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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Started With A Kiss

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | 10K

Summary: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

Warnings: protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Wrote this for my love Kira @flopim who’s been having a tough time lately. I hope this will cheer you up bb! ❤️

“I want you to make love to me.”

Standing there, still dressed in your bright pink pajamas with your hair resembling a bird’s nest, you can only blink once, twice, and several times more because surely, your ears are playing tricks on you. There’s no way that your best friend, the cutely annoying and annoyingly cute, Lee Haechan—the one who’s been practically glued to your skin like a conjoined twin of yours for the last two years—is asking you to make love to him.

Surely, this is not what you’d expected to see when you opened the door to your apartment, ready to bark at whoever it was who dared to disturb your beauty sleep (since it is seven in the morning on a Sunday), only to see him standing in his blue ripped jeans and black Michael Jackson shirt with his cheeks flushed, his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, brown eyes desperately begging for your attention.

And you’re most definitely sure that he’s not asking you to sleep with him when you still have drool on the corner of your mouth and a terrible morning breath (in your defense, you have brushed your teeth but that was, like, six hours ago).

But when seconds have passed and Haechan still looks like he badly needs to hear an answer, you have very little options but to ask, “You want me to do what to who now?”

Catching a sniff of your mighty dragon’s breath, he promptly takes a step back, scrunching his nose while frantically covering half of his face with the script he’s been holding. “Eew, God, what is that smell?” Ignoring your glare, he repeats his words, voice muffled by the papers. “I said, I want you to make love to me.”

“What—”

“Damn it, woman, just brush your teeth and let me in!”

When he’s stomping his feet while whining that loudly—loud enough for your fucking landlord to hear, along with everybody else in the building (including your cute neighbor, Jaehyun, oh dear God, no), he doesn’t give you any other choice but to invite him in, does he?

You step away from the door, flatly muttering, “Please, come in, why don’t you.” Haechan doesn’t waste any second waiting, making sure to run and stay as far away as possible from you so he won’t inhale the poisonous air that’s tainted with your breath again.

You roll your eyes. Dramatic little shit. But just to be on the safe side, you make your way to the bathroom.

***

The scalding hot shower you just took was comforting but not enough to wash your entire drowsiness away. You’re in dire need of your caffeine intake. “Would you like some coffee, my king?” You ask between a yawn, hands finding their way to the coffee jar on your kitchen counter.

Haechan throws his bag to the floor, body sinking into the comfort of your couch. “With milk, please.”

"I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” He throws one of those cheeky grins that you adore—no, wait, you hate—as he settles his legs on your coffee table. “Less sugar but more milk. I’m still growing.”

“Growing what, your balls?” You pour him a cup of coffee as requested, yes, because to balance his demonic behavior, you have to act like the perfect angel that you are. “Since you don’t have any?”

“You mean, like your boyfriend?” Haechan retorts before he gasps dramatically, his palm going to his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You hover above him from behind the couch, bringing two mugs filled with sizzling hot coffee. “Want to repeat that?” You tip your mug just a little bit until it nearly spills on his forehead.

Haechan winces, attempting to grin. “I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t ruin my face. It’s the only thing that’s good about me.”

“It surely is.”

“Yah, what does that mean?”

“Take it as a compliment.”

Sitting next to him, you sip your coffee and curse silently when the liquid burns your tongue. “Okay, so what about this ‘make love to me’ thing you said earlier? Please tell me it’s just a figure of speech or something.”

“I wish.” He drags his legs away from the table so he can lay his cup down because apparently, he means business. “Okay, I know you’re gonna kill me after you hear—”

“After? I’m about to kill you now, actually.” You scoff. “Don’t you remember what we’ve agreed on? You cannot bother me when I’m still too sleepy to smack you in the head, Haechannie.”

“When did we ever—” He stops. “Why are you going to smack me in the head?”

“‘Cause you’ll say something stupid.”

“Who says I’m gonna say something stupid?”

“You always say something stupid. You’re saying something stupid now!”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighs exasperatedly but when your flat, degrading stare comes into view, it morphs into a groan. “Well, not that stupid. I’ve thought about this—really thought about it—and I can’t find anyone else to do this but you since you’re the only girl I’m friends with. I mean, I can pick random girls, I suppose—you know how popular I am. They just can’t stop talking about me. My hair, my eyes—”

“—your tiny dick.”

“But I don’t want to break any girl’s heart by doing something that’s gonna make them feel like I’m just using them to get a job, you know? I know I’m hot but these good looks aren’t meant to trample people’s hearts.”

“And you don’t care how I’m gonna feel?”

He has the decency to act like he’s thinking about it, but then, “No, not really.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I really need your help.” He takes it as further as holding your hand between his, puckering his pouty lips, and blinking his eyes in a way that’s cute enough to leave you in daze so you pretend like you’re about to vomit your insides to cover it up.

Okay, so there’s one thing—one little thing that nobody knows—that you’re too ashamed to admit and that is the fact that you have a massive crush on this boy who sits in front of you with his socks unmatched. Well, no, not massive. It used to be massive during the first few weeks you knew him. How could you not? Haechan was so cute, you wanted to turn him into a doll so you could carry him around in your backpack and squish his cheeks whenever you feel like it. Sure, he’s not all jawlines and dimples like that neighbor of yours (Jung Jaehyun was probably sculpted by God himself ), but Haechan has his own charms. His devilish smirk, his loud, contagious laughter, his naughty eyebrow raise, and his lips—God, his beautiful plump lips, the way they look so pouty and soft. Honestly, you can write a whole essay about his attractive features (not that you haven’t already).

You knew you were crazy for him when the antics he did annoyed the hell out of his friends but to you, he was just plain adorable. And you realized you were pretty much fucked-up when Jeno said, “Fucking Lee Donghyuck said he forgot his wallet and robbed me this morning. Who the fuck orders a freakin’ wagyu steak for breakfast?!” and the only thing you could think of was how nice it was to go on a date with him and how your first kiss with him was going to be like (poor Jeno, though).

It’s not that you love him or anything. It’s mostly physical, nothing more—at least for now anyway. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking pretty that he ends up showing every now and then in your fantasy, doing indescribable naughty things that will definitely make Mark splash some holy water on your face if he knew what was going on in your head.

Fortunately, now that you’ve been friends with him for two years, that massive crush you had has turned into something normal, something you can easily hide. And can be forgotten even, whenever another cute guy—like Na Jaemin, for example—takes you out on a date or two. It’s easier to breathe these days.

“Hello? Are you there?” Haechan snaps his fingers, waking you up from your reverie. “What’s your answer? Do you want to make love to me or not?”

‘It’s easier to breathe these days?’ More like fucking kill me.

“Can you stop saying that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re giving me headaches.” Or a heart attack, more accurately. “Assume I said yes. Don’t you think it’s gonna get a little weird between us?”

“What is so weird about it?” He throws his hands in the air, exhausted and impatient. “It’s just gonna be two friends, pretending to be in love with each other, hugging, kissing, touching, and having sweet, tender sex.” Realization falls upon him and you resist the urge to exhale loudly. “Yeah, okay, so it is a little weird, but it should be fine, right? It’s just acting. It’s not like you have any feelings for me, do you?”

If by feelings you mean picturing you naked in my head with your mouth sucking on my neck, then yeah, I do have feelings for you. Plenty of that. But on the outside, you say, “Eew, God, no.”

Haechan squints his eyes at your response. “Can’t say I’m not hurt with the way you said it, but eew, God, no to you too. Well, if that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he says, sipping his coffee, and retracts his mouth as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. “What the hell is this?! Did you spit on my coffee or something?”

You didn’t but for your amusement, you throw him a sly grin. “A little.” It’s satisfying to see him looking like he’s about to pass out. “I’m still worried how it’s gonna affect our friendship later on though.”

He simply shrugs. “Meh. We’re not really that close to begin with anyway.” He takes another sip of his coffee by accident and nearly vomits for real. “Fucking hell—take this shit out of my face.”

“I'm still not sure about this, Haechannie.”

“Look, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, we’re just going to pretend! Acting!” He exclaims as if that was the most normal thing a friend could ask another friend. “And you’re gonna be acting out a love scene with someone as hot as me. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Consider yourself dead.”

“Damn it, my audition is in two days and I really want to get this role!” He’s whining, tugging at your hand like a baby as he practically throws himself at your feet, graveling for your mercy. “You’re the only one who can help me with this. How can I act properly if I don’t have enough experience to perform a freaking bed scene?!”

“I don’t think actors who have to play dead have enough experience of, you know, being dead.”

“Excellent point.” Haechan stares at you blankly, unimpressed. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Do you?”

A few seconds passed by in silence with the two of you exchanging sinister glares until he finally surrenders with a prominent pout on his face. “Fine, if you don’t want to.” Haechan exhales dramatically, his shoulders sagging and when you don’t respond, he sighs again only louder this time. “I guess, I have to force Mark to make out with me. Again.” He sneaks a glance to see your reaction. “And have my face slapped with a Bible. Again.”

You wince at the thought. “How did you force him, exactly?”

“Just…” He timidly scratches his nose. “Kinda attacked him in his sleep.”

