I wave my hand between us like he did a bit ago. I’m at a loss for words at the moment. “This. Us?” I sound like an utter tit.
He nods instantly. “Yeah. I mean, why not? I like you. You like me.” He gives me a hard look. “You said so, I heard it, you don’t get to pretend you didn’t say it.”
I can’t help smiling at his words. “I’m not going to deny it, Simon. You have no idea what a relief it is to finally be able to say those words out loud.” It is. It undeniably is.
The answering smile on his face is enough for me. Alright then. Simon thinks we can make a go of this. I’m not about to say no to that.
I’m done with denial. This is my second chance and I am not about to let myself fuck this up.
“Alright then.”
“Alright? For real? I get to be your terrible boyfriend?”
What the devil does he mean by that? “My boyfriend.” Christ, I like the sound of that. “Nothing terrible about it.”
“Oh, I am a terrible boyfriend. You can ask Agatha. I say stupid things and forget important dates and I’m shit at texting and I’m an absolute tit on calls and I fall asleep at the cinema and I talk with my mouth full . . . “
“Stop.”
“I’m just letting you know. Full disclosure.”
“Shut up, Simon. I know all of that. I lived with you for eight years and was on the receiving end of more than one Wellbelove diatribe about you.”
He sits up. “What? Agatha talked to you about me?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. Everyone talked to me about you. It was infuriating. I was your roommate, which theoretically conferred some exalted status of understanding Simon Snow on me, in their opinion.”
“Did it?”
“Did it what?”
“Confer all that rot you said?”
I’m not going to answer that. It’s too incriminating.
“I’ve no idea. I just had the utterly maddening experience of having to listen to every excruciating detail of why you were so wonderful, how gloriously fucking attractive you were, how everyone had a bloody crush on you, when I already knew all that and was in love with you myself.”
Oh, fuck.
Fuck.
I can’t look at him. I can feel my face blazing with heat. There’s no escape from this car. I’ve never felt more desperate to spontaneously combust than at this exact moment. This would be an excellent time to wake up and find out this was simply a prolonged fantasy.
“You were what?”
I’m not answering. I am going to pretend Simon does not exist and forcibly will myself to wake up from the disastrous nightmare I find myself in at the moment.
“Baz. Talk to me.”
“I’ve got nothing more to say. I can’t imagine I can make it any worse but I’m not about to risk it.”
Simon leans toward me and puts his hand on mine, where it rests on the gear shift. I can feel the warmth of him on my skin. “Baz.”
I keep staring straight ahead. I can’t look at him. It’s one thing to confess to an unrequited crush. It’s quite another to declare that you’re in love with said crush. When you haven’t technically even been on a first date.
I am such a fucking disaster.
Simon’s fingers brush over my hand. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “Full disclosure, like I said. You know I’m a terrible boyfriend and I . . .  I know . . . I know you want this to work out as much as I do.” He leans even closer. “At least I’ll be yourterrible boyfriend. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than that.”
I don’t know how I managed to be this lucky. To deserve someone like Simon Snow.
Someone who put up with years of my caustic bullshit and didn’t end up hating me. Someone who trusted me on this madcap venture through a snowbound apocalypse. Someone who reached out to me with unexpected affection.
Someone who isn’t flinching from these confessions that have unwittingly spilled out of me today.
I breathe in. And then out. Simon makes it seem so simple.
Maybe it is. Maybe I just overcomplicate everything.
Perhaps it’s time to try something different.
“I feel as if I’ve fallen through the looking glass. I don’t know how many impossible things I’ve come to believe in today.” Another deep breath. “Having you as my terrible boyfriend has been one of those impossible dreams, Simon. I can’t quite fathom that it’s coming true.”
I can’t help the smile that comes over my face. I’m grinning like an idiot, I’m sure. But I don’t care.
I’m awake. This is real.
Christ, I am living a charmed life.
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nyanzaya · 4 years
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@if-that-so inquired: 💋💖💄👓🔫🔮🎤🎪🍸🍯🍰⛄⏳💐⚾🌊🌵🍒🐝💳👠👻💉🃏😊🙁 tbh i want to ask all... And also, there are some i already know but i just want to make sure 😘 
oc questions
💋 What traits do they like in other people? What traits do they not like?
Iza: The traits Iza likes in other people is intellect? He likes smart people, but he also doesn’t like smart people. He loves people who are a little gullible/inattentive because he would take advantage of it in small ways to get what he wants. Direct people are his favorite but also his bane because he hates to be put in the spotlight when they call things/point things out.
Zuo: Zuo likes when someone is laid back, fun and just a calming presence to be around. The traits he dislikes are: Deceptive, dishonest, indecisive and of course provoking in terms of trying to rile him up and get him angry
💖 Do they have a significant other? If so, who?
In their canon they were significant others; but things happened and now they are broken up even though under the sheets they still want to be together. You could say that they are still significant others but if they find anyone else to be with instead of each other then they let each other go. In a way you could say Zuo and Iza are still significant others with each other but as of right now they don’t have a significant other-- (and if i were to make this blog single ship I think I might make them significant others again but it would be like wild af)
💄 Do they care about their physical appearance? What’s their routine like?
Iza: He cares a lot about how he looks. From how his hair is style to the make up he has on. He wants to look the best and be the “best in show” Often, he is asleep during the day but whenever he does wake up he washes his face, fixes his hair to look well-kept and then he puts on eyeliner and depending, mascara. The eyeliner is always a cateye. He has a bunch more make up but he stays with the simple stuff because he feels that if you put too much you’re just ruining how you look, then he makes sure his nails are well-kept and manicured so if he’s not sleeping or working he will be tending to his nails
Zuo: He doesn’t care that much about how he looks? All he cares about is looking presentable and then going about his business. He doesn’t care for “looking the best” if anything he’d just want to look cool even if he doesn’t wear anything that’s flashy. Zuo does style his hair to hide his ears but sometimes they perk up from under his hair and it’s super cute
👓 Do they have any physical or mental disabilities?
Iza: I MEAN. He doesn’t have any physical disabilities but for mental-- like PTSD then yes lol. MMmh I guess hypersomnia because he is constantly and I mean cooonstantly sleeping even though it’s more like naps(like 16-24 hours at least) Anxiety and depression too.
Zuo: He doesn’t have any physical disabilities and for mental it’s almost the same as Iza’s except he doesn’t have hypersomnia. With what they both lived through, they would have these types of mental disorders but they ARE NOT diagnosed for it
🔫 What would they die for? Kill for?
Both of them would die to help their kin be free from servitude and they’d kill for it too. Iza already does kill for it, but Zuo tries not too. Though, unlike Iza, Zuo would kill and die for his significant other(whether it’s Iza or not), but Iza would kill for his significant other even if it means he kills them or someone else lmfao
🔮 Do they have any magical powers or abilities? If it’s a realistic world, what religion do they follow?
I think there has to be some magic because well, tbh the world is based around drrr and there’s supernatural creatures like faeries and demons so it wouldn’t surprise me if there was even a little bit of magic but, Iza and Zuo don’t have any magical powers or abilities. Iza isn’t exactly religious but the religion he follows is the religion of a cat god who was almost entirely erased from the world and sometimes when he refers to “God” he refers to her, but he does reference the christian God quite a bit and might have a bit of a god complex because he preaches for people to “Turn yourself into God and you won’t ever be killed.” Now ZUO WELL, I think he actually is religious but he is not a devote follower. I think he follows the same religion as Iza with the cat god but he isn’t a devote follower of Her, he prefers to keep religion and things like that to himself. Where Iza and Zuo differ between the religion is Iza says She is a vengeful and cruel god who wants to punish all who have hurt her children or kittens(As in her followers), while Zuo says she’s a benevolent God who wants to fix the things she had done wrong. Iza and Zuo don’t talk about religion to each other often because they could never agree.
🎤 Do they play any instruments?
Neither of them play instruments, unless you count singing as an instrument then Iza sings! Zuo would get frustrated with instruments but if he did play he would probably play drums
🎪 What would their favorite ride at an amusement park be?
Iza: The ferris wheel so he can look down on all the people because he loves to feel superior and better than them :sob:
Zuo: A big crazy roller coaster because he would love to feel the wind and the rush of adrenaline
🍸 How do they act when they’re drunk?
Iza: He’s honestly? Really emotional when he’s drunk? Lol like, he really easy to influence too and just the littlest things would make him burst into tears like LOL oh god if he saw something really cute he’d just “Oooh~ MY GODS-- That’s the cutest..i--eeeeoh my gooooood” Like Iza please...dont cry because of a really cute looking puppy or kitten lol
Zuo: I ACTUALLY HAVEN'T THOUGHT OF IT FOR ZUO BUT I THINK HE WOULD BE THE CALM FUNNY CUDDLE TYPE OF DRUNK.
🍯 Which era of history would they most like to live in?
Iza: I think he’d want to live in like, oh gosh probably the future tbh?
Zuo: He’d want to live in the era with kings and queens because he was a royal knight and he misses his king :(
🍰 What’s their favorite food?
Iza: He loves horse meat? I don’t know why
Zuo: I think Fugu because he isn’t afraid to get poisoned by a fish
⏳ How do they feel about death?
Iza: Iza finds death to be a beautiful thing? I don’t think he really...idolizes it... because in his head its “You’re not really dying, you are being transformed into something else.” which like, okay Iza. I mean I GUESS. and he says that you don’t ever actually die, you get reincarnated as something else to learn a new lesson
Zuo: For real Zuo doesn’t like death, hates death, and wishes it never existed because he can remember his past lives and how he died and what he hates most about it is: coming back and having to figure everything out again and finding Iza/his soulmate and convince them that “We are destined to be together, please, believe me you don’t remember but I do.” and YEAH HE GETS REALLY SAD ABOUT IT
💐 Do they collect anything? What’s their most prized possession?
Iza: Iza collects plush toys because he feels comforted whenever he has one. His prized possession has to be his collar because he got that from his first master? And he’s had it ever since? He wears it literally all the time, partly because one he kinda misses his first? And second to deter people from taking him
Zuo: I don’t think Zuo has ever collected anything? Not from what I can recall but his most prized possession has to be the glasses he wears because he got that from his mom because she didn’t want him to be unable to see just how colorful the world actually is (they are both colorblind)
⚾ Do they play any sports?
Iza: He doesn’t play any sports? But I mean if you count hunting small animals and occasionally people as a sport then yeah he does LOL
Zuo: He plays whatever sport he can, though his favorites are soccer and football, mostly football for really obvious reasons
🌊 What one place do they really want to visit and why?
Iza: France! Because he wants to visit Paris since he heard it’s the city of love
Zuo: Germany! He wants to see the castles and try the food
🌵 What languages do they speak?
Iza: English, German, Japanese
Zuo: English, French, Japanese
🍒 What are some items they always carry? What weapon do they favor using if they exist in a world where weapons are necessary?
Iza: He always has his pocket knife, but he’s very reluctant on using it because he would rather talk with words than get physical and fight(Unless it’s Zuo then he will fight Zuo), wallet, needles because he can hit puncture points really well when he’s fighting/hunting
Zuo: This white envelope that holds his catnip cigarettes that he rolls himself, his sunglasses and wallet
🐝 What stereotypical high school clique would they fit into?
Iza: He would fit in that…. Drifter or an Outsider clique? The one kid that goes around and comes off as a social butterfly but is just fine on their own and is also the one that ends up knowing literally everyone else's business while no one knows his.
Zuo: I think he would be a jock lmfao just, obvious reasons? To burn off steam and because he wants attention
💳 What one thing that they don’t need do they waste the most money on?
Iza: Oh gosh...he wastes money on a lot of things ...like he doesn’t need make-up but “Bitch I need my eye liner and blush.” and strawberry milk because “Shut up! I like it, I desire it, and I will have it.” and plush toys because “It makes me feel GOOD.” And designer knives because “I just think they are neat and I want it for my collection.” Like, someone stop him
Zuo: Hmm for Zuo? I don’t think he really spends his money-- but sometimes he’d impulsive buy weird things like slippers that look like bread? Or weird figurines lol it’s so hard to say accuse there’s a lot of weird things xD But if it looks interesting and funny he’d buy it, it dont even matter what it is
👠 What kind of shoes do they wear?
Iza: Iza has a lot of shoes he wears? Like he’ll wear heels(Like any type of heel) sometimes but most of the time I think he wears slip-ons, sneakers and slippers and if he’s dressed up he’d wear derby.
Zuo: He’s so easy and simply: Sneakers. Slip-ons, slippers  
👻 Do they believe in ghosts, aliens, and the occult in general?
For both of them, yes! I think Iza is kind of skeptical about it but Zuo insists aliens and ghosts are real. Iza is more into the occult than Zuo, like witchcraft and magic because he wants it to be real
💉 Which Deadly Sin do they most correspond to? Which Heavenly Virtue?
Iza: Lust for his sin and oh god… for a heavenly virtue uhm…. Hope or Fortitude
Zuo: Wrath for his sin and for his heavenly virtue it’s Justice or Temperance
🃏 If you had to choose one tarot card to represent them, what would it be?
Iza: Death because it represents major transformation and new beginnings, and transformation, passage, and change. Another one would be The Moon(symbolizes illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself) and The Devil(symbolizes ambitions and is also synonymous with temptation, addiction, and depression)
Zuo: The World because it represents that things have come full circle, a journey has been completed, and a long-term project has come to an end. Another one for him would be The Sun(symbolizes positive energy, joy of living and enthusiasm) and The Hanged Man(symbolizes trial or meditation, selflessness, and sacrifice)
😊 What do they consider to be their best quality? What actually is their best quality?
Iza: He would say his best quality is his charm. His actual best quality is how tactful he can be, let alone romantic
Zuo: He would say his best quality is how brave he is. His actual best quality is how self-confident he is in himself
🙁 What do they consider to be their worst quality? What actually is their worst quality?
Iza: He would say his worst quality is how lazy/procrastinating he gets. His worst quality has to be how vainful and superficial he can actually be, let alone him using it to manipulate situations to get what he wants.
Zuo: He would say it’s his outbursts of anger, but actually his worst quality impulsive behavior because he just does it...he doesn’t think about it
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ingenves · 5 years
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     ok its ya girl back at it, same deal ! if u wanna plot just HMU or LIKE THIS and i’ll come to you ! wes is my father & u can peep his pinterest board HERE !
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     ⌈ chris pine, cismale, he/him ⌋ hey, is it WESLEY BIGELOW that you’re looking for? you know, the THIRTY-SIX year old CARPENTER. typically i see them hanging around GRISTOL DOCKS so you could try there! i hear they’ve been in living in PRINCETOWN for THIRTY-SIX YEARS. gristol wouldn’t be the same without them, right? anyway, whenever i see them they make me think of waking up before dawn, an old rowboat sitting in still water & a kitchen full of fresh produce.
tw: car accident & illness 
this mans has lived in town his entire life!!! his parents, william and rose bigelow owned a historic farm . willy & rose were high school sweethearts, a shotgun wedding joining them together after rose ended up pregnant with their first child at the age of 19. while rose’s parents were furious with their daughter for being so reckless, william’s father was more than happy to offer them a place to stay and lend a hand taking care of the baby that would soon be on the way.
despite the circumstances, wes was never treated as an accident or a mistake. he grew up in his grandpa’s farmhouse with a loving family. the bigelow family followed some pretty traditional gender roles. wes’ dad and his grandpa would wake at the crack of dawn and work out in the field until sunset while his mother hung around the house to take care of him, doing laundry, making dinner, taking him to the park, everything.
from a young age he was encouraged to help out on the farm but being the mama’s boy he was, he was far more eager to help his mom out with the cooking and the laundry. he was close with his grandfather as well, the two always working on little projects together like building a tree house, birdhouses, his own bee house………………….a lot of houses
but wes was never rly close with his father. william wasn’t much of an emotional or talkative guy, usually just sitting there in stern silence and working the day away. a bit of a scary guy despite not ever doing anything scary?? he’s just an ominous guy that doesn’t rly seem impressed by anything so wes never rly knew where he stood u know.
the one time wes ever really felt close to his father was when they would take little weekend fishing trips together, even though they didn’t really speak. just the fact that william took his time to teach wes how to do everything and didn’t get mad or frustrated when he lost a lure or let a fish go by accident was enough to like…..send the message. that was his way of showing his love u know.
the second bigelow child was welcomed when wes was a kid and while at first he was jealous that his new baby sister was getting all the attention, having a baby around the house was kind of fun. she’d make funny faces and funny noises and he grew to love her pretty quickly. he used to always say that his baby sister was the best thing that happened to him. when she got older, he taught her how to make mud pies and how to play pranks on grandpa who was a rly good sport, all things considered.
car accident & death tw !! the winter of ‘94 would prove to be the worst winter of wes’ entire life. on the way back home to pick up a christmas tree from a nearby farm, the family’s old pick up hit a patch of black ice and ended up flipped into a ditch. it was a bad wreck. luckily his grandpa and sister were safe at home during the time of the crash, but wes and his parents weren’t so lucky, his mother being the unluckiest of the bunch. they were stranded in the middle of the road for two hours before anyone showed up for help and by the time they arrived, it was too late for rose, who got the worst of the injuries. doa at the hospital while wes and his dad walked away with mostly minor injuries. that year, there was no christmas tree and no presents. christmas dinner was replaced with takeout and no one said a word.
illness & death tw !! not long after rose passed away, grandpa bigelow got some bad news. lung cancer that no one really saw coming. just a few months after the diagnosis they were having another funeral for another member of the bigelow clan.
it was a tough year, but they got through it. wes did his job to step up and do all the things his dad couldn’t do; all the things his mother taught him. he expected all of it to make his dad more closed off but it had the reverse effect and for the first time in his entire life, wes and his father had heart to heart conversations.
jump forward to high school and things finally felt like they were back to normal. william wasn’t dating yet but he wasn’t being all that anti-social, either.
wes discovered quickly he was the kind of person that other people liked and he was quite popular??? he made good grades, played football, dating the coolest girl in school (in his own opinion ofc), everything kind of fell into place for him in high school
and then after high school he…………didn’t rly know what to do asdj;fdksgfkdlj he never went to college and decided work around town doing odd jobs and saving some money so he could go off and travel and live his life as a young person craving adventure.
he was gone for abt a year or so before coming back home & he’s just been here ever since, doin his thing
started working with a family friend in his shop, doing what he loved and building things n working with his hands u know and hasn’t stopped doing what he loves ever since
he owns his own shop now & builds custom furniture 
the….personality section has Arrived
he’s quite the Charming guy but he talks WAY too much
definitely the kind of guy who will just…..talk about himself non-stop without even realizing it ?? he needs to get his Ego in check even after all these years smh
buT he’s very good at making conversation and is rly a friendly guy!!!! will talk and joke with anyone just because……why not ?? it makes his day when ppl talk to him so he will talk to u even if u dont feel the same way
highkey the kind of person to start up a random conversation w a stranger in the grocery story just because
lowkey uncomfortable with feelings and still isn’t super great at expressing emotions and his thoughts but ya boi is trying his best
but he’s rly good at picking up on signals. he can’t express his own emotions but he’s like….pretty in tune with other ppl
a very platonically affectionate guy. loves hugging his buddies and telling them how much he loves & appreciates them
and now for the lil extra tidbits
he’s got two dogs. a german shepherd named mulder & a pomeranian named scully sfddgfhgfg and he strategically uses his dogs to flirt w ladies when they’re out on a walk LMAO
he’s got a 6 year old daughter named aspen with a woman he is no longer dating ( im prob gna put this as a wc on the main so if u want this....hmu???? ) but they are still v close and spend a lot of time together & he loves aspen more than anything :’)
he’s very much a Dad. dad jokes all the time. endless shitty puns for everyonE
the man loves a turtleneck. he can’t keep his hands off a good ass sweater u know ??
he loves to cook and is v good at it, since he’s been cooking his entire life. he is the self-proclaimed kind of bbq and honestly???? he’s always throwing lil bbq parties & they are a hit :/  u know he be winning contests w his grilling bro
obviously.........a handyman. the house he lives in now, he built himself after tearing down the old on.  he built himself a nice big deck and everything so he can have a nice place to host bbqs and everyone will come compliment him on hard work and enjoy his fantastic recipes
he runs his own business building & selling furniture!!!! need a shelf installed??? give him a call. dog chewed up ur table leg??? give him a call. house burned down???? give him a call he’ll build u a new one.
what’s better than this ??????????? guys bein dudes
he rly likes going to the movies. lowkey loves disney but pretends he only cares bc his daughter likes it but……….u know he knows the words to every song
tragically heterosexual ://///////
he loves strong coffee & he loves beer & occasionally he loves a good book & a nice game of chess
did i mention he is such a dad bc………..he is such a dad
someone hold his rough sandpaper ass hands
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Mandy’s Care Home
Characters: Tyler Sharp, Quinn Sharp, Eliza Riley-Sharp, Matty Davidson-Sharp, Damian Sharp, Ant Sharp, Vikki Barnes-Sharp, Mandy McGinnis, Heather Sharp (Mentioned), Jessie Goldhart, William Lyne, Lauren Maaya (Mentoned) , Pixie Patterson, Mikey Patterson, Nadine Holt, Gus Griffith, Daxter Griffith, Bryan Torres, Danny Cook, Gracie Christ (Mentioned), Molly Arbore (Mentioned)
Ship: None/Polysquad
Words: 1807
Warnings: Mentions of/Hints at Will’s abuse, hints at Quinn falling, ask if you need something added.
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Tag List: Empty
Want to be tagged in my OC work? Let me know!
~~~
Tyler placed his camera into his bag alongside his notebook before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Hey, guys!” He called through the house from the front door. “I’m heading to Mandy’s care home! Anyone want to come?”
He’d expected Matty to come along, and maybe Eliza if she wasn’t busy. What she hadn’t expected was for all of them to decide to join him. (Besides Heather, who at the time was getting ready to go to work.)
They all walked as a group along the streets. Quinn held tight to Eliza’s hand, Damian and Ant arguing about something stupid, Matty skipping and talking about a new song he was working on. Tyler smiled. He loved taking trips out with the others.
The care home was a new building. Mandy had had help from Lauren when raising money for it (Which might’ve been helped by the fact Lauren was constantly followed around by a very large dragon). It stood tall and welcoming, the orange bricks painted over with white paint. The windows were clean, and Tyler could see the flower-patterned curtains inside and a little cactus on one of the window ledges.
He knocked on the door and a small, round woman with fiery red hair answered. Her eyes lit up when she saw the group and she smiled wide. Her face radiated the same warmth and kindness as the building itself did.
“Oh! You’re all here! That’s lovely,” She opened the door and gestured for them all to enter. The inside of the house smelled of brownies. “Gracie… Had to stay home today,” She said sadly, frowning slightly. “But Molly said she might stop by later to help! Until then, feel free to introduce yourself to any of the children.”
“Uncle Ty!”
Tyler barely had chance to look towards the source of the yelling before a blur of pastel colours threw itself at him. He stumbled slightly as he looked down, seeing a small, blonde girl beaming up at him.
“Pixie!” He laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. She giggled, kicking her legs.
He placed her back onto the floor and dragged him into the main room. There was a table in the corner with chairs set up around it. The surface was covered in paper, pencils and crayons. A box of blocks lay scattered on the floor near the window, two small children talking quietly to themselves and building little houses. Pixie pulled Tyler towards the table and made him sit town before climbing up into his lap.
“Look what I drew!”
On the paper in front of her was a drawing of herself, her brother Mikey, a kid covered in band-aids that Tyler could only guess was Jessie, a kid holding a book that was definitely Will, and then Lauren. Tyler smiled. “That’s wonderful, Pix! Where are the other little monsters, anyway?” He asked.
Pixie kicked her legs and picked up another pencil and a new piece of paper, beginning to scribble more people. “Think Mikey an’ Jess are playing football in the yard,” She shrugged. “Mandy said Lauren’s got college an’ she’ll visit us when her lesson is done. Think she’s doin’ English.”
“What about Will?”
Pixie paused. “He’s havin’ a bad day. Mandy said he hasn’t been talkin’ to anyone today, not even her.”
Tyler frowned and nodded. Given Will’s past, moments like this were expected. Tyler turned around to the others, seeing them all looking around. It was their first time really visiting.
“Hey, Quinn?” He said.
The angel looked up, lip red from biting it. “Mm?”
“You remember Will, right? D’you think you can go sit with him for a bit, make sure he’s ok?”
Quinn nodded and turned to leave the room. Mandy walked with her, leading her up the stairs.
The others all looked around, deciding they should probably communicate with some of the kids too. Matty walked out towards the back door, following the sounds of giggles and small voices. He found Jessie and Mikey outside – Jessie up in the treehouse and Mikey on the floor as they threw the football to each other. Matty grinned.
“Hey guys!”
The two turned to look at him and instantly lit up. Mikey grabbed hold of Matty and tugged him towards the treehouse. “Wanna play?” He asked, handing the ball to Matty.
“Hot potato?”
Mikey nodded. “Yeah! But Jess wanted to be higher up, so they’re in the treehouse.
Matty laughed. “Of course, I’ll play.”
——————-
Back inside, Eliza had followed the smell of brownies to the kitchen. A young teen, possibly around the age of 13 if Eliza had to guess, was sat at the kitchen table with a worksheet and a frustrated look on their face.
“Hey, dear,” Eliza said softly, sitting down on the seat next to them. “Do you need help?”
The teen shook their head. “No. I gotta do it by myself or it’s not the same.”
“Oh,” Eliza said. “You know, you’re allowed to ask for help if you’re struggling, dear. It doesn’t make your work any less good. If it helps, I can give you questions like what you’re answering, but with different numbers, and I can show you how that works, and you can apply that to your work. Does that help?”