You nod in understanding even when it’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, maybe he would’ve been fine with it if you had taken him out for a nice dinner before that.”

Haechan smiles a little at your words, and even a little glimpse of it is contagious enough to make your own spread wider on your face. Small chuckles resonate through the air and he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours, his palm resting on your knuckles.

“On a more serious note,” Haechan says, “I know that asking you to rehearse a bed scene with me is too much and way out of line. But I swear, I’m not gonna touch you if you’re so uncomfortable with it. Won’t even hold your hand, I promise.” Then he notices he’s still holding your hand from earlier. He drops it immediately, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. His hand seems to fit yours in a way that nobody ever does but there’s no way you’re gonna tell him that. “So, we’re just gonna be practicing lines?”

“Exactly.” He rubs his nape, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well, I was hoping to at least kiss you—just to, you know, know how it’d feel like.”

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“I have, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, disgusted at your question. “I’m not a fucking virgin if that’s what you’re assuming.”

“Chill, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nah, I know you’re not a virgin from how many times you’ve had sex with yourself.”

“Hey!”

“But then, why do you need to practice? Can’t you just go straight to your castmates, and kiss the bejeezus out of them?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his face. “It’s… I’ve never done it for a role,” he professes, faint blush blooming on his cheeks, “And the scene is supposed to be intimate and I’ve never… You know…”

You gesture at him to clarify more with your hands. “You’ve never…?”

“You know…” The color on his face turns brighter. “T-the thing.”

“What thing? Never made-out in public? Never had sex outdoor?” You act clueless just because you’re liking his reaction. “Never had a finger stuck in your ass? What? Please do enlighten me.”

“I’ve never been in love, you witch!” Haechan is adorable when he’s fuming. Nostrils blaring, eyebrows knitting together in an angry frown, scarlet cheeks all puffed out. He looks like a terribly pissed Pomeranian.

Man, if I could just take a picture. “Oh, okay. So have you had your finger stuck in your ass?”

“I swear to God—”

“Kidding. I know you have.” But even when Haechan is nearly ripping your cheeks apart from your face, your giggles are never-ending. “So, you’re nervous?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “You, the obnoxious, desperate-for-attention Lee Haechan, are nervous?”

“Will you help me out or not?!”

You pretend like you’re contemplating about it when truth is, every part of your body and mind is just screaming what the heck are you waiting for? He’s asking you to rehearse a bed scene—a. bed. scene! And he said he wanted to kiss you, for God’s sake! So, really, what else is there to say but “Okay.”

Haechan widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You try your best to appear nonchalant. “But you’ll owe me a favor. A huge one.”

“Anything,” he instantly agrees, “As long as I’m not dead, you have my words.”

You’re not yet sure what you’re planning to ask him but seeing his enthusiasm, you know it’s going to be good. “Great. So, umm, do you want to do it now or…?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Man, you’re giving me too much power. I should’ve agreed to this way sooner.” You can practically feel your face splitting in half from how wide you’re grinning. “My room, then? I mean, a bed scene requires… a bed, right?”

Haechan laughs and even after two years, it still sounds like your most favorite thing in the world. “No, it doesn’t necessarily require a bed but sure.” He jumps out from the couch, taking you by the hand, and only by that, you can already feel your heart thumping a tad faster. But the second he walks into your room, he makes a face. “Why does it smell like something died in here?”

“Because something did die. Your dignity.”

The tickling fight doesn’t occur very often between you and Lee Haechan but once it starts, it means war.

***

“Okay, so…” Haechan hands you the script, already opened to show you a page filled with dialogues and short narratives. He scoots closer on the bed, his knee a few inches away from grazing yours as they dangle from the edge. “Just from the top of the page, here.” He points with his finger and you do a quick scan, trying to get a picture of the intimate scene you’re going to do. “So, a quick summary. Your character, Aeri, has been in love with my character, Donghyun. In the earlier scene, you’ve confessed your love to me but I rejected you because we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But then, later on, some things happened and I ended up catching feelings for you and this is the part where I’m gonna be telling you how I really feel and then we start kissing and—”

“Then we have sex,” you utter in dismay, but butterflies are erupting from your stomach due to the anticipation.

“No,” Haechan corrects you, “We make love.”

“Is there any difference?”

“There are more feelings involved, not just out of sheer passion. It’s slower. Tender. Intimate.” And when he notices you raising a questioning brow at him, he sighs. “That thing you did with Jaemin? Fucking like bunnies? The opposite of that.”

You mock him by imitating his sigh exaggeratedly and receiving a flick on the nose in return. “Is it just me or is the script pretty lousy?”

He nods. “But they’ll pay you good money for this.”

“I thought the reason you became an actor was to create art not money.”

“When I’m rich, maybe. Right now, I gotta pay for my rent. And apparently, Jeno keeps chasing my ass, forcing me to pay him back. It was just a wagyu steak for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself, momentarily distracted. “Anyway,” he cracks his neck, “I’ve memorized my lines. Wanna give it a go?”

“Okay, let’s try. I guess I’ll be fine if it’s just kissing. Even if it’s with you.” When in reality you’re only agreeing to this because it’s with him.

Haechan’s eyes gleam brighter, ears practically perking up like an excited puppy. “Really?”

“You’re that excited at the thought of kissing me?” You play smug but you could practically hear your heartbeat blasting through your ears. “What else have you been thinking about me?”

“I’m not excited at the thought of kissing you, dumbass,” he spits back, the spark in his eyes vanishes in an instant. “I’m excited that finally I can practice kissing scenes with someone who’s actually willing to do it, and not, you know, like with the back of my hand or something.”

“You…” Failing to hold back a grin, you burst out laughing. “You made out with your hand?”

It’s funny that even when his skin is golden as if it was kissed by the sun, it still shows vividly on his face whenever he blushes. “I didn’t mean it literally—”

“I can’t believe you made out with your hand.”

“Would you just—” He nearly suffocates you with your pillow but you quickly retaliate by kicking him in the stomach.

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Man, that mental image of yours making out with your hand will live in my mind rent-free for as long as I live.” When you still can’t stop laughing, Haechan is practically baring his teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get this going. If it gets too uncomfortable for me, I’ll stop.”

“Of course.”

“At any time I want.”

“Your call.” He nods in agreement with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him do; it almost doesn’t seem like him.

“Good,” you say. “Now, I’ve never acted once in my life so if you laugh at me, I will sneak into your room at night and pour hot coffee on your computer.”

There’s fear fleeting through his eyes but he gives another nod. “Deal.”

“All right…” You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop hammering against your ribcages, and for once, focus more on the script instead of the shape of his pretty, pretty mouth. “What are you doing here?” You follow the script, voice a little bit shaky as you’re still embarrassed with everything you’re doing. Haechan closes his eyes and you’re about to throw a joke to tease him about actor Haechan coming alive but when he opens them and gazes at you, you sit still, frozen.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice so delicate, it startles you. He’s so serious about this that you don’t find the strength within you to tease him like how you usually do. Somehow, the little gestures he makes, the changes in his expression alter the air along with the tension in the room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re standing next to him under the spotlight, hundreds of pairs of eyes following your every movement.

“It’s—” You swallow your breath, tongue lays heavy in your mouth. “It's pouring outside, why are you—”

“I love you,” he vocalizes, his eyes gentle and heartbroken. His voice suddenly sounds a pitch lower, reverberating through the air until it sends goosebumps to the tiny hairs on your nape. He waits for your reply and you have to blink twice to slap yourself back to reality.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I do. I’m in love with you, hopelessly so.” He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Though he has pretty hands, his fingertips are not as soft as you had imagined them to be, but they feel better, feel real. His warmth is unfamiliar to your skin but it feels more pleasant than anything that ever touches you. “Maybe you’re unaware of this, but it kills me to know that I’ve hurt you because I simply couldn’t be brave enough to accept my feelings. The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.”

Haechan’s lines fit your situation so much that you wish he wasn’t acting. It’s amazing how he’s changing into an entirely different persona and yet, it feels so natural as if he has been that person all along. Your breathing gets heavier as you take a brief look at the script, searching for your lines. “This feels unreal…”

“Do you still love me?” Haechan lifts your face by the chin, his touch is paper-thin.

You wet your lips, head swirling. “But Donghyun—”

“Do you still love me?” He repeats, emphasizing with his tone. His eyes are peering into yours and you wonder maybe the quote eyes deeper than the sea refers to his gaze. “Or is it too late for me?” His thumb drifts to your lip, caressing your bottom one, your lip balm sticking to his skin.

“I do,” you reply. He’s so pretty. You’ve never taken a glance longer than a few seconds at his close-up face, but now that you’re in this close proximity, you can finally witness the two tiny moles on his cheek, the beautiful shape of his dark eyes, the delicate curve of his lips… “I do love you, Donghyuck.”

A few seconds of silence hangs in the air when Haechan stops, his eyebrows furrowing. “Umm—it’s Donghyun, actually.”

Fuck! “Right!” You nearly leap out of your bed, face aflame. “Donghyun! Of course! I don’t know why I said that. Donghyuck is your name, I know that—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, just fucking kill me. “Sorry, umm—nervous.”

Fortunately for you, Haechan buys your bluff. “Rookie mistake,” he chuckles and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes to play along. “Okay, let’s start over. Do you still love me?”