The teen finally looked up at Eliza and nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah, ok. That works.”
Eliza smiled and picked up a spare piece of paper and a pen from the stack in the corner. She wrote down some questions and handed them to the teen. “Oh, and I’m Eliza,” She said.
“…Nadine.”
——————-
Vikki had taken to the two boys sat on the floor building houses. She sat next to them, slightly floating off the floor. One smiled at her, the other nodded in her direction but kept his eyes on the blocks.
“I’m Gus,” Introduced the blonde boy, lisping slightly due to the missing front tooth. “That’s my brother, Daxter. He doesn’t talk very much but it’s ok because Mandy says I talk enough for both of us.”
Vikki laughed. “Well it’s nice to meet you both. Mind if I build?”
“Sure!” Gus grinned, pushing some blocks towards her. “Why are you floating?”
“I’m a ghost.”
Gus shrugged. “That’s cool. Oh! Here’s this little man, you can stick him on your house when you’re done. I called him Mr Orange because he likes to wear an orange hat.”
“I love that.”
The three build together, Gus occasionally piping up with a silly joke or to ask for a block or ask Daxter for help. Vikki eventually handed Gus her little house with a man on it. “Does this look right to you? I don’t build very often.”
Gus smiled wide and sat up straighter, clapping his hands. “Good! Look, Dax, isn’t that cool?”
Daxter looked up at the house and smiled, nodding.
Gus handed it back to Vikki. “If Dax likes it, that means it’s super good.”
——————-
Quinn hadn’t spoken since she’d entered Will’s room. Instead, she’d curled up on the chair next to his bed, sitting quietly as he slowly rocked himself. If anyone of the group knew how to handle Will, it was her. Forcing him to talk wouldn’t work – She had to wait for him to make the first move.
“Can I see your wings?”
His voice came out soft, cracking slightly. She nodded and stood up, moving to sit next to him on the bed. She closed her eyes and felt her wings appear, shaking and stretching out. It’d been a while since she’d let them out. They were a soft lavender colour, the lower feathers burned and stained with ash from her fall. Will leaned against Quinn’s side, smiling slightly when Quinn wrapped her wings around the two of them.
They sat in silence for a while longer. Will’s eyes closed.
“I was thinking about… Them… again,” Will whispered.
Quinn didn’t need to respond with words. She just wrapped her wings closer around them, a hand taking one of Will’s. Will sniffled and curled up a little tighter against the angel’s side.
“I just wish I could forget it. All of it. Sometimes I can pretend it didn��t happen, but sometimes I can’t.”
Quinn lightly squeezed his hand. “I know, Will. And it’s going to hurt for a while. Maybe for a very long while. But… But there are ways to deal with it if you want that. I can find you some people that you can talk to, and maybe they can help you feel better.”
Will nodded and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “P-Please.”
Quinn kissed the top of Will’s head. “You’ll be ok. I promise.”
——————-
Ant and Damian walked around together. Some of the other kids were out at classes, but they eventually ran into two kids upstairs in a bedroom, dressed up in costumes. One of them was a little redhead covered in freckles, a gap between his two front teeth and a wide grin on his face as he raised a fake cardboard sword. The other was dressed like a dinosaur, messy blonde hair covering his eyes. His hands were held out in front of him like claws.
“Hey there, boys,” Damian greeted as he walked into the room, Ant following.
Both boys turned, their eyes widening. “Woah!! Your eyes are red!!”
Damian and Ant shared a look and grinned.
“Yep, they are,” Ant nodded.
“Pointy teeth!” The blonde said, looking at Ant.
“Pointy ears!” The redhead yelled, looking at Damian.
“My name’s Damian,” Dami said, smiling and kneeling closer to their height. “I’m a demon.”
“And I’m Ant,” Ant waved. “I’m a vampire.”
Both young boys jumped around, excited.
“I’m Bryan,” The redhead introduced himself, bowing and laughing.
“I’m Danny!” The blonde joined in, striking a pose.
And laughed. “I guess you two enjoy acting? Mind if we join in? Damian would make a great damsel in distress,” He joked, winking towards Damian. Damian stuck his tongue out.
Bryan lit up and ran to a chest at the base of one of the beds, pulling out some accessories. “Of course, you can join in!!”
The four of them acted out scenes, each taking a turn at the different roles until Tyler called them down to leave.
——————-
Tyler hugged Mandy at the door. She smiled, holding out a tin to him. “There’s some treats in there for you all as a thank you for stopping by today.”
Tyler took the tin and smiled back. “We’ll try to come by again soon.”
“Please do,” Mandy said. She looked into the main room where all the kids were now settled in front of the TV with blankets watching a movie. “I can tell they really enjoyed seeing you all. They’d love to have you back.”
“Then we’ll definitely be back,” Eliza promised. The rest of them nodded in agreement.
“Have a good night, Mandy,” Tyler said as the group walked away.
“You too, dear.”
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gregoryferrell · 4 years
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jamesrannochcc · 6 years
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Following any sport closely can be an emotional business for its fans. There can be highs but at times feelings of disappointment and anger will rise out of nowhere as you watch your football team lose a penalty shootout or you see an umpire makes a bad call against your favourite table tennis player. For fans of professional cycling things are slightly different. We get the same emotions but they often come a good time after the action has finished. There’s the disappointment that our favourite riders and their feats we’ve enjoyed have been aided by banned (and legal) substances and anger at the UCI, cycling’s governing body, for their inability to introduce the reforms that could help ensure fairer and safer competition. Although we encounter these feelings time and again we continue to follow the sport because it’s so entertaining. Because of this murky and frustrating history and the regular promises that things will change for the better three groups of cycling fan have emerged.
The largest of these combines are the ‘Optimistic Pessimists’. They still love the sport but watch things with a heavy dose of scepticism. They have been fooled in the past by cheating and don’t want it to happen again. Instead of celebrating an incredible performance the reaction is now “Mmm, not sure about that”. The UCI are still infuriating but in terms of racing things do seem to be changing ever so slightly. A few riders are now willing to speak out against doping instead of being part of the omerta which protects dopers and their feelings are that much of what they see during races seems to be credible. They watch racing in a different way now. As well getting immersed in the tactics and team dynamics, at the back of their minds they are analysing things to work out if what’s happening is believable and clean. It is obvious that doping still goes on at some level but they’re thankful that the eyebrow doesn’t get raised as often as before.
The eyebrows of are the two other sets of fans don’t move at all and they are very much at opposing sides of the “Who is doping and how much of it is going on” debate.
The first lot, the ‘Deniers’, are either gentle souls, who perhaps only follow a few races a year and are just not interested in whether doping happens, or diehards who will always defend their favourite rider or team against allegations of cheating no matter what actual evidence of malpractice is shown to them.
The last bunch of cycling fans are the Deniers sworn adversaries, though they actually make themselves enemies of anyone who doesn’t agree with them. This restless gang of ‘Truthers’ believe that everyone is on the juice and are very vocal about it. Instead of saying “Mmm’ not sure about that” their mantra is “Yep that’s dirty”. They spend plenty of time proselytising and will end up frustrated then angry if you’re not brought round to their way of thinking. Their arguments to back up their beliefs range from sarcastic coughs to elaborately formed concepts which contain ‘secret inside information’. Some say they resemble conspiracy theorists and I’ve even heard people call them a cult. If you use Twitter and follow cycling you will have seen them pop up on your feed from time to time. They are the Doperati and their illustrious leader is @Digger_forum.
Who is Digger?
My introduction to Digger came in 2011. It was the time of the federal investigation into Lance Armstrong which proved to be the prologue for the big mans fall from grace. Floyd Landis was the main witness in the case but was at that time still coming to terms with his own downfall as well being in the process of being investigated for computer hacking. There was also the question of the nearly $1 million raised for the ‘Floyd Fairness Fund’, money that I believed was donated by people being sold a lie. I decided to hit twitter to see what my 20 or so followers made of my opinion by suggesting that Landis perhaps wasn’t the most reliable of witnesses. Not long after I got a reply from someone who, if I remember right, was calling himself Big Tex Is Going To Jail or @Digger_forum for short. I was quite excited because he wasn’t one of my followers. “Wow” I thought, someone must really value my opinion. They’ve taken time to ‘engage’ with me. Dreams of commenting on pro cycling for a living flashed through my mind. Then I actually read the tweet:
“Charming” I thought. I tried to clarify my point but after becoming aware that my new acquaintance was arguing against a point which was different to the one I was trying to make I decided to finish things as it was becoming a waste of time.
As I became more familiar with twitter and started using it to follow professional cycling I set up a new cycling specific account (@JamesRannoch), mainly so my friends wouldn’t get annoyed by me adding pictures of men in Lycra to their timelines. I saw Digger get mentioned now and again and I occasionally dropped in on his profile and followed some of his ‘conversations’. He seemed to have some pretty extreme theories but to me it looked like were built out of suspicions which he was taking as fact. I didn’t disagree with everything he said, he raised and highlighted some important issues, but I held back from engaging with him when I did. It was obvious that there was no point in arguing with him because his mind wouldn’t be swayed by anyone else’s opinion. But the older I got, the grumpier I became and the less I was able to suffer him gladly. His infuriating debating style should have been scarring me away but it was drawing me into his world of accusations and innuendo. I started to become a little obsessed with disproving some of his more ridiculous theories. I felt that it was morally wrong throwing out proclamations about peoples integrity with flimsy evidence and cowardly to do so from behind an anonymous twitter handle. This would be fine if he was just prattling away in the corner of a pub somewhere because we could just nod or tut at the right moments but he was stating, as fact, things which could effect innocent people on public forums. There is also a fair amount of anger and venom whipped up among his followers and that anger and venom has been joined by spit and whatever else and is now getting directed at the condemned riders from the roadsides of the world. I’d had enough and ended up doing something I am not very proud of. I became a twitter troll. I was going to satirise this so called Digger and my shield of anonymity would be @Borer_forum.
First I tried to find out who this faceless keyboard warrior was, to see exactly what I was up against. There are many theories about his identity and background but after extensive research I could only find one reliable description of him and a photo which surfaced online a few years back.
Next I would employ my arguing skills to take apart all his theories. Unfortunately it didn’t take long for him to block me. There would be no late night debates about hidden motors as we smoked cigars. I wouldn’t receive scented jiffy bags containing long agonising letters about the differences between intramuscular and intravenous. I tried wooing him back with poetry…
….but alas, to no avail.
So I was reduced to taking incessant screen-grabs, much like the great man himself, of his more ridiculous tweets and posting them to the Borer account. Very quickly I found that following him so closely wasn’t good for my blood pressure and general happiness so I decided I would write a blog about Digger, put Borer into retirement and enjoy my life again. This has taken a lot longer than I’d hoped for thanks to the Fancy Bears but here’s what I found:
(Some of the screen grabs are straight off his time line so read from the bottom to the top.)
Diggers Doctrine
Digger purpose in life seems to be making accusations of doping within the pro peleton. He depicts himself as the investigator of all nefarious practices in cycling and when he has collected the relevant information he becomes judge and jury to deliver the verdict and pass sentence on his accused. As well his narcos gig he does work on the side calling out the media for having nationalistic biases and an unwillingness to report wrongdoings. If he ever has time spare after all this you will find that his twitter feed will also contain suggestions of corruption within governing bodies from those running sports like the UCI to the agencies charged with ensuring clean competition such as WADA. (He also has a keen interest in 9-11 and false flag conspiracies but there’s no way I’m going there).
His disdain for the media is quite UK-centric. He sees the British media as a bunch of flag waving nationalistic loonies unwilling to criticise anyone British or ask difficult questions about doping. He extends this viewpoint to cover the behaviour of British cycling fans too.
Being a tin foil hats not tin foil caps kind of guy he loves the UK global sports conspiracy theory. With so many Brits at the top of major sporting organisations there is the suggestion amongst the Doperati that this enables British athletes some protection against getting sanctioned for misdemeanours or helps them get lenient sentences. There also seems to be the belief that during races British riders have had the rules bent for them to give them an advantage over the rest.
I believe that he is right about the general standard of the press in UK. During recent elections and close referendums across the country more people have become wise to the way various media organisations report the news. They do it to try and bring you round to their way of thinking instead of simply telling the story in an unbiased and balanced way. The funny thing is though, judging by their tweets, the people who tend to disagree with Digger, including some who comment on cycling for a living, are the ones who are most aware of the standards and bias of the press. The fact they clash with Digger is perhaps because his views are also biased and one sided. He particularly has a thing about the BBC and had a go at their coverage of the Olympics by pointing out the cosy relationship between the presenters and athletes and bemoaned the fact that the thorny issue of drug taking wasn’t discussed. The coverage was certainly overly jingoistic and pretty cringe worthy. I had to channel hop and press the mute button plenty of times to retain my sanity. I wasn’t overly perturbed though because I was aware that it was a magazine show not a hard hitting documentary. He was also on Mo Farah’s case during the Olympics. And his source of information which allowed him to call Farah’s integrity into question? BBC’s Panorama documentary about Mo and his coach Alberto Salazar.
The British commentator who gets the most amount of flak though is Eurosport’s Carlton Kirby.
Well, I’ve already said he makes some good points.
On cycling journalists, his accusation of them not asking the important questions really means that they don’t believe the allegations that he makes. He also conveniently forgets about the times questions are asked. After the CIRC report plenty was said about potential abuses of the TUE system as well as the morality of using cortisone and Tramadol. Moreover, he makes out that he invented the idea that Team Sky have major problems with keeping their promises to be transparent when their transparency has been called into question plenty of times. By cycling journalists.
The main problem I have with Digger calling into question the integrity of journalists is that they would be under the threat of libel if they raised the points that he wants them to. In the meantime he is protected by his anonymity and feels he can throw out statements of guilt willy-nilly safe in the knowledge that he has the option to press the ‘delete tweet’ button. He posted this tweet in August stating that Cadel Evans and Carlos Sastre have doped. I confronted him about it and now can’t find the tweet. It seems to have disappeared.
His twitter bio even contains a flimsy defence against libel by saying the account is satire.
Apart from BBC’s Panorama his other favourite media outlet of the British press which he slates is the Daily Mail. The only good thing about this is that he screenshots most of their columns so there’s not many clicks onto their site from his followers. His other source of news and views? Who can forget the time he retweeted Piers Morgan three times in a few hours.
When you consider his allegations of corruption it’s no secret that there’s wide scale corruption within many sports governing bodies but in terms of the UCI and Brian Cookson I believe they’re far too incompetent to run the kind of UK sporting conspiracy being suggested without getting found out.
Digger on Doping
Mr Forum comes into his own when it comes to the debate around doping. He uses a range of tactics to put his views across in ways he hopes makes them fool proof. Throwing mountains of mud to increase the chance of some of it sticking is his favourite.
It is the marginal gain of debating and even if he his right 1% of the time he claims victory for his overall dogma. His views rise out of confirmation bias and he uses straw man tactics when taking part in arguments. The best description I found which explains where he’s coming from though is Digger’s Razor.
It’s fair to say that he is firmly of the belief that almost everyone is on the sauce and this makes it impossible to win without some kind of rule breaking assistance. Whether that’s pharmaceutical or mechanical depends on his narrative at the time.
His evidence to back things up is based mainly on historical comparisons of times up climbs and the company which riders keep. If you go up a climb faster than a known doper did in the past, it’s simple. You’ve cheated. If you have ever been on a team which had known dopers on it at the same time, it’s obvious that you would be on a doping programme too. Other flags which, to him, are clear indications of doping are an increase in the number of medals a country wins at various competitions, riders going to certain countries where drug testers don’t usually visit and of course anyone with asthma is seen as only pretending to be suffering from the condition to get medication which will improve performance. Most of his accusations are aimed firmly at Team Sky and in particular Chris Froome. Skys over referenced idea of marginal gains is firmly put down as BS and is seen as a smokescreen for something more sinister.
In a way Digger seems similar to most cycling fans and to give him some credit at times he raises some good points. He, along with the rest of us, understands that some top riders must be doping. We are uncomfortable with some journalists cosy relationships with certain teams and riders and know that organisations need massive reform. But where he is different is when we see a certain performance as evidence that someone may be doping he sees it as evidence that someone is doping. And when we would further analyse the performance and sometimes spot something which would call into question the suspicion of doping, he wouldn’t do that. He has found the evidence to support his theory and that’s the end of that. He would stand by his opinion and any other evidence would be denied.
The Doperati often tries to prove doping by deciding whether the watts per kilograms a rider produces up climbs during races are credible or out of the range of human possibility. Most of the figures you see for different riders W/kg aren’t from the individuals power files but are produced by people watching races, most notably @ammattipyoraily. I have to admit that I was surprised when I found out how accurate these W/kg calculations are when you consider how many things you have to factor in when making them. The riders W/kg produced and the time it was sustained can give you an indication of how far a rider is progressing towards the line which can only be crossed if you are are on PED’s. The problem is no body knows exactly where the line is. The doperati’s top scientist Antoine Vayer claims he knows where the line is and his figures are regularly used to justify accusations of cheating. Unfortunately his calculations seem to have been plucked out of the air and it is important to remember that the South African scientist Ross Tucker rightly states that we won’t know for sure where the line is until data from many riders over a number of years is collected and analysed. I think this would be a great thing to happen and the flimsy science from the doperati only gets in the way of making this occur.
Digger tends not to bother with watts per kilogram but uses the more simple times up climbs charts to prove doping. The problem is, any sort of context is ignored. When Chris Froome beat Chris Horners time up Pena Cabarga during this years Vuelta an eyebrow was seriously raised. How can you compare the times though? He asks what’s changed. Well quite alot has. If you look at the stage profiles and where they are in the race there’s no justification for making a comparison. Why even comment let alone make an accusation?
Even setting aside profiles every stage is raced differently. Tactics come into play. One day there might be attacks and slowing down of the main group of riders and another might see no attacks. And GC riders with strong mountain domestiques will perform better than riders on their own on a different day. Of course Digger knows this though. When it suits him he uses tactics to explain slow ascents (with a ridiculous caveat).
He’s right, you can compare times but they don’t prove what he says they do. His arguments are often too simplistic.
Mr Forum and the rest of the Doperati mention Marginal Gains more often than David Brailsford and every cycling journalist put together. Having to read about marginal bleeding gains all the time was probably the worst parts of following Digger. The Doperati have the belief that Sky transmit the idea that M.G’s explain their improvements in performance and use it as a smokescreen as the improvements are actually achieved through using PED’s or mechanical fraud. The argument against ‘the gains’ goes “How can it be a gain if all the other teams are doing the same thing?”. This holds some water and the Doperati are constantly demanding proof of where Sky’s supposed marginal gains over the other teams comes from. In truth it’s pretty difficult to know what each team does differently without actually being in the team itself. But just as it’s almost impossible to prove that Sky gain an advantage over say Movistar when considering the way the teams are run it’s just as difficult for the Doperati to show that they don’t. Without knowing the nutritionists, time-trial training methods and pillow manufacturers (joke) (sort of) of the two teams the argument is pointless and any conclusions which say that there are or aren’t gains can only come from confirmation bias. What we do know is that Sky are a much better team than the 2010 effort so have gained in that regard. Digger would say that’s because of doping but they look like a well oiled machine when compared to the tactical shambles that was standing about not knowing what to do when Wiggins crashed out of the 2011 Tour.
Judging by these tweets there does seem to be a misunderstanding of what Marginal Gains actually are. He seems to think it’s all about equipment. Wouldn’t getting a better understanding of and how to use analysis be somewhere you can get a marginal flippin gain? (Read from bottom to top) (In the second tweet he seems to contradict himself).
Again he gets confused when marginal gains aren’t put down to equipment. A gain could come through sports psychology and positive thinking but the very thought of this is difficult to stomach for some.
Just before the Vuelta this year Digger shared this tweet by Antoine Vayer where the Frenchman trots out the smokescreen theory and includes a table of numbers which must be his evidence. He gets a good old pat on the back from Diggsy who must be the only person who understands how a table with Chris Boardman’s numbers for his successful 1996 World Hour Record attempt and some other hypothetical numbers are proof of cheating for kids.
This is Diggers final nail in the coffin for the idea of marginal gains giving any advantage to Sky. His ultimate proof.
Sure, these Director Sportifs could take training and race tactics to other teams. But they’re not expert nutritionists or mattresses. It’s just another narrow viewpoint that happens to fit nicely with his doctrine.
A classic conspiracy theory amongst the Doperati is the idea of an inner sanctum in Team Sky where only a special group of riders are on a doping programme and no one else on the team knows about it.
This cloak and dagger nonsense ties in nicely with the question the Truthers are always asking of Chris Froome. How did he supposedly turn from a donkey into three time Tour de France champion? It’s true, his results were utter rubbish before his breakthrough in the 2011 Vuelta. His problem is that he’ll never be able to adequately explain the transformation. He has the results of a physiological test from 2007 which showed he had great potential and a more detailed lab test from 2015 which shows he has good numbers now. But without similar tests from the intervening years he won’t be able to convince everyone that he is clean. And what of the sudden improvement in results? He puts it down to suffering from the parasitic infection bilharzia from late 2010 and through most of 2011 when he seemed to get rid of the problem. Clearly the Doperati think Froome is talking schistosomiasis and they know he will never be able to prove himself right without any analysis of the infected blood and how the parasite effected him physically. The Truthers final piece of evidence which they say shows Froome started doping at the 2011 Vuelta and continues to do so is the belief that he was so bad before it that Sky were going to get rid of him and this is what spurned him on to begin a regime.
This suggests that if Brailsford was wanting rid of Froome then Froome must have gone it alone if his transformation was fulfilled through illegal means. How does this tie in with the inner sanctum? You can’t have both surely. There is evidence and counter evidence on both sides of the debate on Froome but nothing certain is yet known.
A funny thing is that even when Team Sky have an off day their use of drugs is given as a reason. When they were caught badly positioned a the start of stage 15 of this years Vuelta leaving Froome isolated most put this down to a rare instance of bad tactics for the team. Digger and the Doperati however:
Digger seemed to think he was onto a winner during the Fancy Bears TUE leaks. He felt he had been vindicated for all the innuendo, allegation making and assertions he has made during his twitter career.
Bradley Wiggins’ dodgy TUE’s certainly came as a shock and many people found them quite upsetting. His Tour win will be seen as a tainted one by plenty of cycling fans. But all through the Fancy Bears leaks Digger was still up to his old trick of throwing out allegations without knowing the full facts. Many of the people he was accusing were innocent of any wrongdoing.
Callum Skinner was one of the first to receive a suggestion of dishonestly gaining a TUE. The Scottish track rider subsequently released all his medical information pertaining to the asthma which he has suffered from for most of his life to show that he had a genuine medical need for the TUE. I don’t remember seeing an apology from Digger but there was this high and mighty tweet almost a month later.
Fabian Cancellara didn’t get that courtesy though. After his files were leaked his team explained that the TUE’s were needed to treat a bad reaction to a bee sting. They even shared two photos of Cancellara with a swollen looking face. They were the same pictures that were released at the time of the actual incident. But this clearly wasn’t enough for a suspicious Digger who seems to think that Spartacus may have been trying to get a TUE to give him an advantage in his main objective of the year, the Vuelta.
The best one though was the Alistair Brownlee TUE. He made an accusation, got it wrong, knew he got it wrong but then it was “nothing to see here, move along”. Digger never admits he’s wrong and never apologises.
My final example of the instant eyebrow raiser and accusation before all the facts were known. Then being put right by folk including Ross Tucker, perhaps upset that he couldn’t call shenanigans on it.
Diggers Own Hypocrisy and Contradictions
Diggers usual twitter name is Fuck the hypocrisy. This suggests he hates it when people don’t practice what they preach. You would also expect that he is honest and fair when he tweets something. Unfortunately for him there is evidence of his own hypocrisy on his time line, which is pretty hypocritical wouldn’t you say? There are also many, many contradictions in his doctrine.
One of his biggest gripes is that journalists don’t print stories of mass doping in sport, though it could be that he is just annoyed they don’t publish his beliefs. He believes they use the fact that they can be sued for libel if they make any accusations as an excuse for not writing that difficult article. He says why don’t they asks questions? That’s not libellous. Does he even realise what he’s asking for? Article after article titled ‘Does Chris Froome Dope?’ where the pros and cons are weighed up and in the end the is no definitive answer either way. It would drive him bananas. It’s a great idea. He seems to use David Walsh’s very close relationship with Team Sky as a catch-all for the behaviour of every cycling journalist out there. He thinks they are all wimping out.
While he comes out with accusations of not being brave enough and hiding behind libel, he regularly deletes weeks worth of tweets when he says anything libellous. The missing week on the bottom of this screenshot was at the end of the Olympics when he was at his accusatory best.
And he has the cheek to say this about Lizzie Deignen. Double standards or what?
David Walsh is the journalist that gets it most from Digger. I’m not going to defend Walsh here, I’ve thought he was a nob ever since Emma O’Reiley revealed how she was treated by him when he was writing his book on Lance Armstrong. But Digger used an interview he gave (quite a while) after the Bradley Wiggins’ TUE scandal broke to twist the knife into his countryman. The way Digger misquoted from it showed again how dishonest and how easily he changes context to suit his narrative. But he gets his likes and people think what he’s said is true so it’s all ok. He asks for transparency and honesty but this is what he gives in return. Hypocrisy. Walsh was talking about Chris Froome being potentially upset about Wiggins getting a very strong, perhaps unnecessary, injected TUE right before the main objective of the year. Digger says Froome “literally” got the same TUE so how would he be upset? Sure they both got TUE’s for cortisone but they were both very different.