“I do,” you respond too rigidly, making him glance away so he won’t break into laughter. “I do love you, Donghyun. Dong-Hyun.”

“Good,” he improvises, as it’s not written in the script. He has a tiny smile on his face and you like to think that it’s just him doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. But when he swats your bangs out of your eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he seems like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his whole life. The adoration in his eyes, his loving gaze—they are so vivid, they nearly consume you. “Because I don’t think I can resist this any longer…”

You’re lost in his eyes, lost in his touch, lost in his warmth. It’s until Haechan nudges his head slightly, indicating you to wake up, you’ve got a line to say, that you jolt, eyes hurriedly going down to the script, seeking your lines. “Umm—“ You flinch. You sound so jittery, it’s terrible. “R-resist what…?”

But Haechan doesn’t pay a mind that you just stuttered from saying two words. He doesn’t ask you to start over. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling in the air and you can taste the scent of sandalwood and summer. Combined with his soft breathing, you’re almost stuck in a haze, just reeling in the feeling of how this man is now closer to you than he has ever been in the past two years and it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined.

“Resist this,” he whispers and before you can look down to check whether you have more lines to say, Haechan dips his head, his lips brushing against yours, ever so faintly at first but when you gasp, he presses harder, framing your cheeks with both hands before he moves one down to your waist. Unlike his fingertips, his lips are soft—softer than silk or the cotton candy he once bought you. But it’s not the way they feel or the way he tastes that distract you the most. It’s the way he moves them, parting his lips slightly so he can blend with yours, your lower lip fits perfectly between his plump ones. It’s the way he sighs, so contentedly, as if kissing you was everything he ever wanted.

You close your eyes, hands reaching up to his collar, wanting to feel him more, wanting to touch him—

Haechan breaks away, placing both hands on your shoulders. “How was it?”

You’ve never had someone splash cold water on your face but you figure it might feel something like this. Your voice grows hoarse when you speak. “How was what?”

“The kiss!” Haechan’s eyes are filled with concern, analyzing your expression. “Was it romantic enough? Tender enough? Did it properly convey the desperation and longing my character feels for yours?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You fucking knew it. So, why are you still hurt when he acts like he feels exactly nothing by that kiss? This is just an acting lesson for him. You should have been prepared.

“It’s good,” you answer, averting your gaze and hiding your eyes behind your bangs. Your heart is still running a thousand miles an hour but somehow, it doesn’t feel as pleasant as before. “So, next scene—”

“Wait, are you okay?” Haechan asks, bending slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. “Was it too much? Do you want to stop?”

Truth is, you’re conflicted. You’re going to catch feelings—you most likely already are. But Haechan only treats you as a friend and nothing more, and this is the only chance you have to be this close to him. The temptation of continuing the kiss, to just hold him close for one more time, stands stronger than anything else so you say, “No. I promised you I’d help.”

He’s still unsure, eyes glinting in concern. “It’s okay if you want to stop, I—”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Donghyuck.”

Haechan freezes on his seat, eyes searching yours as you now have the bravery to look at his face. Knowing you came on too strong, you try to ease it off with a smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just my first time doing this—acting, I mean. Can we try again?”

He spends another few seconds trying to decipher the true meaning behind your smile but eventually nods his head at your command. He drags his finger back to the script. “Then, umm… Let’s start from here?”

You don’t even look at the page when you give affirmation. “Go.”

Haechan takes a moment to prepare himself and when your eyes meet each other again, he’s a different person once more. “The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.” His voice is so soothing, you almost forget that deep down you’re immensely upset knowing that the kiss didn’t have the same effects on him.

This time, when he frames your face with his palm, you lean into his touch, eyes never leaving his. “This feels unreal,” you say and for a second—just for a split second—you notice Haechan breaking out of character, surprised by the gentle expression on your face. Because you’re not acting out his script, you’re acting out on your feelings. It’s your only chance to be honest with him without forcing him to respond. So you pour all these feelings you have for him out in the open—ones that started from a mere physical attraction to something more as his presence grew bigger in your life, you’re acting out each and every one of them.

“Do…” He inhales sharply, trying to focus. “Do you still love me?” He’s doing the same thing as before, placing his thumb and index finger on your chin but before he can say his lines, you see how his eyes fall on your lips.

And you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have, hands going to his face, fingers slipping between his strands, and Haechan gasps against your mouth, his fingers curling around your wrist. You know he’s about to push you away so you quickly murmur, “I do,” against his lips, breath stuttering, “I do love you.”

When you take his bottom lip between yours, teeth grazing against his supple skin, Haechan lets out an involuntary moan at the back of his throat. The butterflies in your stomach come alive, pumping a rush of adrenaline through your veins and suddenly, you’re brave enough to glide your tongue across his lip. His hold tightens around your wrist but instead of pushing you away, he tugs you closer and you fall into his chest, hands breaking free from his grip to wind around his neck. Your fingertips are scraping against his nape before they move upward to yank at the roots of his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes out, almost inaudibly, as if he didn’t mean to let the word slip from his mouth and it makes your heart jumps straight out of your chest. The second he responds properly, Haechan kisses like fire, all passion and urgency, and you really don’t mind being consumed by his flames.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you’re almost sitting on his lap before he jolts awake, pushing you away so abruptly, you almost fall from the bed.

“I’m—We—” he stammers, looking everywhere but your eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bruised and red from your kisses. “I think we should—I gotta go—“

He stands up from the bed like the sheets are catching on fire, picking his script from the floor and gathering all his belongings at once before he runs toward the door. He turns on his heels, wanting to say something to fix the goddamn situation, but when his eyes land on yours, his words vanish without a trace.

“I—I’ll call you later,” he finally says and doesn’t wait for your response. The front door closes with a thud.

And then silence comes to answer.

What just happened?

Your heart is thundering inside your chest, you’re starting to feel nauseous. What have I done? You keep asking over and over. You thought everything was going to be fine. He responded to your kiss earlier, didn’t he? You were sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing. But now he’s gone and you’re not sure whether he’s gonna come back as the same Haechan—the old, bratty but caring Lee Haechan. The one who snickers loudly when you fall face-first on the ground but always steals secret glances at you to make sure you're not hurt. The one who makes jokes about your love life but never forgets to show up at your apartment with a thoughtful gift right at the minute you turn a year older.

Things are not just gonna get awkward, they’re ruined.

When nearly half an hour has passed by and you’re still left alone in your apartment with no signs of him coming back, you’re about to go insane. You can’t stay still, walking back and forth your living room with the tip of your thumb between your teeth.

Should I chase after him and explain that it was just me trying to improvise? You hesitate with your hand lingering on the doorknob. But with your knees nearly giving up under your weight, you decide to stay put. It will probably just gonna make it worse. He’ll see through my lies, he always does.

You’re straying away to the kitchen, hands placed on the counter. You can feel your head spinning, stomach somersaulting. Damn it, why did I have to do that?! Why couldn’t I just—

The front door slams opened and Haechan barges in with his hair messy, ruffled by the wind, and his bangs sticking to his temple. Stunned, you stand still on your ground. Your heart is the only one that’s moving beyond control. His eyes scan your apartment until they land on yours and for an instant, everything seems to fade away.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground and making his way towards you in such a hurry, he nearly trips over his feet. “You’re not that good of an actor to be faking it.” Before you have the chance to even take a breath, Haechan’s lips are smashing against yours.

“Hae—” Haechan’s kiss is insane. So forceful that you can barely keep up, taking every bit of air directly from your lungs. He has you backed against the kitchen counter, the marbled edge digging into your skin. His hands frame your face, sliding against your cheek until they cup the backsides of your neck, his thumbs resting against your ears. You curl your fingers around his wrist, gasping, “Wait—”

He pulls away, lifting your face so you can’t bring your gaze anywhere else. “You like me?” His eyes are just as intense, begging for answers. “Please tell me I’m not imagining this.”

But behind that passion, his confidence is wavering. You can tell by his quivering breath, the little tremble running through his fingertips, and at that, you’re drowning in relief. You don’t think he’s that good of an actor to be faking this too.

“I do,” you admit, heart pounding so loudly that you can barely hear your own voice. “I like—”

His mouth is on yours again and it feels like he’s kissing you in a hundred different places at once. “Jesus Christ, why have you kept quiet about this for so long?” he says, tasting your breath and skin at the same time. “Two fucking years. We wasted two fucking years.”

The words this isn’t happening endlessly run through your head but all your senses scream that Haechan is really here, in your arms, his nails clawing against your shirt and there’s nothing left you want from this world.

When you reciprocate to him properly, your palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder, until your arms circle his neck, Haechan sighs in content. His kisses grow slower—more relaxed—but deeper, his tongue peeking out shyly at first but not for long. He still tastes faintly like the coffee you made and something else entirely different. Something pleasant that’s just exactly how you’ve fantasized him to be, if not more.

He pulls away to catch his breath with his eyes still focusing on your lips, thumb rubbing your lower one. “Does this feel weird to you?” He whispers, his temple pressing against yours.