Diggerooney regularly says more should be done to encourage ex-dopers and those with knowledge of the doping culture to talk about the issue of drugs in cycling. He will praise riders who come with information (usually in lucrative biographies) and come down hard on those who stay silent. At the same time though he has quite a friendly and jovial relationship with Johan Bruyneel who could say so much on the subject but has chosen to keep the omerta going, even through his various hearings.
He speaks against omerta both within the peleton and the media but at the same time claims he “knows stuff” he won’t share. So either he is part of the omerta, i.e a hypocrite, or he doesn’t know stuff, i.e full of shit.
At times Digger will take the moral high ground on issues. He has rightly condemned Shane Sutton who has had allegations against him of sexism upheld. Is he practicing what he’s preaching though? Has he done it because he believes in gender equality or was it just a chance for more Sky bashing?
This was a tweet explaining why there has never been anyone with inside knowledge of the team speaking out against Sky. I’m pretty sure whistleblowing legislation would protect anyone wanting to come forward.
And how does it tie in with this marginal gains put down? Contradiction alert!
This contradiction was within the space of a few hours.
My suspicion that Digger was a liar was confirmed quite early on during my @Borer_forum phase. I knew 100% he was lying too. I must have been getting under his skin and he may have been worried that folk would start following my account so he sent a few tweets saying I was someone called Euan and had previously shared photos of him and his children saying they looked disabled. This just shows his dishonesty. He doesn’t care whether what he’s putting out on public forums is true or not. If it suits him then great.
Diggers feelings on Betsy Andreu is his most impressive of contradictions. He says she constantly goes on about Lance Armstrong at the same time as constantly going on about Betsy constantly going on about Lance. There’s more tweets about Betsy from Digger than ones with rubbish jokes about Paypal accounts from me.
Diggers Debatable Debating
Getting into an argument with the man is infuriating. There is no doubt that he is very knowledgeable about the history of doping in cycling and he can easily recall lots of information to advance his argument during debates. He will often change the parameters of the debate though and if you’re not careful you’ll not realise you’re arguing against something resembling a human but quite straw-like in nature. These are the occasions he will enter debates but in truth he doesn’t get into many tete-a-tetes about cycling these days. I tried engaging him a few times but he rarely responded.
This was one time I invited him to expand on a tweet:
It was one of his many moot points so he never replied. One of his disciples came to his aid but the best he could come up with were Tom Danielson and the Iglinsky brothers.
Having said all this I think I’m giving the guy far to much credit. Here he is in reply to me after I questioned his accusations of doping against Sastre and Evans. To back up his point he give me a list of some top riders, many who we know for a fact (because of documented evidence) have doped.
And when he isn’t coming out with these winning arguments he is either losing the plot, contradicting himself, grossly exaggerating or coming out with statements usually reserved for the playground. This is Digger.
Eh but,
“In no time” was actually a fair whack of the climb.
Eh, no it wasn’t. Digger seriously has to re-watch Bert and Chicken.
Brilliant!
Is Digger Anti-British?
Digger is often accused of being anti-British. This might be down to the fact that he seemed to have a problem of me potentially being a Rangers fan, and all that entails to some folk. (I’m more of the Brian Smith persuasion when it comes to football) or maybe it was the nature of the only political tweet or retweet during the first month or so of trolling him.
Maybe it was because of the tone of this tweet or retweets.
But he can’t be anti-British. Some of his best friends are British.
Diggers Ego.
Diggers ego is what make him the leader of the Doperati. All cults need a brash self confident person calling the shots and Digger fits the bill perfectly.
Digger loves a compliment but when there’s none coming he’ll do it for himself. He will even will do it while speaking of himself in the 3rd person.
He also seems to think journalists hang on his every word, waiting eagerly for him to impart his next tenet of knowledge. If they have the same opinion as him on a matter he takes that as an indication that they’ve acquired the opinion from listening to him. It’s incredible.
So Digger sure has a high opinion of himself though it does seem worrying that he potentially has payed for some of his large twitter following. If you look at his twitter bio passport from a few years ago it shows that 39% of his followers are probably fake.
Diggers Crew.
Even discounting the fake ones Digger has a fair old following. But what is life like in Diggerville? There is a mixture of anger and happiness as well as a togetherness which I find quite sweet. There is a certain sense of camaraderie amongst the Doperati which is along the same lines as a bunch of lads away for a stag weekend. In jokes are passed about and sniggers are heard after sarcastic mentions of Nutella, pillows and round wheels. There is plenty of fawning around the big man as the minions plead for his attention hoping for a heart or even a retweet. This means if someone goes against the party line there will be plenty of people to take him down.
Many of his followers though are actually nice people and you can have a pleasant conversation with them while disagreeing at the same time. These people afterall are cyclists and cycling fans and even after having to put up with years of crap they can still enjoy watching the sport. His close disciples though are a different kettle of fish. They certainly know cycling but they don’t enjoy it. Like Digger they spend tremendous amounts of time trying to find ways to show how dirty it is. These are his henchmen :
Antoine Vayer
The man who is meant to give some scientific legitimacy to the operation. He once reminded me of a jovial and slightly senile uncle with his zany views and google translated tweets but I’ve come to realise he has a nasty side.
His scientific work is regularly debunked by experts in physiology as it often seems to get plucked out of thin air. Also, I hope he never drives through Milton Keynes.
Vayerism
Antoine’s protégé and someone else who likes calling me Euan. Naming a twitter account aimed at exposing doping @Vayerism is like starting one to encourage progressive and inclusive politics @Trumpism. He understands how numbers are produced but doesn’t know how to analyse them properly. He is also prone to being a little gung ho with some of his tweets.
Ross Tucker
Definitely the brains of the operation. He has the wherewithal to help devise a way to combat doping but unfortunately he has taken to emotional opinions rather than science recently.
Juicedup
Definitely my favourite. He is often Diggers go to guy for sensationalism. Part time Brazilian cycling fan, part time Australian secret agent, full time Walter Mitty. Either that or he has stolen somebodies profile picture. He’s the man with many ‘sources’.
There was this during the tour:
Then these nuggets of knowledge:
But this is the best tweet (still pinned to his profile) of them all.
The thread that follows it exemplifies what the Doperati are all about. Here’s a snippet:
And that I’m glad to say is that. It wasn’t fun following Digger and the Doperati. It was infuriating and depressing. I became aware that I was starting to lose perspective. It would have been easy to start disagreeing with something just because Digger agreed with it. I could have become one of them. I’m also glad that I can stop retweeting myself.
So I just have one last thing:
Digger and the Twitter Doperati. Following any sport closely can be an emotional business for its fans. There can be highs but at times feelings of disappointment and anger will rise out of nowhere as you watch your football team lose a penalty shootout or you see an umpire makes a bad call against your favourite table tennis player.
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                                               Chapter 1.3                                              “First Contact”
My name is Matt Murdock, and I’m the son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock. My father was a boxer known more for taking a punch than laying men out. But, round after round, fight after fight, he stood up. If you managed to knock him to the mat, he always got back to his feet. Always. He wanted me to be so much more than he was, a life apart from pain and violence... But, despite everyone’s best efforts, I am my father’s son. And, right now, I’m boxing.
I don’t see him. I don’t see anything. But I feel the air move as he moves. I hear his breathing echo off the thick oak bar to my right and it tells me – a single breath – that his associate to my right has regained consciousness and is trying to get back on his feet. I have to end this before he gets up; can’t get flanked. Lucky enough, the way these smoker’s lungs rattle gives me a stereo view of the torso in front of me. I fade as he throws a stiff left, ducking and coming back up with a hard jab to his liver. His gasp as he leans forward is a spotlight for me, telling me exactly where my knee should go.
A stool rattles – Right Side Guy is up and readying a makeshift weapon. I smell the whiskey on his breath. I hear the crunch of my baton crushing his front teeth. I feel him crumple to the floor through the soles of my feet. I retrieve my baton from the thug’s face and turn my attention back to the man he was supposed to protect.
“You’re being very uncooperative, Mr. Maranzano.” His heart is a jackhammer. Rubber soles and fingernails burying deep into the filthy bar carpet as he backbeddles on hands and knees away from me, stammering.
“W-whatever it is th-th-that you want, wh-whatever you think I done, I-I –”
“The girl! Where’s the girl?!” I’m standing over him now, baton in hand. I hear drops of blood still falling from it, tapping against the floor like a metronome.  
“I don’t know what y-you’re t-talkin’ about, man!”
It doesn’t take the fact that I can hear his pulse quickening to tell me he’s lying, but the certainty of confirmation really helps ease my conscience when I fracture his right fibula with my baton. I wait until he stops screaming and threatening me before I get closer, on one knee, and and whisper my request once more.
I get my answer.
Midtown has changed over the years, but it’s still possible for a man in a red jumpsuit to skirt through alleys and fire escapes in broad daylight without causing too much commotion. If you know it well enough, at least. And you can see through walls.
Maranzano gave me a familiar name: Jonathan Fortunato. I’ve had more than one occasion to study his rap sheet. Age 43, he’s been actively involved in Maggia activity since he was at least 19. Quite a career. One would expect, with the earnings he’s banked and the years he’s served, he’d be quite respected among the Maggia families. Outside evidence seems to suggest a different story. Jonathan has expressed to multiple CI’s his frustration with his position. Feels like he’s been passed over, that he should be capo. Kids. Mortgage. Three cars. Drug habit. He’s acting reckless. Trying to push the families into a war.
And he’s not the only one who thinks bloodshed would be good for business. A dam is waiting to burst. I’ve been watching. Listening. Waiting for a tipping point; anyone can feel the pot boiling.
Then comes Jonathan. There will be war; this peace will break like a fever. Innocent people will die. But not the little girl Fortunato has kidnapped. Not this day. I can save her. And maybe I can push this war to another day. Give myself more time to prepare. 
Never enough.
Ace Service is a small, two-story garage that has rotated through the same fifteen vehicles for the past six months. Though they’ll do the occasional legitimate oil or tire change, the crew seems to spend half the day casually assembling vehicles, then tearing them down again and carefully cataloguing the parts for reassembly. It’s almost depressing how successful such lazy money laundering has been.
Today, though, things are different. One heartbeat in what sounds like a hallway, has to be.. fifteen feet to my left. I hear the rattle of a shotgun in his hands. There’s your time limit, Matt. Gotta be quick. 
Three heartbeats in the room beneath me. One much fainter than the others. A child’s heart has a higher pitch than a man’s, shining like a bell, and this one is racing in fear. I kneel and press my ears against the roof of the building; I can hear the feet of two large men creaking against the floor. They’re... standing at the window? Both of them? 
Damn it, they must have heard me. Moving like an old man, steps getting heavier every day. But I can’t pass up this chance; surprise is gone, have to go with pure speed, tying one end of my club to a drain and swinging in like a spider, catching them both on the chin with my feet. Takes the starch out of one of them — a piece of the glass from the window seems to have caught him in a particularly sensitive part of his face. There are silver linings to sightlessness; I only hear his description.
The other one is standing again by the time I get my footing. He’s fast, and my club is hanging useless in the window. I raise my forearms and duck my chin into them. As soon as he takes a swing, I’ll end this with a jab and get this girl home to her mobster parents.
Only he doesn’t swing. He’s got his hands up. He’s telling me, “No.” Using words like, “Please.” Trying to bargain with the Devil. Then he says, “Look.” The window, he says. He points with one hand, the other held up in defense. I hear bird calls. Cars. A couple arguing in the streets. Nothing. Weak distraction. I feint left, he flinches, and I come up with a convincing uppercut. He’ll only be asleep for a few moments. I hear the handle on the door to the hallway rattle; gotta move.
I grab the girl like a football in my arms; she fights me. Terrified. We hop out the shattered window, me grabbing my club with my free hand and kicking against the the brick wall until we get to the fire escape.
My lungs are on fire. Fighting these men, running across town... I have to rest. I tell the girl she’s safe, that I won’t hurt her, but she’s still terrified. Screaming at me.
“Look! Don’t you see?”
I don’t. But I hear her clothes rustle as she points into the sky. In the same direction as the man before, the one just gaining consciousness in the room next to us.
“Don’t you see the monster?”
I don’t -- what could -- but then I hear something; like lightning, but so much louder. The sound crackled and rolled over everything, my every sense, like a blinding shadow. A pressure wave hit me like a bomb had gone off. But, how loud it was, echoing against the glass and concrete and brick, how it hit me like a sledgehammer, how it buzzed and crackled, what the hell was it?
I remember my head being on the ground. The smell of vomit. I remember wondering if I was dying. If someone had finally... And I remember, more than anything, reaching for the girl. Trying to get to her. To save her. 
I remember failing.
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bitsy83 · 7 years
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Sing 2 - Duets
(Just the first chapter of my fan-sequel to my new favorite movie. I just hope I can get this posting down ok.)  
Chapter 1 - A New Day
“I remember when I was a kid, my dad always told me to never let failure stop you from achieving your goals. After all, if all roads to success were easy, then everyone would be a winner. And you have to know how to lose in order to know what winning is really all about.
“Less than a year ago, I was an optimistic, but struggling, theater producer who barely had two pennies to rub together. My shows were failing, money was practically nonexistent, and I had more death threats than an Internet troll. My best pal, Eddie, told me time and again to just give up and let the theater go so I could move on to bigger and better things. What he didn’t realize was this was my bigger and better thing and I wasn’t letting it go for anybody. So, in a last ditch effort, I decided to do the one thing I knew would pack my theater to the brim: a singing competition! I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say this was both the greatest idea I ever had and the biggest mistake I ever made. I may have stretched the truth here and there about the prize money and maybe have put a bit too much pressure on my contestants and myself, which eventually led to the collapse - both figuratively and literally - of my beloved theater.
“I was a failure. A washed-up clown. A loose cannon, I believe someone stated. I had hit rock bottom, which meant one thing: the only place left I had to go…was up. But I didn’t do it alone…
“While I still had Eddie and dear Ms. Crawley in my corner, the competition introduced me a lively group of characters I would later on call my friends and close knit theater family. Johnny, Rosita, Gunter, Ash, Meena, and Mike. (Well, Mike when he wasn’t avoiding the loan sharks and killer Russian bears).  With their help, I was able to not only put on a fantastic show, but my theater was restored to its former glory, thanks to the illustrious Nana Noodleman.
“I swear, I’ve never seen this place so popular, not even when I was a kid! Obviously, I had to make some changes if I was able to make this second chance last.  Dear Mrs. Noodleman oversees the productions and gives insight on what should and should not be performed. We still put on various plays and concerts, but we’ve even gotten requests to use the stage as a wedding venue and other private events.  This is always good for a little extra spending money for any future shows we have, especially for my little theater family.  They still put on their shows and even help out backstage when their talents are not required onstage.
“For example, Rosita has offered to help out with prop and set design.  I guess when you are raising twenty-five children and one husband, organization and good imagination just come naturally to you.  Gunter has offered to be our official choreographer.  He’s an excellent teacher, though sometimes his students get a bit embarrassed when he breaks out the sequenced leotards.  While Meena has finally gotten over her stage fright and does occasionally perform, she happened to take quite a shine to working as a stagehand.  She’s hoping that it’ll help beef up her college resumes.  Poor girl’s been stressing herself out in getting into a good school so she can major in music and maybe even theater (a girl after my own heart).  
“Our up-and-coming rock star, Ash, has set an all-time record for rebounding after her ugly breakup with what’s-his-name.  Not only has she written countless new songs since her first solo performance, she reunited a few old schoolmates of hers and started a new band: Nature’s Rejects. (Not my first choice for a band name, but what can you do?)  This girl’s been getting gigs all over the city and has become a local celebrity.
“Last, but not least, Johnny.  I knew the second I looked at him that this kid was going to be a whiz on the piano and I was right.  He still gets lessons from Ms. Crawley, but he’s such a pro now that I think he only does it to have access to a piano.  Hearing him sing while tickling the ebony and ivory just melts your heart.
“The hands of fate has given me a new beginning. I may have taken a final bow at my old theater, but this revival will live on for generations to come! Or my name isn’t Buster…”
A knock on the door interrupted Buster’s monologue. “Good morning, Mr. Moon,” said Ms. Crawley as she shuffled into his office, holding a cup of coffee.
“Hold that thought, Ms. Crawley,” said Buster and quickly went to his camera tripod, turning off the recording button. “Looks like my auto-documentary will have to be put on hold. So, what is on the agenda today?”
“Well, let’s see…” With a shaky hand, Ms. Crawley pulled out her notepad. “Meena and Eddie will be working on the new sound system and lighting fixtures we ordered. Johnny will be in for his usual piano lesson. Oh, and Ash and her little friends will be using rehearsal room A for practice until about one, and then we start rehearsals for the new play. Rosita will be here early to help with the set design.”
“Excellent!” said Buster, sipping his coffee. “Just like a well-oiled machine.” He walked over to his window, taking a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a good day, Ms. Crawley. And there will be plenty more to come after that!”
***
“Honey, have you seen my car keys?” asked Norman as he was wiping Casper’s face with a paper towel.
“Coat pocket,” said Rosita, pulling an action figure out of Hannah’s mouth. “Ok, where did I put my binder?”
“On the counter near the coffeemaker.”
It was just another chaotic morning at the breakfast nook for Rosita and family, though the morning routine has had some upgrades. Ever since Rosita performed her song with Gunter, Norman saw her in a whole new light. After a long, heartfelt talk, he realized that he had been taking his wife for granted and should have been helping her with the kids as well as her new job at Moon theater. So now, Norman gets up with Rosita and together they help the kids get ready for school and getting their own schedules on track. Rosita was never one to complain, but she was so happy to finally get a little extra help in the morning as well as around the house. Although they still kept up her strange contraption to get the kids out of bed and do the cleaning while they were both at work.
So, after giving the kids their backpacks (Rosita did the girls while Norman got the boys) and sending them on their way, Norman and Rosita took a moment to fix each other up.
“Bye Norman,” said Rosita, straightening his tie.
“Bye bye, Rosita,” said Norman, handing her her purse. “Tell Gunter I said…what’s hello in German again?”
“Guten Tag. And I will.” Rosita chuckled and gave her husband a loving kiss. “See you tonight, honey. Have a great day at work.”
With that, Norman went to the car while Rosita hummed down the street in the opposite direction. It was gonna be a good day; she could feel it.
*** Meena hummed to herself as she was preparing the pancake batter. Since she was plugged into her tunes, she didn’t hear her grandfather come up behind her, trying to steal a few extra chocolate chips. His attempt was thwarted thanks to Meena’s mother smacking his trunk.
“No dad,” she scolded. “You remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure: cut back on the sweets!”
Grandpa just harrumphed and went to sit down at the breakfast table. “I still think I need a second opinion. That doc’s a quack.”
“He’s a duck, dad…”
“So I got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he continued. “I’ve been eating like that since I was Meena’s age and I still made star quarterback on the college football team.”
“Well, you’re not her age now, so you’re gonna have to follow doctor’s orders. Besides, I made you a nice bowl of oatmeal instead.”
“I can make something else,” said Meena, who had taken off her headphones.
But her mother shook her head. “You finish up on the pancakes, sweetie. You know how you grandma loves them. Speaking of which, I better go see if she’s having trouble finding her glasses again.”
After placing the bowl of oatmeal in front of her disgruntled father, Meena’s mom left the kitchen to head upstairs. Once the coast was clear, Meena picked up the bowl of chips and went over to the table. She held a finger to her lips and sprinkled a few chips on his oatmeal. Grandpa chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
“Mom does have a point though,” she said. “I don’t want you getting sick.”
Grandpa laughed as he took a bite of his breakfast. “Aw, I’m as fit as a fiddle, Meena. Don’t you worry about me. Or should I say ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout a thiiiing!”
Meena giggled. “Very cute, Grandpa.” She gave him a small kiss on his head, then went back to the stove.
“That reminds me, baby girl. Did you ever hear back from that dream school of yours?”
“Lincoln?” Meena shook her head. “No, not yet. Although I’m starting to wonder if I still have a shot…”
“Of course you do! So the other schools you applied for turned you down. So what? If they had half a brain, they’d have taken you in a heartbeat! Once you become a world-famous singer, they’ll be kicking themselves to their graves.”
Meena rolled her eyes. Once again, her grandfather was promoting her as a superstar singer. “Grandpa, I know you want me to make it big, but I want to do more with my life than just sing. I wanna learn everything I can about music. The history, the styles, the impact it has on different cultures. And thanks to Mr. Moon, now I’m kinda interesting in theater production.”
Grandpa coughed. “You mean, you’d rather go back behind the curtain again? I thought you were over your stage fright.”
“I am!” she said, placing the fresh batch of pancakes on the table. “I just want something to fall back on, that’s all. I can’t put all my eggs in one basket.”
Shaking his head in both admiration and frustration, Grandpa took another bite of his oatmeal. “Well, I can’t argue with your logic, baby girl. Just don’t deny the world your gift, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Who says I only have one gift to give?”
Grandpa laughed. “That’s true, that’s true. Nice to finally see some backbone growing outta you. Make me some coffee, baby. I’m gonna get the paper.”
***
Ash grumbled as she dragged her feet to the kitchen. She hated mornings, whether they be the crack of dawn or eleven o’clock. She was strictly an afternoon, evening, and night kind of girl.  She was about to start the coffee when she saw a cup for her was already made. Ash smirked and reached for the creamer. “Thank you, Olive,” she said over her shoulder.
Ever since her breakup with Lance, Ash wasted no time in moving forward as much as possible. One step forward including patching things up with her old friend, Olive; a raccoon Ash knew back from the third grade. Olive was loyal and friendly, though gifted with a sarcastic wit that she wasn’t afraid to unleash. They had been very close in the past, but once Ash started dating Lance during their junior year in high school, their friendship faltered.  Once the breakup happened, Ash contacted Olive again and the two of them were finally able to talk things over.  Everything connected to Lance (including music posters, clothing, old CDs, and his weird collection of bottle caps) was successfully removed from the apartment, Olive moved in and they got along swimmingly.
Olive chuckled as she sat at the table with the morning paper. “Figured it was either that or break out the air horn. How is it that I’m a nocturnal animal and still get up before you do?”
“You got messed up DNA?” said Ash. “So, anything about zombies in the paper?”
Olive shook her head. “Not yet, though apparently a piece of sand covered in oyster mucus is touring the country.”
Ash looked over Olive’s shoulder to see what she was referring to. The front page of the paper said Priceless 600 Year-Old Pearl To Be Displayed at City Museum. Below the headline, a picture of a large white orb was displayed on a velvet pillow in glass box. Ash let out a low whistle. “Wow, imagine having that on your eBay page.”
“Seriously. Hey, we rehearsing at the theater today?”
Ash’s second step forward was working on her music career and Olive was just the boost she needed. Olive was already great at the bass and was friends with a drummer named Brandy: a sweet, bubbly teenage skunk who was addicted to all forms of social media.  This actually wasn’t a bad thing since Brandy was in charge of the band’s Facebook page and Twitter account.  
“Yup,” said Ash as she downed the rest of her coffee. “Be sure to text Brandy.  I don’t want her missing the warm-up again.”
“Don’t worry; she’ll be there,” said Olive, wiping her glasses on the corner of shirt. Especially if she wants to see Johnny…
***
“Thirty-six…thirty-seven…thirty-eight…”
Johnny blinked away the sweat in his eyes as he finished up another set of curl-ups while hanging upside down.  He kept catching glimpses of the news broadcast during his sets.  
“The pearl will be displayed at the Cornea Museum for exactly one month before continuing its global tour,” said the cat announcer. “The pearl has been in the Mundabi family for nearly ten generations and is part of a very important tradition.  Whenever the current owner of the pearl passes away, the pearl must make a global voyage to various cities in the world before being handed down to the next heir. The pearl is said to be worth over five-billion dollars in American currency. Mayor Olsen has promised the Mundabi family that the pearl will have only the best security protecting it. Mr.  Mundabi almost rejected the city of Cornea after learning about the botched gold heist that took place last year.  The culprit was none other than Marcus “Big Daddy” Greystone, who is still currently serving time…”
Johnny turned off the TV and sighed heavily. He hated it when the news brought up his dad’s gang. Sure, his dad was a criminal, but he only stole money. He had never broken into homes or stolen personal items, even if the item in question was beyond priceless.
Thinking of his father led Johnny over to the collection of pictures he had sitting on the makeshift shelf in his room. All the pics were of happier times when he still lived in England and before his father had become “Big Daddy Greystone.” Most of all, it was when he still had his mother. His eyes fell upon his favorite photo of her.  Unlike Johnny and his dad, his mother was brown-furred gorillia.  She had a kind face and hazel eyes that always eased Johnny’s heart.  In the photo, she was wearing her favorite pink sweater and was holding Johnny when he was a toddler.  The young ape in the picture wouldn’t look at the camera, but kept his eyes on his mother, who returned the gaze with a beautiful smile on her face.  But what Johnny remembered the most was her voice.  Her passion for singing matched his own.  Every night before bed, he would sit on his father’s lap while she played the piano and sung him a lullaby, her melodious voice lulling him to dreamland. She was the exact opposite of his dad: kind, gentle, soft-spoken. She really brought a sense of balance to their family, until…
Johnny shook away the memory. Don’t think of that now, Johnny thought to himself.  He then looked over at the picture of him and his dad.  He must have only been about three or four and was propped on his dad’s shoulder, smiling and waving to the camera.  His dad had a large smile on his face as he looked up at his son, every bit of him shining with pride.  Next to the photo was the newspaper article of his father getting arrested, complete with mugshot.  It was like they were two different apes.  The news would always see his father as a notorious, heartless criminal who didn’t deserve a second chance.  But to Johnny, he’d always be his dad.  