You’re intoxicated by his sweet scent though you’re not sure whether it’s the smell of his shampoo, his cologne, or just him altogether. “No,” and as soon as the word comes out, his lips are chasing after yours once more.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stop.” He’s breathing heavily against your mouth as you are against his. With his fingers twisted in your hair, making a messy ponytail out of it, Haechan peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck, tongue pressing against your pulsating vein and a whimper escapes your mouth.

Your dreams, your fantasies—they all fall pale in comparison to reality. When you vocalize his name, it almost sounds like a plead and Haechan slants his mouth back on yours again, giving you another taste as he is not satisfied with yours just yet. “Your lips taste amazing,” he breathes out and it’s so quiet, it seems like he’s intending to say the words in his head and not with his mouth. But as his words fall on your ears, they send tingles down your spine.

“So do yours,” you reply, attempting to make him blush in return but if he does, he doesn’t show much. “Never pegged you as a man who wears lip balm.”

You can feel his smirk directly with your skin. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” You lightly giggle, swiping your tongue across his lower lip. “Then your lips do taste amazing.”

Haechan’s hand is slipping underneath your shirt, fingers hovering above your bra. “Guess there are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, huh?”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re about to teach me?”

“Only if you’re eager to learn.”

The kiss becomes heavier that you’re lost for words, entirely consumed by his passion, until he breaks away, muttering, “Off, off, off, off, off,” as he struggles to tear the fabric away from your body. You titter at his desperation, raising both hands to help him out of his misery. The second it’s off, he lifts you by the waist and places you down on the counter.

“I’m amazed you could lift me,” you coo, admiring the sight of his lean stomach as he pulls his shirt over his head. His silver necklace hangs loosely around his neck and you hook a finger around it to yank him back to you.

He doesn’t seem to be able to detach his lips from yours for too long, especially when you keep sneaking glances at his. So when he speaks again, his every word is painted directly to your skin. “It wasn’t easy.” He settles between your thighs, mouth latching against your collarbone. “You weigh a ton.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he sucks bruises on your neck, the edge of his fingers trailing over the seam of your bra. “Then you must be so strong.”

“I am, haven’t you noticed?” Haechan pulls away just to showcase a mischievous grin. “I work out, you know.”

You blurt out laughing. It’s not solely because of the mental image of Lee Haechan—a full-time gamer, Lee Haechan—doing push-ups seems so funny to you. It’s more about the way he wiggles his eyebrow, trying to be sexy about it when you know he’s the weakest one in your group. Flustered at your reaction, he flicks your nose. “What is so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize though it doesn’t seem that much sincere with the way you’re still giggling at him. “It’s just that an hour ago we were two friends making fun of each other and now we’re here, in this position. I don’t know, it just feels surreal to me.”

An adorable pout blooms on his face. “I thought you said this didn’t feel weird.”

“No, it’s perfect. I want this.” You wrap the end of his necklace twice around your index finger. “I want you. It’s just… I’ve been imagining this to happen for such a long time and now that it’s happening, I’m feeling a lot of things at once.” You place a reassuring kiss on his temple. “I’m nervous.” This time landing one on his cheek. “I’m relieved.” When your lips hover above his, you notice him parting his own slightly in anticipation. “And it feels so good, I don’t ever want to stop. Even if that means we can’t go back to being friends.”

Haechan can’t form a response as you don’t let him, your mouth swallowing the tiny moans he emits. “We’ll talk about that later,” he hastily replies, “I still haven’t had enough of you yet.”

Without warning, he lifts you off the counter, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist for support. “Haechannie!” With you holding onto him, he takes a step forward, ignoring your call. “Where are you taking me—"

“Wait, no, back pain, back pain.” Both of you nearly tumble down to the ground from how he’s harshly placing you back to your feet, wincing at the ache erupting from the strained muscles in his spine. He’s groaning in pain, massaging his back with both hands. “Fuck, you’re really heavy!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You throw your slipper at him, missing his head just a few inches, laughing all the way. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to move us to the couch.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was trying to be sexy.” He juts out his lower lip, and it takes all control of your body to not squeeze his cheeks from how adorable he looks.

“Honey, you are sexy, believe me, but you’re also weak as fuck. Consider hitting the gym for real next time and then carry me.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, holding out a hand for you to take. “To the couch, please? And maybe a massage after this ‘cause my back is killing me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and drag him over to the couch. He’s in the middle of asking, “Do you want me to be on top or—” when you push him down and straddle his lap without warning, legs tangling around his hips. “Oh, okay.”

You run a hand through his hair, pushing them back so you can witness the glow in his eyes. “You look sexier with your hair pushed back.” You love the way he stares at you, eyes half-lidded painted with lust and desire. And combined with your commentary, he now has his cheek tinted with red. “Do you have a problem with me being on top?”

His eyes quickly run down to the place where your denim shorts are riding up your thighs, your zipper pressing against his groin. With a noticeable gulp, he stutters out, “N-no.”

You smile, patting his cheek. “Good.”

The kiss starts slow as you focus more on moving your hands down his body. Haechan shivers a little when your palm is pressing against his bare chest, sliding down to his navel. When you pull back, raising a questioning brow at his reaction, he bashfully says, “Your hand’s cold,” looking like a nervous little boy who’s a stark contrast to how he usually behaves.

He’s so cute.

“Well, I know a way to warm you up.” You smirk, almost cringing when you hear your own words but Haechan seems to like it.

“Oooh,” he coos, grinning against your lips. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“I don’t know.” You kiss your way down from his jawline to his chest, pushing yourself off his lap so you can kneel on the floor, your fingers unbuckling his belt. “What do you think I’m offering?”

Haechan’s eyes are glowing with anticipation. He curves his fingers around the edge of his seat, wetting his lip nervously when you pull his zipper down. You release him from his boxer, stroking him to life and he sinks his nails further into the couch. A train of expletives breaks free from his mouth but he’s so quiet, you can only hear his ragged breathing.

But by the time you run your thumb over his slit, your hot breath hitting his sensitive skin, Haechan melts into a whimpering mess. “Please don’t tease,” he begs.

“I haven’t even started, Haechannie.” And he looks like he’s about to say something but it only turns into a mewl when you press a kiss to his tip. “You’re so cute,” you comment, and he shivers when the vibration of your voice meets his skin.

Haechan tries to act composed. “Of course I’m cute, it’s—”

You cut his line short by darting out your tongue, giving kitten licks at the side, smiling satisfyingly when his eyes meet yours. As you give him a little suck around his tip, he throws his head back, his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I said don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing you.” But you are. How can you not? He looks so fucking cute. You’ve never really enjoyed giving head before, especially when your opponent gets rough and ends up pushing too deep until you gag. But with Haechan, you feel like you can do this for hours. He’s so nervous and shy, doesn’t even dare to place his hand on your hair, and his reaction to every bit of your action is honest even when his words aren’t.

“Here.” You take one of his hands, moving it to your head. “You can use me as much as you want.”

“Use—” he crumbles at your choice of words. When you suddenly envelop him with your mouth, moving from the tip to the base in one quick motion, Haechan instinctively grabs a handful of your hair, flinching. “Goddamn, why are you so fucking hot?”

You giggle, sliding his cock out of your mouth with an obscene pop. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean your mouth. It’s so fucking warm.”

“So, you’re saying,” you dip your tongue into his slit, eyes seductively peering into his. “I’m not hot?”

“You’re—Fuck, fuck—” Haechan seethes, hips buckling when you bob your head down again, tongue pressing against his veins. Shivers run through his fingertips when he slips them between your locks, pushing your fringe back to have a good look at your face. You catch a glimpse of him, his lips unconsciously moving to form words that you can’t hear. So pretty, he seems to say, and the thought of it makes your stomach lurch in delight. Taking him completely in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him. He tightens his hold around your hair, cheeks flushed and you expect him to hold you in place so he can thrust against your mouth but what he does is pull you away. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

Wiping a string of saliva away with the back of your hand, you ask with a frown. “Something’s wrong?”

Haechan hides his reddening face behind his fingers, quietly answering, “I was about to come.”

You hold back a grin. With a nonchalant hum, you dip your head down again, this time engulfing him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ.” His sanity is deteriorating, he can feel it.

“Don’t bring Lord’s name when I have your dick in my mouth, Haechannie. Mark would kill you if he knew.”

“Fuck Mark. Come here.” He rushes forward, forcibly pulling you up with both hands clamping your arms. When you follow his order, settling back down on top of his lap, he confesses with his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “I really won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

Despite your previous teasing and confidence, you squirm inside his arms, feeling warmth spreading from your chest to your cheek. “So I have these effects on you?”

He’s almost growling when he retorts, “You don’t even know.” Haechan pushes your bra strap until it falls off your shoulder, teeth marking your supple skin until you hiss in both pain and pleasure. He presses a softer kiss to soothe away the bruise. “Sorry, I… You’re gonna need to cover it up tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” You stroke his cheek, tracing the tiny mole on his jawline. “Seems like you have a biting kink.”

He sheepishly chuckles, “I don’t know. But if you let me, I’d love to do that again.”

Something about him saying it in the most sincere way possible, almost too formal even, makes you crave more for him and everything he does. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan swallows hard, barely has the bravery to look at you in the face after hearing your words and his real name tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers are now on the hem of your shorts, trembling a little bit. “Umm—may I?”