Johnny picked up a marker and scratched another day off the calendar.  “Almost there, dad.”  Flipping ahead, he saw that there were only six months left before his father’s parole.  The prison visits had been helping him cope with the absence.  It was the first time he and his dad actually sat down and really spoke to each other as father and son and not gang leader and henchman.  Marcus promised Johnny, over and over, that things would be different once he got out.  Johnny believed him, but was still worried.  He knew that having a criminal record meant it’d be difficult to get a job.  Still, he couldn’t afford to give up hope.  
Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was time for him to get cleaned up and head to the theater.  After a quick shower and breakfast, Johnny grabbed his skateboard and locked up the garage.  
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tenalv-blog · 7 years
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“ i said that !! the problem is i said it with mexican accent, again !  ” 
I THOUGHT I WOULD BE BRIEF BUT I GOT TOO INTO THIS AND WENT OVERBOARD !! casually ignoring that..... i’m k8 and this is basically a far too long rundown of antisocial’s babysitter tenoch alverado ! honestly if you’re lazy like i am just like this post for plots and i’ll message u with an abridged version of teno’s entire life story, lmao. anyway............
[ diego luna, cis male ] - did you know tenoch alverado is back in town ? i’ve heard that the thirty four year old has been gone for seven years and used to be known as the taciturn. now people call them the apotropaic but they’re still old-fashioned and giving as usual. right now they’re busy as a touring security guard and technician for antisocial but i hope we have time to catch up !
in the BEGINNING...
firstly if u recognise his name then yes i did name him after diego’s character in y tu mama tambien bc i’m VERY subtle
tenoch is a big pile of mussed hair and big smiles born and raised mexico with his ma !
he didn’t really know his dad; his parents divorced before he was born so it was mostly just him and his mom in mexico, whilst his dad lived somewhere across the border in america.
he never met him, nor did he visit, but honestly he wouldn’t blame him - he and his mom were attached at the hip, and sometimes even he was scared to walk down the street alone in his own hometown.
but no hard feelings ! he wasn’t really bothered by it, and it wasn’t like his dad was some horrible criminal that his mom had to break up with, and he’d send monthly childcare checks to help ( which his ma taught him to be grateful for, despite not really knowing the guy ), so it really wasn’t too bad !
and to make up for it, he and his mom were just closer than ever !! they were all each other had, so tenoch was always helping her around the house and even working after school to make some extra money, how pure
there was some kind of dissonance though. tenoch didn’t know what it was but he could feel it. like their humble, half broken but functional home felt a little too empty, how he never seemed to hold a friend, the pit in his stomach when police just strolled around his hometown, he grew up with a certain unsettlement - broken house broken home, he was always waiting for something worse to happen.
and he figured out from a young age that the best way to deal with that was to tread lightly - having acquaintances, not friends, playing football but never joining the team - he became the polite little boy next door that everyone liked, but didn’t seem to actually know that much about.
maybe when he’s older and he’s looking back on his childhood he’d realise it was stupid of him not to put himself out there, but he never got a chance to do that, because the dissonance ?? it’s here.
( TW; DEATH ) he’s fifteen when the police show up on his door to tell him that his mom’s been killed. he honestly can’t remember how - his brain has blocked the memory out, and he has absolutely no interest in trying to read between the lines of a death certificate, shoved somewhere deep below custody papers and junk mail - but he’s displaced.
and then he meets his father for the first time.
he remembers very clearly what it was like sleeping with child protective services, but even more so the first time he meets his father at the airport, his hand motioning him towards the gate, ready to take him to his so called home. 
putting a hispanic kid in the middle of rural white america in a suburban house, mind you with a living room the size of his entire home in mexico, never worked out well. his polite resolve was breaking, but nothing made him want to keep the façade up than the sterile politeness of his own father ( maybe that’s where he got it from ).
so he kinda started switching ?? it was hard when he barely spoke english, but he chose his moods inside and outside the house, brooding and shy at his high school and keeping up with polite appearances at the dinner table.
the only way he could let himself breathe and fuck about, expelling his pent up frustration and grief through a multitude of spanish curses, was to drive out of his town somewhere remote at night and sleep in his secondhand van out by a lake or the woods.
it’s just a wash and dry cycle of the above with some underaged drinking and smoking inbetween that pulls him through high school. he graduates with an average gpa, but he knows immediately that he doesn’t want to go to college - his english keeps him afloat in social situations but he wouldn’t let himself be put through the wringer again, especially when he knew he could just get a job immediately. that had always been the plan before his dad swooped in with the money, so why change ?
maybe his dad had a change of heart ever since he got remarried, but he was actually okay with it - their problem didn’t seem to be a hatred or regret, but rather an awkward unknowing of what to say, what to do. so he let tenoch take the van anywhere, so long as he got a job and called every once in a while.
and he actually does alright ! with all his time alone with the van and being the stereotypical shy kid as part of the theater techies crew, he bounces around various handyman, janitorial, repairman jobs, because to be quite honest - outside of every boy’s dream to be a footballer, tenoch didn’t have anything after that. but he makes his own fun - his mom’s optimism had always stayed in his psyche; it’d just been buried throughout his stay with his dad, and soon the old, friendly tenoch comes back !!
and then came ANTISOCIAL...
tenoch is on one of his regular cathartic drives when he stumbles upon a group of rapscallions on the side of the road with their thumbs out, and honestly ?? with a big van like his, he absolutely had to stop 
he drives them back to the city, and through a lot of explanation, he learns that they’re musicians in a band and they’re playing a proper concert where he lived !!
tenoch didn’t know muchabout music ( re: absolutely anything ) , but he went to the show anyway to make the guys feel welcome, standing at the back of the crowd with a beer in his hand, nodding his head to the music, clapping them on the back afterwards, buying them drinks - just being a big ol’ cheese ball
they end up staying at his apartment, and as he runs to buy extra pillows and blankets, he comes back to find that they want him to tour with them ?? 
and he, for once in his life, says fuck it !! it’s a paying job, he gets to travel, feel young, and maybe find a reason to embrace america, why the fuck not !?
his job jumps around from place to place - he starts off as a driver, until the band got big enough to have an actual tour bus that tenoch had absolutely no idea how to drive, but to keep him on tour river started insisting he was a bodyguard ?? has river seen his scrawny ass body ??
tenoch being stubborn as hell wasn’t going to get paid for a fake job, so he started helping with stage setup and putting those rusty high school theater crew skills to use and started training as a lighting technician, so take that, river
and thus dubbed him the proud mom and ‘ adult ’ voice of reason in the band, watching them grow and helping them with ( or get out of, most of the time ) various unthinkable shenanigans, and it is then that he, for once since he ever crossed the border, felt at home.
back at ASTON...
whenever tour drops off and the band’s recording, tenoch becomes a hobo basically, and goes back to janitorial work just to keep his hands busy. it sounds shit, but he actually likes fixing things and meeting clueless elderly who don’t know how to work their television?? he’s that kinda dreamy maintenance guy. except for those racist grandmas - they can go fuck right off
so right now, he’s just kinda bouncing around and working as a door to door repairman whenever river doesn’t drag him out of his apartment to go accompany him to concerts or something  “ i’m not your fuckin’ bodyguard, river ! ”
he’s also absolutely ecstatic about being a beach town. he loves the beach guys.... he’d totally be a surfer dude if he could surf, so he’s got a permanent tan and burnt nose
so really he’s just chillin’ ! just being a mom to four lil rebels in a band and happily fixing your leaky faucet, so he’s on the up and up !
and that’s finally it !! in terms of potential connections i don’t have anything particular in mind apart from the occasional client ( sounds scandalous, in reality he’s just unclogging your toilet ) or drunken hookup, so if you want just like this post and i’ll message you to talk plots or any other ideas you may have, but that’s it !! 
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missjugheadjones · 7 years
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Jealousy Pt2
Word Count: 1960
    A/N: ahhh so much angst. I'm so sorry! But I will have part 3 up soon if you all are interested! also if you guys want to send me requests for fics i would be happy to write some of them! anyways, enjoy!
    "Just tell her how you feel, she obviously is confused on what to do because she's in love with you." Archie reasoned.
    "Maybe you're right."
                           ______
    "Y/N wait up!" Betty called, chasing down her friend in the lot of the diner. "Please talk to me!" Y/N turned around, and Betty could see tears stinging in her y/e/c eyes.
    "What if I don't want to talk?" Y/N said sternly, trying not to let her real emotions come through in her voice. She crossed her arms across her chest, and stood straight.
    "Well you're going to have to talk to me, something is wrong and I want to know." Betty said, crossing her arms as well. "I know I'm not your bestest friend, but I'd like to think we're quite close." Y/N shifted on her feet, and stared down at the ground.
    "I think we're close friends too, even best." she said, barely a whisper. Her voice caught in her throat again, and Betty gave a sweet smile. She walked towards Y/N and put her hand on her shoulder.
    "Well I don't know about that, I think that title is Jugheads, you know when he's not being an ass." Betty teased but Y/N didn't laugh. Instead a choked back cry came out, and Betty wrapped her arms around Y/N.
    "I don't understand." Y/N cried in Betty's shoulder. "I thought he maybe liked me back, I thought if I told him about Reggie he'd-" Y/N shut her mouth, not quite sure if she was ready to tell Betty everything, especially not in a parking lot. Betty pulled back and brushed Y/Ns y/h/c hair out of her face.
    "You like Jughead?" she asked, smiling. Y/N rolled her eyes and gave a breathy laugh, wiping tears from under her eyes.
    "Well, more like I think I've fallen head over heels for him, not that it matters, he obviously doesn't feel the same way." Y/N said, forcing a smile. Betty opened her mouth to argue, but before she could Jughead flew out of the diners front door, and he frantically looked around for Y/N. Archie came through the door next, and immediately spotted Betty and Y/N. Y/N straightened herself out and walked towards Archie.
    "Hey, you alright?" Archie asked, and Jughead turned to them. He ran over to Y/N, but she refused to look at him.
    "Y/N, can we talk?" Jughead asked, but she ignored him.
    "Hey Archie, can you give me a ride? My phone died and I need to text Reggie back before it's too late." she said. Archie and Betty looked at Y/N shocked, and then turned their attention to Jughead. He looked heartbroken, but quickly his face shifted so it looked hard, neutral. Archie gave a small smile.
    "Yeah, sure it will give us some time to talk about a few things." he said. Archie started for his car, and Y/N turned to wave goodbye to Betty, and then she turned her attention to Jughead.
    "Goodnight Juggie." she said. He ignored her and stared at the ground. Y/N decided to pull one last thing, hoping to get some reaction out of Jughead. Something to prove to her that her feelings for him weren't just a waste of time. She stood on her tip toes, and planted a kiss to his cheek. She pulled back and watched him, but he showed no reaction. Y/N felt her heart break, and she slowly made her way to Archie's car. Once she was in Archie's car, Betty walked over to Jughead and punched him on the arm.
    "What the hell Jughead!" Betty yelled. Jughead turned to Betty, and she watched as he touched his cheek. "Why didn't you say anything?" Betty asked.
    "What's the point? She doesn't love me back, she's going to go out with Reggie!" he yelled. "And you know what? Good for her! I don't deserve her anyways! She's got the whole football team placing bets on her, I walk through the halls with her and every guy and even girls just stare. How can I compete with all of them? I'm just weird, loner Jughead Jones! I don't even deserve to be her best friend, let alone boyfriend!" Jughead gave a frustrated sigh, and Betty watched as he reached up to touch his cheek again, and a tear rolled down his face.
    "You know your wrong, right?" Betty said, stepping towards Jughead. He quickly wiped tears off his face and looked up at Betty.
    "I'm never wrong." He said, and Betty rolled her eyes.
    "Well you were this time. Right before you came out here, Y/N told me she was in fact in love with you. She is just so convinced that you don't feel the same that I think she's trying to get over it."
    "Maybe she should." Jughead whispered.
    "Jughead, she's trying so hard to find a reason not to. Why do you think she kissed your cheek, it was her giving one last attempt at getting a flirtatious or loving reaction. Something to tell her you care for her like that." Betty said, grabbing his shoulders. Jugheads heart sank at the realization that Betty was right. He really messed up this time, and he didn't know if he could fix it.
                            ______
    "I'm such an idiot." Y/N mumbled, leaning her head in her hands. Archie started the car and looked over to Y/N. Her y/h/c hair hung over to one side, and he could see the pain on her face. It hurt him that she felt like this, and that it was all Jugheads fault. Archie never admitted it to anyone, but he had been crushing on Y/N for awhile. But she was so head over heels for Jughead he never made any moves. It hurt him too that Reggie had gone after her before he did, and he wanted to respect the deal him and his football buddies made, and he didn't want to screw over Jughead because he knew he was in love with her too. But maybe he could help her, make her less heartbroken. He had to at least give it a shot.
    "You alright?" he asked tenderly. Y/N turned her head, and looked over to Archie. He could see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and he felt his chest tighten. Y/N shook her head slowly, and he watched as a tear fell down her face. He quickly pulled out of the parking lot, trying to distance Y/N from Jughead. She started to full on cry, and he let her, occasionally mumbling things like "I know, it sucks and I'm sorry." And "it's going to be okay, I promise." It only took a few minutes to get to Y/Ns apartment. Y/N lived alone, emancipated from her parents, and somehow made enough money to afford a small one bedroom one bathroom apartment for herself.
    "I'll walk you upstairs." he said, jumping out of his car and rushing over to open Y/Ns door. She slowly dragged herself out of the car, and made her way up the stairs to her door. She unlocked the door, and let her and Archie in. Archie closed the door behind him, and Y/N sat herself down on a small couch. "I don't think I've ever been in your apartment." Archie said looking around.
    "Well, welcome to my home." she gave a sarcastic laugh, but Archie could hear the sadness in her voice. "I think the only one who has been here is Jughead, he lives with me from time to time." she said, and sighed. Archie nodded his head. It was a pretty nice apartment for being so small.
    She had a small couch, facing a tv that was old but not too old. It was functional at least. She had Christmas lights up around the entire small apartment, with small Polaroid pictures she had taken of her, and her friends, and the outdoors. He walked over to the pictures, and looked at them. There were a lot of her and Jughead, and when he looked further he found some of him, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin.
    "I didn't know you had these hanging up." Archie said, admiring them. He found one of Y/N and him, his team had just won the first football game she had ever been too, and she begged him to take a picture with her. He had taken her phone out of her hands and opened the camera, but she quickly stole it back and pulled a small Polaroid out of her bag.
    "Nope, we're gonna use this!" she beamed. She took the picture, and another, and soon enough, Betty, Jughead, Veronica and Kevin joined in. Even Cheryl at some point, which was weird, but she was going through her brothers death so no one opposed. He looked around the wall and found all the pictures from that night. Everyone looked happy to be in each other's presence, even Cheryl. It looked as if they had all known eachother for years.
    "These are some of my favourites." Y/N said, and Archie quickly turned to face her. He hadn't even noticed she had gotten off the couch and was by him. Her face was plastered with a smile, and her eyes glowed with joy. She took a picture of her and Archie off the wall and handed it to him.
    "What are you doing?" he asked, turning the photo in his hand.
    "You seemed to like that one, so you can have it." she smiled up at him.
    "I can't take this from you. It's yours, they mean something special to you." he tried handing the photo back, but she refused to take it.
    "You're right, they are very special to me. I try to forget life before Riverdale, I act as if it doesnt exist. I wasn't in the greatest of situations and these remind me how far I've come. They're the memories I want to remember. But as you can see, we took a lot of pictures that night, in fact, I see 4 others that are just of me and you. So you can take that one, I promise it will be alright." Archie smiled at her and looked down at the picture.
    "You sure?" he asked.
    "100%." Archie looked up at Y/N again, and they locked eyes. "Thank you for being there for me Archie. I appreciate you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." she whispered.
    "Always." he said, grabbing her hand. Archie couldn't stop himself when he started leaning in, and he glanced to Y/Ns lips back to her eyes. Y/N started leaning too, and she closed her eyes. Before their lips met though, Archie's phone went off. The two of them jumped and quickly separated. Archie pulled out his phone, and saw a text from Jughead.
    "Someone text you?" Y/N asked.
    "Yeah, Jughead." he said, and he watched as her face fell. He opened the text, and sighed.
    "What does it say?" she asked quietly.
    "Please tell me Y/N is okay. I really messed up with her and I can't stand the thought that I hurt her. I love her Archie, and I think I'm ready to admit it." Archie read the text out loud, and Y/N backed up to the couch slowly.
    "He...he what?" she whispered. Archie's heart fell, how could he give her up after tonight. She obviously felt something, why else would she almost kiss him. Or was it out of desperation? Only time would tell.
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sinclaiir-blog1 · 7 years
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adjokdasdms hello !! i’m your friendly neighbourhood lucy, and this beautiful small bean is tessa. in case you can’t tell, i suck at introducing myself, but i am going to try my diddly-darn best. click under the cut to hear me ramble some more, so i don’t jumble your dash with my 3am definitely-not-diet soda fuelled zeal !
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potential TW; child abuse, physical & emotional abuse, death.
so, you’ve made it this far! as i’ve probably said like three times already, i’m lucy, gmt, and i go by she/her pronouns. i’m also small & need friends ok. but enough about me, and more about the potential love of my life, tessa sinclair. be warned, it is the early a.m and my brain feels like an unfortunately mushy bowl of scrambled eggs, so bear with me ! 
before:
okay, let’s go from the very start. thea’s the youngest of a set of twins by two minutes, born at 00:01, february 29th 1996 in harlem, nyc. unfortunate. her mom was a french exchange student who fell in love with her dad during college, and somehow managed to stay in love.
as a kid, it’s safe to say tessa took after her mother. a soft, small bundle of a child, she was infatuated with books and football and the ocean, which she’d never seen. a weird combination, but her favourite. her twin brother also claimed he took after their mom, and they all agreed anyway — mostly because neither of them wanted to resemble their father.
he took his frustrations out on his wife and kids. after drinking, after losing a bet, after her mother forgot to make dinner. nora sinclair tried to shield the two children, but it was never enough. 
even when tessa ran her fingers over the bruises & winced at the pressure, her mother still defended her father, no matter what. it was from her mother that she learned to be quiet & meek & forgiving, but learned to be thunderous & angry & wild from her father. she always ignored the latter part of herself, but some sneaking part of her always knew that she still shared the same amount of genes with both of them.
this is the part where i fell asleep last night at like 3:30am sry
so it’s same to say life was .. not the best. despite her father’s angry words & quick fists, they stayed with him. he never changed. they weren’t the most well off, but they got by. tessa & her brother started school, and it was a godsend, because maybe if they away from the house for seven hours a day, he’d hate them less.
school was her favourite part of growing up. she was always a smart little girl & flourished there. she spoke english & french fluently, thanks to her mom, and that was her biggest party trick. she laughed a lot & had plenty of friends, but she passed the bruises off as clumsiness & never invited friends back home. still, no one cared enough to question past that.
when she was thirteen, her mom passed away. freak car accident. two days later, her father drank himself to death. suddenly, their family was a lot smaller.
TLDR: younger of twins. bubbly child. an abusive father and a meek mother. orphan by thirteen.
during:
so, tessa and her brother were put into the foster system. no one wanted a set of awkward thirteen year olds. if anything, tessa was just glad they were together. a lot of siblings didn’t even have that.
the bubbly little girl became a lot more reclusive. she turned to books, whilst her brother turned to crime. she’d help him, occasionally; not because she enjoyed breaking the law, but because with her brain & his brawn, they could probably do just about anything.
they spent five years moving from foster home to foster home. he was a juvenile delinquent, and she wouldn’t stay anywhere he wasn’t. however, by the time they were eighteen, they could finally get out of that place.
cue chicago. theo started working odd jobs, a mechanic, a cashier, a pizza delivery guy. their mom had left them some money; not much, but enough to get by. tessa started community college, majoring in english and teaching, and it was there that she met finn.
they fell wildly in love. he was a year or two older, an english student, and the most perfect man she could ever have dreamed up. he was tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and all-american — with a smooth demeanour and a knack for saying all the right things. he helped her to laugh more again, to say hi to strangers on the street, to walk by the lakeside & read romantic poetry. they danced together & he never minded when she stood on his feet. one night, laying in bed together in the dark, she told him about her mother, her father, her life until now. he was quiet for a moment, but whenever he pulled her into his arms, she felt safe. he rescued her.
after six months, they moved in together. life was beautiful. she continued her studies while he started his first proper full-time job. they adopted a kitten together, went for long walks and exotic vacations with his daddy’s credit card, wrote poetry about each other. everything was fine, at first. they were still the same people they’d always been. tessa and finn, tessa and finn, tessa and finn. she used to repeat their names like a mantra. it took a year for things to change.
he began to act more moody and domineering, in a fearsome mood when he came home. sometimes he was drunk. most of the time he was sober. he’d accuse her of cheating on him while he was at work, he’d curse and yell and smash bottles, eyes fierce with something terrifying. but immediately, he’d begin to plead. i’m sorry, i love you. i’m stressed. i’m tired. i don’t know what i’m doing. i need you.
it started with emotional abuse. belittling, swearing, bringing up every little mistake she’d told him in complete trust. but soon, he began using physical violence to try and break her spirit. his fists connected with her jaw, her lips, her neck. bruises laced her shoulders and arms, stomach too. soon, she was an expert at covering the purple blemishes with makeup.
she thought maybe if she loved him enough, he’d change. her mother had always taught her that love was unconditional. love never gave up. no matter what. so she stayed. she’d console him after an argument; arms wrapped around him, ignoring the split lip or the black eye, as he cried into her shoulders. he’d show up at home the next day with flowers and a stack of books, lips sweet with the taste of apologies and lies. it never changed.
one day, she left him. they’d had a big fight; it was about something stupid, but as his anger escalated, he began to shove her around. he pinned her by her neck against their wall, smashing an empty beer bottle against the table and holding the shattered glass up to her face. she cried and begged, but he had entirely snapped. he left her deaf in one ear, and with a nasty scar along her jawline. something similarly snapped inside of her. she couldn’t stay here any longer.
TLDR: started community college, and met the man of her dreams. her prince charming quickly turned into the beast. finally left him after a vicious argument. she’s finally realised what a monster he is. still petrified, but no longer in love.
after:
while he was at work the next day, she grabbed anything she could shove into her old camping backpack. she took any cash they had. he had control over her bank account, and so she left with not much else. 
in the days that passed, he called her phone hundreds of times. terrified he might find her, she turned it off. unable to go back home, she began to couch surf. she currently lives from place to place, laying low and trying to avoid all her old haunts.
her brother is currently in prison after a burglary gone wrong, otherwise, she’d have stayed with him. she hasn’t told him about it yet because she knows that if she does, when he gets out, he’ll kill her ex.
she tried to transform herself. she’s become a lot more guarded & cautious, wary of everyone and everything. she can’t go back to her old job, so she took up a new one; underground fighting. despite her kind nature & wiry frame, she’s a force to be reckoned with. she’s from a family of ex-cons, after all, and she uses her elbows and knees like they’re knives. it’s become something of an outlet for all the emotions she never let herself show when she was with finn. the bruises she gets now are of her own choice.
she’s still soft & small. she still enjoys unfinished novels and chocolate milkshakes. she still sleeps with one foot out of the covers and still counts the tiles on the ceilings. but she’s gone through hell and come out stronger. she’s tougher & braver, and stands up for herself a lot more now. tessa hides the quiet little girl beneath a brash and bold woman .. she’s a giant freakin’ facade. she projects an aura of false confidence, of fake happiness and self-assurance, but the one thing she’s still terrified of is him. 
she suffers pretty bad insomnia & ptsd as a result of everything. panic attacks are another big problem. she’s lucky that they’re relatively infrequent, but when they do hit, they’re insufferable. 
she’s become the queen of appearance. she knows how to smile regardless of what just happened, and acts like everything is fine. there are still days that she apologises incessantly, cries at loud noises, or feels totally worthless and takes the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she still doesn’t let people see beyond the mask of total happiness.
the ~real her~ only really comes out in brief flashes. in the mellow morning sunshine when she’s tying up her hair, late at night when her glasses are slippin down her face and she’s reading bad poetry, when she’s just won a fight & the sweat is shining off her skin and she wears a triumphant grin. that’s tessa.
TLDR: left her abusive boyfriend three months ago. is currently homeless and couch-surfing. now works as an underground fighter. has transformed her entire personality. still terrified of her ex.
THE END. hope y’all enjoyed me writing a 500 page novel.
it got sUPER FUCKIN’ long, pals, sorry about that. i’ve never played her before so i’m just tryin to ~flesh everythin out~, ya feel? check out the TLDRs if u want a brief lil summary. i’m v. ready for this & please, feel free to like this and i’ll slide into ur IMs for plots & connections. here’s a few random wanted ones for shits & giggles.
best friends: tessa feels like the Worst friend bc she probably doesn’t tell them anything that’s actually going on. at some point, may probably break down & cry & tell them everything. give me some good wholesome friendships yes pls
someone who’s letting her crash at theirs: this could go so many ways ?? either they’re like lowkey annoyed bc tessa has been sleeping on their couch for like a week and given no explanation, or mb they’re starting to get worried about her ... u catch my drift. give me anything.
some kind of romance: idk how to label this one bc i Suck, but ??? whilst she still has trouble entirely trusting men, she misses feeling loved & safe, even if it’s only for a night. she’s v. closed off and distant but just .. give her some real luv. slow burn, friends to lovers, “i fucking hate your guts” to “ahdhj whoops maybe i don’t”. anything.
then u have ur basic connections ... 
exes from before finn, ended on good or bad terms.
childhood friends
good/bad influences
and so forth
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