Helping him further, you stand on your knees, unclasping your bra first to his surprise and pulling your denim shorts and panties down to your thighs. Haechan watches with his eyes wide open, mouth parted in awe as he commits every bit of your curve and movement into memory. It feels so thrilling to be this wanted, to be ravished by his eyes, until you begin to struggle to push your clothing away from your legs.

“Need some help?” He asks, lips pursing as he tries to hide a grin.

You exhale loudly, detaching yourself from him. “Let me just—” You jump off his lap, standing back with your feet on the ground, and kicking the clothing away with annoyance—why in the world did you have to wear shorts this tight—and slap him in the chest when he’s chuckling at the sight.

“Maybe you should stop trying to be sexy too,” Haechan snickers.

“Shut up.” You crawl back into his lap. “Go back to staring dumbly at me like before. I’m naked.”

“I wasn’t staring like tha—oh,” he inhales sharply as you grind your heat against his cock, amazed at how warm you are despite your cold palms. The sensation of skin meeting skin feels much more different. There’s really no going back this time. Somehow, it feels dangerous, as if you’re doing something forbidden and it makes your skin crawl with excitement.

And by the look on his face, seems like he feels the same way.

“Lost for words?” You taunt him with a smirk, hands on his chest. “That’s new.” His glare is menacing but it falters away the second you rub your arousal against his.

His head falls to his shoulder, eyes tightly shut. “God, baby…”

There it is again. The funny feeling in your stomach. “Baby?” You simper though your heart is palpitating like crazy. “We’re moving on to giving each other pet names now?”

If he can blush any harder than this, he probably might but with the way you’re grinding shamelessly on his cock, letting him get a glimpse of how wet and warm you are, he’s all maxed-out.

His earlobe lays between your teeth when you whisper, “Shall we put it in?”

Haechan’s nails are sinking into the skin of your hips, both to hold you in place so you’ll stop torturing him and to press you down harder on his crotch. “I…” He’s so distracted, he can’t even think. The way the side of his length is pressing against your folds is pushing every little bit of self-control he has to the back of his head.

“Haechannie?” You giggle, moving your hips. “I kinda asked you a question here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” Haechan tries his very best to not sound that desperate for your touch but he is that desperate. “Wait—aren’t we—shouldn’t I wear a condom first?”

You blink, halting your movement. “You brought a condom with you?”

He nods as he leans forward, fingers searching frantically at the pocket of his jeans that hang low on his knees. “Here.”

“Why do you have a condom with you?”

“‘Cause I bought it downstairs just now.”

Your jaw grows slack at the realization. “Is that the reason why your hair was so messy and you were sweating when you barged in here? ‘Cause you ran downstairs, trying to find a condom?”

“I’m sorry, are you really complaining about this now?”

At the feeling of his member twitching underneath you, you sigh. “You’re right. Let’s discuss that later.”

It feels a bit awkward when you stand on your knees, giving him some space and wait until he finishes wrapping the rubber around himself. The silence that hangs between you is almost deafening that by the time he’s done and you fall back to his lap, sitting on his thighs, it feels like you have to start over again.

You diffidently smile. “Hey.”

Haechan is equally as embarrassed, mirroring your gesture. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re gonna have sex.”

“Guess so.”

Another few seconds pass by where you can only meet each other’s eyes, feeling your heartbeat racing louder and louder. It feels like you’re about to burst, honestly, but fortunately for you, Haechan leans in, his fingers tentatively caressing your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” He questions.

You melt under his gaze, his gentle touch, his honey-like voice. “Yes, please.”

Your lips start the connection and the rest of your body follows, fitting every curve of his perfectly like you were made for him. The way Haechan sighs against your mouth sends sparks of electricity all the way down to your toes and you don’t waste any more time. With his mouth latching on your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, you lower yourself on him.

Haechan’s hold your waist tighter, eyebrows adjoined in the middle at the sensation, his moans muffled. He presses his spine back against the couch, admiring the sight of his member disappearing inch by inch into you. His eyes begin to droop when he’s completely sheathed inside, his bruised lips parted. He cups your cheek, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth, making you shiver at the sudden tenderness. “I guess we are having sex,” he murmurs with a bashful smile.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess so.”

It starts slow, with you placing both hands on his chest and him swallowing his breath at the sight of you moving up and down his length. You hiss slightly at the friction, adjusting to his size.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear.

“A little.” You reassure him with a grin. “Relax, you’re not gonna break me.”

You expect him to send back a snarky remark but what he does is press his forehead against yours. “You’re so warm,” he whispers, tasting the skin that connects your shoulder to your neck. Something about his words, his sensual kiss and his tender touch makes you squeeze your walls around him and he clutches harder around you. He glides his hands lower to your hips, silently urging you to pick up the pace and you follow.

Breathing heavily, Haechan has his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You have such a pretty mouth,” he professes as if he was in a trance.

You seductively bite his thumb, still working your hips. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked your dick.”

“Yes, that too, but really.” It’s as if he’s staring at a work of art, eyes twinkling with admiration. Sometimes, when you’re hitting the right spot and quiver around him, a small moan escapes his lips and you feel him twitching inside you. “It’s—ah—It probably doesn’t sound sincere when I’m saying this now, but I’ve always thought you had a pretty mouth. And lips. I’ve thought about your lips a lot.”

“Yeah?” You mouth against the sensitive skin below his ear, sinking harder on his length. “What else do you like about me?”

“Y-your voice—” You can actually feel him shivering. “You have such a—fuck—I just—I really love your moans.”

You’re not sure whether he’s saying that because he’s so distracted with the way you’re breathing in his ear or he genuinely loves it. Either way, it’s a pleasure to know how much you’re affecting him with your actions. With a chuckle, you say, “You’re rambling, baby.”

“And your hair,” he adds, probably losing every bit of his self-control by this point. “I love your hair. Looks so soft.” Haechan cards his fingers through your strands. “Feels so soft.”

You hum in response, hoping that your flushed face doesn’t look as apparent as you think. “Anything else?”

“Your—” He shudders when you paint a mark under his collarbone. “Your ass.”

You stop, pulling away to give him a look and he whines at the loss. “My ass?”

“What—” The tips of his ears are turning red, steam practically coming out of them. “Why are you staring at me like that—you have a great ass!”

Teasing him is such a joy to you. “Then, let’s do it this way.” You part away from him, landing back on the carpeted floor so you can turn around, giving him the chance to ogle at your behind, before you ease yourself down onto his lap once more.

“Fuck—” Haechan’s hisses, his hands going down to your hips again. The new position doesn’t allow you to meet his eyes but with the way he’s whimpering behind you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass, the sensation increases.

“You okay back there?” You taunt smugly, chuckling a bit because Haechan sounds like he’s losing it. His nails are sinking into your skin and you just know that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise tomorrow. “You seem like you’re enjoying this way too—“ You’re interrupted by your own moans when he suddenly has one hand massaging your breast and another one sliding down your stomach to find your clit. “W-wait, Haechannie—”

“You’re such a tease,” he breathily whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your spine as he leans forward, pulling you into his embrace. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?”

His fingers are rubbing you in circles, making your thighs tremble. “You’re right.” You move your hips harder, going out of rhythm with how fast you’re going and Haechan sinks his teeth to your shoulder again.

At the sound of his name departing your lips in the most sinful moan he’s ever heard, Haechan curses. “Shit, you’re not gonna let me enjoy this longer, are you?”

“There’s always a second round, Haechannie.” You smirk, raising your hips all the way up in intention to slam it back down again but Haechan catches you and pushes you forward until you land on the coffee table, stomach pressing flat against the wooden surface. “What—"

“There’s always a second round, right?” His lips are brushing against your ear as he positions himself behind you. “Then I’m going all out.”

When he slams his hips in one swift motion, hard and deep, he knocks all the air out of your lungs. “Wait—” You choke out, can barely keep up with his pace. “Oh God—”

“Now, now,” he coos, his hand finding its way to your throat, fingers pressing against your veins. He raises your face, his chest completing the dip of your spine. “Don’t bring God’s name when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

You can’t even find the strength to retort, eyes shutting tightly until you see stars behind your eyelids. It almost feels unreal how fast he can go from being awkward and tentative about all of this to raw and wild within a few minutes but Haechan has always been fast adapting to new situations and you have been teasing him way too much. It’s about time that he snaps.

Haechan moves you down to the floor, forcing you to stand on all fours and you’re so glad you follow his lead. “Spread your knees. Bring your head down,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, extending your arms in front of you. Haechan has his hand on the dip of your shoulder blades, holding you still until you have no choice but to press your cheek against the carpeted floor, ass in the air. “Good girl,” he praises, kneeling behind you and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Ready, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

With only a few minutes in, you know you’re getting close, you can feel it. He has switched from giving deep, hard thrusts to quick, shallow ones and it’s driving you insane. “H-Haechannie, I—” you whimper, “I’m close—”

And he knows it too, of course he does. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him. But instead of going harder and driving you completely over the edge, Haechan suddenly laces his fingers with yours, his lips painting soft kisses from your nape down to your spine, his hips hitting another angle that feels just as amazing even when he slows down the pace. The intimacy surprises you as you don’t expect him to be this tender. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this out of sheer passion. With his palm covering the back of your hand, fingers slipping between yours, somehow, everything feels more sentimental, stronger, crossing the lines.

With a moan of your name, Haechan flips you to your back, fingers framing your face, lips meeting lips as he thrusts back in, gasping against your mouth. “I want to see your face,” he says when he pulls away, his half-lidded eyes boring into yours, thumb slipping between your lips. “Not sure if I’ve told you this before but…” He snaps his hips, and you tangle your legs around them in response, fingernails digging into his upper arms. “You’re so beautiful.”

The knot in your stomach untangles without warning and your orgasm hits you so hard, you nearly sob at the sensation. With the way you’re quivering and squeezing around him, Haechan follows right after, his face sinking into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he rides out his own orgasm.

***

With his jeans back on and his used condom thrown away to the nearest trash bin, Haechan joins you back on the carpeted floor as you still haven’t found the strength to get up and get dressed after that. He shamelessly lays his body down on top of yours, his cheek pressing against the valley of your breasts. “I’m spent,” he mumbles, feeling drowsy.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.” But he doesn’t get up, only moving his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to your bare chest before he lies his head down over your heart again. You give up with a smile, wrapping your arms around him, fingertips stroking his hair. Haechan sighs contentedly under your touch. “Man, that was…”

“That was?”

“Amazing.” He props himself up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart jolts at the sincerity in his words but you cooly smile back. “I know.”

“And I’m amazing too, I’m sure?”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Could be a little better but I’ll let you practice on me for free.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, his strands tickling your nose. “I don’t even have the strength to join your banter. You know, I’ve always wondered since you’re pretty much shit at everything, there must be something you’re good at. But I never thought that something would turn out to be sex. I can’t even believe I’m saying this but you’re really, really amazing at it. I feel like I should give you a medal or something.”

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter. “Not sure if you’re praising me, though.”

“Oh, I am praising you, believe me. And you know me, I rarely praise.”

“Stop it,” you use your robotic voice. “You’re making me feel so special, I’m about to cry.”

Haechan playfully nips at your nose, forcing you to break off your act and laugh directly into his mouth. “Seriously,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “If I were to pay you for sex, I would give you everything I own. Even the clothes I’m wearing. Hell, I’d even sell my grandma but don’t tell her that.”

Your laughter has reduced into small giggles. “That’s comforting.”

“So…” The way Haechan is caressing your hair is so soft, almost like a mother to her sleeping child. “What should we do about this?” When you raise an eyebrow, he tensely adds, “Do you, umm… I mean, do you want to, like—”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, God, I’m so nervous! I may look like a naughty, sexy bad boy—”

“No one is saying that—“

“But I actually suck at this—as in, I don’t really know how to date a girl.”

“You don’t even know how to talk to a girl, based on the conversations we’ve had,” you comment and you know it’s not helping but it’s worth seeing his adorable pout. “Then don’t date me. If it’s hard for you to date, then let’s just keep being friends—"

“But I want to continue this!” He says it so fast and firmly that you don’t even have time to feel hurt about your offer.

It’s not like you crave a relationship with him—you haven’t thought about it that far—even just holding him like this is enough for now, so the fact that he’s so excited to have this going makes your heart swells with joy. “Well then, we’ll be friends who have casual sex anytime we want,” you suggest.

He blinks twice, a bit amazed at your offer, but to your surprise, he seems rather… disappointed? “What happens if we start catching feelings?” He quietly asks.

“Then I guess we’ll start dating for real.”

“Then…” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “What happens if I already have feelings for you?”

He states it so quietly, it’s a miracle you can even hear him. “Do you want to date me, Haechannie?”

He looks away, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Do you want to date me?” He murmurs against your skin, unsure and flustered.

You heave the heaviest sigh you’ve ever done in your life. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll decide for us then. Starting now, we’re dating.”

He lifts his head, and if he were a puppy, he would’ve had his tail wagging behind him, even when his face doesn’t show much. “That easy?”

“That easy. What, you have something to complain about?”

“No.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Ugh, get off me, you’re gross.”

But no matter how hard you push your palm against his face, Haechan only giggles and turns you around so this time, you’re lying on his chest. “So,” he pushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“No, what makes you think that way?”

“Says the girl who just slept with me.”

“I slept with you ‘cause I was just curious about your dick. Jeno said you had a dick that was the size of his thumb.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Didn’t you see his InstaStory last night?” You reach up to gather your phone from the coffee table. “I took a screenshot of it actually. Man, you should’ve seen the comments. They’re hilarious.”

Snatching your phone away, Haechan runs his eyes along the words written on the screen. “That son of a bitch!”

Simpering, you sneak a peek under his boxer. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Oh, it’s on,” he deadpans, throwing your phone away and pushes you back down on the floor. His eyes glinting mischievously.

“What are you doing?” You’re still half-laughing when he brings your hands over your head, holding your wrists together with one hand as he settles between your thighs, his fingers hovering dangerously close.

“I’m gonna make you take your words back.” He wets his lip, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Time for the second round, baby.”

***

2K notes · View notes

justallofmyfandoms · 3 years

Text

Revenge is best served Small

Reader x Fred Weasley

Reader x George Weasley

NO TWINCEST!!

SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!

(Just to make this less awkward on all of us, yes I am clearly going through some stuff, and yes everyone enjoys what happens to them in this, even if it's reluctantly. Nothing unconsensual. 6,486 words)

[There’s a comment on this post that perfectly summarises it: “i have no idea what just happened to me all i know is that i will never be the same after reading this” so... read at your own risk my dudes, I am so sorry]

You slam a fist into the common room desk, glaring down at your potions homework with enough anger to perform the killing curse on it. Or maybe crucio would be better, just so the homework can suffer all the same pains it's inflicting on you.

A chair at the table scraps against the floor with someone plonking themselves on it. You look up to see Fred Weasley, leaning over the desk to stare down at your paper, "Having trouble with your potions essay?" He asks, evidently just to piss you off because it's pretty obvious you were.

"Bugger off, Weasley. We can't all pay zero attention during class and still get perfect grades" you focus back on your work, but not fast enough to miss Fred's shit eating grin.

"Still mad I got a better grade on our end of semester test?"

"No!" You snap back, perhaps a little too quickly. It made the ginger chuckle. You and the twins had been good friends since first year, but it infuriated you to no end every time they got a good grade, because you just knew it was all talent and no effort.

The twin crossed his arms and leant them on the table, scooting closer to you, "Not that I don't love the look of anger on your face, but why does it annoy you so much? You've been going on about this for six years"

"It doesn't matter, I just wanna get this stupid essay over with!" you complain, throwing your quill on the desk, "Where's your brother, anyway? He said he would help me."

Fred pats your head and sighs, "Ditched by your own boyfriend? There's tragic..." You knew he was just being a prick, Fred always did enjoyed teasing you, but you hadn't seen George all day. It was beginning to worry you. Besides, you two had made it a tradition to do your potions homework together ever since third year.

"He actually sent me here to apologise. He's at tonight's party up in Ravenclaw tower. The ol' sod's drunk a bit too much to help out I'm afraid"

You sit up and frown, the anger being pushed to the back of your mind out of newfound sadness, "Oh... he could have at least told me he was going to the party..."

Fred nods sympathetically, but eventually grins and scoots closer, "In the meantime, how about a deal?" You'll be getting whiplash from all these emotions. First anger, then hurt, and now Fred was making you highly suspicious. He has that expression he gets when dreaming up a crazy plan.

"If you help me with a little scheme I've concocted, I'll help you finish your essay" he continues since the only reaction you initially gave was a squint.

"What kind of scheme?"

He drums the table, bitting back a smile that might warn you off, "I've come up with a new product idea, but in order to make it, I need a very rare ingredient that can only be found in one place"

You sigh, resting your cheek against your raised fist, "Snape's supply closet..."

He points at you like in charades, "Exactly!"

"How do I know you'll actually help me? Making a deal with you is a bit like making a deal with the devil"

"We'll get the essay done tonight!" He declares, spinning the paper to face him, and picking up a nearby quill, "Then tomorrow, you'll help me get the potion"

After a fair amount of consideration, you nod, "Alright, deal!"

"Remind me again what the plan is?" You and Fred were stood in the women's bathroom on the first floor, a bathroom you generally tried to avoid as it was occupied by a particularly annoying ghost called Moaning Myrtle. She didn't seem to be revealing herself though, which you assumed had something to do with Fred teasing her about her nickname and the... other connotations "moaning" has.

Fred took a small vial from his trouser pocket. The contents were green and bubbling, "First, I'll drink this shrinking potion, then you'll take me in your robe pocket all the way to Snape's classroom and put me on the third shelf up next to his supply closet. I'll sneak in through the hole my brother and I drilled there years ago, grab the bottle and get out!"

"You mean you and George have done this before?" you asked, watching as he set the bottle down on the edge of the sink, taking off his robe to hang it over the cubicle wall

He turned back to watch him roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, "Yeah, every now and then if we need tough to find ingredients"

"And what exactly do I do?"

"Well, while I'm getting the bottle, you keep an ear out for Snape, then when I get out, you grab me and the bottle, put me in your robes and bring us back here so I can have my regrowth potion" he pulls another vial out of his pocket which is red and shiny.

"Sound good" you say, while he plonks the potion back into his pocket, and pops off the cork on the shrinking one.

"Bottoms up" he says, and downs the contents. The second he does, Fred begins to shrink! His clothes, thankfully, shrink down in size with him, until finally, he was no bigger than your pinky.

"Wow!" You exclaim, squatting down, "This is super dangerous. I could step on you."

"Please don't..." Fred mutters, his pitch the exact same despite his small size, just a bit quieter due to the distance and size of his mouth and all that. Damn, TV and movies have lied to you. A look of mild horror suddenly adorns Fred's face as he pulls something out from his trouser pocket. It's so small, you had trouble realising it was his regrowth potion, "Oh bugger! I forgot about that..."

You were tempted to lie down on your stomach and be as close as you could to eye level, but you doubted that would be very sanitary on the bathroom floor, "What's wrong?"

"I just realised I let the potion shrink with me! Now it won't work! It'll only grow me back to the size of a foot, if we're lucky"

"Speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately." he shivers, "But it's okay, we'll just have to stop off at my room afterwards to get some more. I always make extra if I can afford to"

"Well that's good. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely" he held up his arms and you scooped him up like you would a wand. You got to your feet and were about to place him in your pocket when you noticed you still had your potions essay folded up inside. Fred had helped you finish it last night, the legend. Took you until 4 am to finish writing it.

You put him in your breast pocket instead, for fear that your robes might fly around too much and he might fall out, or that someone might bump into you and squash him. The breast pocket was at least hidden and safe. Besides, there were still two layers separating him from your actual boobs.

You opened the door and peaked your head through, checking to see if anybody was there. Nobody. Brilliant. Hurrying down the cobbled hallway, you B lined to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, and hurried to the classroom door. You and Fred had a free period right now, so that would explain why it seemed you and he were the only ones not in class. Despite how thankful you were for Fred's help, you wouldn't have skipped lessons to do this, it's risky enough as it is. Fast walking now, you peeped your head into Snape's office, where beyond it lay the door to his private stash.

"He better not come, Fred, or I'll squash you"

"Don't worry, he's in his lesson! Only got one potions teacher"

You thought this over and realised that yeah, there is only one... why the fuck do they only have one teacher for each subject? Do they get breaks? That's unlikely seeing as they have to teach all four houses in all seven years over the span of only five days a week. That's mental that is. Regardless, you would have the time to ponder this later, for now you had a potion to steal. You crept into Snape's office and shut the door, pulling out your wand and enchanting "Colloportus" to lock it behind you.

Fred really knew what he was talking about, because there were indeed shelves next to the closet door. The third one up was even covered with books, and when you grabbed Fred out from your pocket and plonked him on the shelf, he pointed to the dusty copy of 'The Moral Implications of Love Potions' and you took it out to reveal a hole behind it big enough for tiny Fred, “This looks like an interesting read..." you mutter, flipping over to read the blurb. There was a mini scoff, and by mini you mean it was produced by a mini person.

"Right, well, you have fun reading that, I'll search for the potion. Be back in a second" and he was off, disappearing through the hole. You sigh, fidgeting with anxiety at possibly getting caught. Doesn't make sense though, Snape is in class, he has no reason to come in here. When do lessons end anyway? You glance around for a clock but don't find any. Serves you right for not wearing a watch... would a watch even work at Hogwarts?

You flipped open the book and began reading a random page: Dr Eglantine proposed the following moral dilemma: if two people love each other but are too afraid to admit to one another, is it wrong for one of them to drug the other with love potion? Wizarding philosophers are torn on this issue, and when intercourse is involved, the grey area becomes even larger—

There was a loud bang from outside, which made your heart drop. You scurry over to the door, pressing your ear against the cool wood, holding your breathe in hopes of hearing better. The sound of students filled your ears, but not just a few students having a free period, but a whole herd of them. That could only mean one thing: class had ended... Oh fuck!

"Fred!" you cry out in the quietest panic you can muster, scurrying over to the hole, "Snape is coming."

"Almost... there!" Fred called between grunts, emerging with the bottle. You snatched it up, preparing to despose of it into your pocket when Fred raised a valid argument, "Don't put it in there! Snape will check your pockets when he finds you here!" He began downing his second potion, growing only to the size of a regular sized hand, "Damn"

"Oh, right" you scan your body for another hiding place, then the thought came to you. You shove the vial up your shirt and into your bra.

"Great, now me!" Fred exclaims, raising his arms up.

"I can't put you in my bra! You're too big, he'll see you!" You scoop him, holding his torso like a toothbrush.

He stares up at you in stunned confusion, "Really? That was what was wrong with that plan?"

You realised you ought to have said 'no you pervert I'm not letting you touch my boobs' but now wasn't the time to curse yourself for it. Your heart was hammering with fear, inspecting your body for somewhere to stash him. The doorknob rattled, and the sickeningly familiar tone of Snape's voice cursed that it was locked. Your time was up, there was only one thing for it! You pulled away the elastic of your skirt and stuck him down there,

“WOAH—!" He yelped, hair practically standing on end.

"Just hold onto the elastic along the outside and we should be fine!" You put him onto your outer right thigh, knowing full well that a pair of shorts and a pair of underwear and a whole thigh were separate him from... that.

"Alohamora!" the door swung open just as you were putting the book back, and there stood Snape, in all his emo glory. He froze, clearly having not expected to find anyone inside. Once the shock had left his system, he straightened up and glared at you, “What exactly do you think you are doing?" his nasally voice grilled, doing nothing good for your nerves, which were in absolute tatters at the moment.

"I was looking for you, w-when someone locked me in the class" you scramble, the lie just about the worst you could come up with. You had to remind yourself that Fred was on the outside of your thigh. Considering he was in your skirts at all, that was the most innocent position he could be in. All he had to do was hold on to the elastic of your shorts and you should be fine!

"Why?" he trudged further into the classroom.

"Why was I looking for you or why did someone lock me in the class—?"

"Why were you looking for me?" His booming voice told you that you were on thin ice.

"Ah yes, well, I... I was having trouble with the essay assigned for tomorrow, and thought maybe you could help me"

Snape closed the door and came to lean on his large desk, "Do you really expect me to believe that one of my students, who has never once asked a question in six years, is now asking a question?"

You frown, so suddenly insulted that you almost forgot about Fred on your leg, "Professor Snape, I ask questions all the time"

"Oh, how unmemorable you are then" he sneers, making you fume, "Regardless, I'm going to need to search your pockets"

You sighed, "Yes, sir"

He stalked over to you, holding out a hand for your robes. You pushed the sleeves off each shoulder, removing it, and dumped it into his palm. As he began to examine it, you felt Fred's shoes scrapping against your skin. It's as though he's trying desperately to find a foothold, no doubt still exhausted from having to push the bottle. If he falls, not only will you be caught, but Fred could get seriously injured!

Again, you knew what you had to do but hesitated to do it. As subtly as you could, you extended the elastic of your skirt, took Fred out, then plonked him into your shorts. His entire body went flush against yours, no doubt the skin tight shorts were crushing him. As long as there was no more risk of him falling... Hopefully it wasn't suffocating him though.

"If it's too tight, move" you hissed, keeping your eyes trained on Snape, who unfortunately heard you.

"What did you say?"

"I said—" you took a sharp breath, feeling Fred's back sink further into the fat of your thigh as he pushed away the area of fabric suffocating him, "If it's too tight, move" you repeated loudly for the two men in the room. "The pockets get a bit stuck sometimes so you have to jostle it around a bit" you added to give fake context to an instruction that wasn't even meant for Snape.

The shadowy teacher was evidently confused, but decided to ignore your outburst. Meanwhile, you could feel Fred inching along the front of your thighs, moving closer to your core. This was fine, as you didn't exactly want him to asphyxiate in your shorts, that would be a tragic way to go. You did hope, however, that he wouldn't overshoot his target, and fall into the abyss between the crotch and pant leg. Just as you had thought it, you felt the man slip. You gasped, pressing your legs a little closer together, enough for him to reach out and grab the first piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Unfortunately for the both of you, that piece of fabric were your panties. You wondered whether he knew what he was doing, when he began to scramble onto it, lying down flat onto the crotch like a hammock. Your question was quickly answered by the sensation of his arms sticking into your folds, and the subsequent wriggling of regret.

Sucking in a deep breath, you had to grip the nearby desk with all your might to stop a loud moan escaping your lips. Regardless of how bizarre and awful this situation was, having anything rub against your clit was an arousal waiting to happen. Poor guy must have though those were your shorts he grabbed before... You were just about to dig in and help, when Snape extended your robes back to you. You'd have to walk, with mini Fred mushed into you vagina, all the way to grab it. Praying he might forgive you one day, you stepped forward, effectively compromising Fred's escape, trapping him between your knickers and crack. Talk about getting stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Very well, I will take a look at your homework" and he rounded the desk, unfurling the essay he had taken from your pocket and sitting down in preparation to help. You swallow, approaching the table as he skimmed through it. He paused for a moment to look up, "Well, sit down" he ordered.

Staring down at the chair, you gulped. Every time you sit down during class, the skin tight shorts you wear, under your Hogwarts skirt, ride up into your ass. Having that happen right now is about as undesirable as they come, "Um, I'd rather not, if that's alright with you"

He blinked and looked back down at your work, "Well anyway, the beginning of your essay seems promising." You smiled, that was the part you wrote by yourself. Just wait until he gets to the part Fred helped you with. There were things he told you on the topic that you swore you had never heard before, you'll look like such an expert! Speaking of, the unfortunate blighter had given up on his attempts to leave, probably worried that his efforts might be thwarted again by your moving thighs. He was now using his hands and knees to keep himself pushed away from you. If you thought about it hard enough, you could convince yourself Fred was just a bumpy pad with a tuft of hair on the end... that moved.

Alright now body, I know you're an animal that listens to its instincts more than its brain, but please don't respond the same way you usually do when something— anything is pressing against you. You thought to yourself. We are not creating any new weird kinks today, thank you very much. Besides, the poor guy is going through enough as it is.

"You think Felix Felicis was created by Felix Williams... and that it contains balm, angel's trumpet, bitter root, and a single strawberry cooked under a full moon" he looked up from your work, pinning you with an expression of cold unamusement.

He must be testing you. Fred's a prankster but he isn't a dick... most of the time. He wouldn't. He couldn't! "Yes...?"

"Your Wolfsbane... does it contain any other nonsense ingredients I should know about?"

You froze, as did the guy in your pants. He must have heard, and Merlin have mercy he was going to pay for what he'd done!

This was just like that incident in fourth year all over again! You were in the showers after a quidditch match and Fred snuck in and stole your clothes and towel. When you realised you would had to run butt fucking naked all the way to your room, you were absolutely furious. Fred was lounging in the common room, along with twenty or so other people, and they all watched as you went gunning for the stairs. George felt awful, having not known his brothers prank, and offered to obliviate anyone who talked about it. It was then you realised Fred could be kind of a dick, and George was the man for you.

Fascinated by just how much Fredrick Weasley had fucked you over yet again, you decided to plop down on the chair opposite Snape. The moment you did, the skin tight shorts became skin tight. Fred's entire body went flush against yours, sending a delicious zap up your spine that attempted to summon a moan you coughed back, “Sorry, I wasn't trying to insult you with my work... I got a friend to help and it seems he was just taking the piss" Fred was moving, his chest bumping and smoothing over your clit. You had to actively try not to squeeze your thighs around him to increase the pressure.

George had bought you a dildo once as a "joke" (he just wanted to watch you wank yourself off, the kinky bugger) and you had run it between your folds, but that pailed in comparison to this. This was far better. Fred is made up of so many intricate parts, each of them squirming against you. His legs, for example, were kneading the source of your arousal. His shoes were in there now, using it as a foothold to try and push his way out. It was heavenly.

"Now I might remember you, as the girl with a poor judge of character" Snape interjected, pulling you out of your sexual haze. If the context were different, you might have gotten mad, but you couldn't bring yourself to at the moment. Not while you were getting oh so sweet revenge on a certain someone, "Well, for starters, dragon bone isn't an ingredient in any of these, so we might as well cross that off the list—" he took his red ink and began marking your paper. His voice became a distant drone in the background as you disassociated once against, focusing on how Fred had began shimmying his way to freedom. If only you could quicken his pace. If only you could rock your hips and fuck yourself against him. You weren't available to move, but he certainly was.

Leaving the one hand there on the desk, to rest your chin against, the other snuck under the table and under the hem of your skirt and shorts. Your fingers hovered above him, a little unsure what to do, until the index finger took initiative and pressed down onto his back through the pants. If he wasn't mushed against you before, he sure as hell was now. His hands slap your folds, but you could feel his head angled up for air. He should be fine.

You experiment by pushing him up. There his chin is triggering the most sensitive nerves of your clit! You roll your hips to savour it, using your thumb to squash his head down and create a more prominent friction. The round nature of his face and bumps making up his features created the most delicious rub. You had to loop your feet behind the desk's legs in order to stop your thighs from crushing him. When he slaps you for air, you reluctantly moved your thumb and pushed his body down. Now his feet were teasing your entrance with the sensation of being filled. You sat down more firmly onto your chair to shove him deeper inside of you. You pushed him up again, then down, up, down, repeating the gesture while his limbs squirmed, awakening new flesh with every swipe. Your middle finger joined the index's perch on his back to pick up the pace. You bit your lip and sucked a deep breath through your nose to push down all the noises that were bubbling to the surface. The only thing that could have moulded you any better than Fred would have been a literal mould. Even then, it wouldn't have been nearly so fun to hump.

You were now rolling him against you in deep tight circles. Your hips were swaying in time, and as much as you wanted to use your whole hand to rub him madly against you, you thought Snape might notice your entire arm thrusting under the table. Unconsciously, your thighs tighten around him, sucking him almost up into you. You lull your head back and arch into him, sighing in bliss. When Snape looked up, you snapped your head back down and froze, biting your fist in order to stop yourself whining in disapproval.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir" what on earth were you agreeing to? You hadn't the foggiest.

"Then don't waste my time with useless garbage like this again. If you haven't produced a coherent, serious essay by tomorrow, I'll be deducting twenty points from your house. Now go!" He pointed to the door.

You had half a mind to snap back, but thought: to hell with him! You had things that needed your immediate attention, and no hooked nose, greasy hair, middle aged virgin was going to ruin that for you! “Very well, thank you sir" you stood up, and to your eternal disappointment, it loosened the strain of your clothes to unstick Fred from your cunt.

Exiting the class, you were devastated to find the hallway packed with students ready for their next potions lesson. The women's bathroom was just around the corner and up the stairs. All you had to do was get to it. You sped walked around the students, opting to push some aside rather than do any fancy footwork and likely squash the man inside of you. From the lack of movement, you guessed he had probably made peace with the situation. Luckily for you though, the movement of your walking kept banging him against you, and you had to stop yourself from dropping to the floor right then and there to grind him furiously against you.

When finally you had made it to the bathroom, casting "Colloportus" on the door for some privacy, you froze at the sight of someone stood inside with their back to you. You recognised those ginger locks straight away.

"George?" you called. He let go of the robe he was examining over the cubicle door and beamed, bounding up to you with all the excitement of a puppy.

"Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?"

What to say, what to say. You doubted rubbing your shrunk brother against my vagina in revenge would be largely acceptable, so you opted to white lie, "Oh, I needed Snape to help me with my potions essay"

George frowned, "Why'd you do that? I could have helped you. Can't imagine ol' hook nose was as fun as me"

"Well maybe if you weren't at that party last night—"

"What party?"

Judging by Fred's immediate scramble to break free, you imagined George was about to tell you something that would spell out very bad news for his twin. To stop his escape, you move a hand behind your back to fist your underwear and hoist it up, making it impossible to give way, "Fred told me you were at the Ravenclaw party last night..."

George's chocolate brown eyes widen in horror, immediately replaced by a scowl as he looked up to curse the air. Little did he know he actually should have been glancing down if he wanted to curse his brother. His squirming against you was making this entire thing leagues better, "What? Oh that prick! I was sick last night with a cold and sent him to apologise to you because I didn't want you catching it while Madam Pomfrey's sweets took effect"

Your cunt was fluttering in anticipation for what long and hard revenge you were about to take. Fred was scrambling so wildly, you couldn't wait to get down to business, "That asshat. He said you were drunk and convinced me to steal some stupid potion with him"

George's anger multiplied, "Bloody hell! I told him not to do that"

"What do you mean?" You were genuinely curious, but your body had literally no care in the world. It was hoisting your pants even higher to keep Fred glued there, wriggling your hips as your breathing became laboured.

George didn't seem to notice, "He was planning on making a thing of love potion with it. Told him it was a stupid idea and he was perfectly popular enough to get anyone he wanted without it. He's got hundreds of girls and guys in the past, I can't think of who he thought he needed to trick..." you consider it for a moment. That was a very good question, it's strange for Fred to care so much about someone... but this could be left for another time.

You hook your foot behind George's leg and brought it forward to wedge it in between yours. Without warning you hopped up and felt Fred immediately sink into your flesh. You doubled over, gripping George's shoulders, and moaning to savour the feel of being entirely and completely touched. George had to brace his hands against the door either side of your head to stop himself from falling over. In surprise rapture, he watched as you were already so unravelled. Finally, the surface you needed. Twins were supposedly two halfs of a whole, and never before had that sentiment rung so true. His leg was the missing component that pushed Fred so absolutely into you, no margin of error. All of him was rubbing against you now as you began humping without mercy.

You thrust yourself forwards and backwards, side to side, around in broad circles. Your folds accommodated him so well, stretching to make sure he always stayed between them. At times you were almost sure you could feel them curling around him, to keep him there as a permanent feature. Tempting indeed, he certainly made walking more fun, and imagine the possibilities in History of Magic. He could get you off under the table without anyone having a clue!

Fred was becoming slick with your arousal, lubricating him into slipping and sliding into usually unattainable flesh you never knew yearned for touch. And because of George's pressure under him, his hold on those neglected areas of your cunt was positively sinful. You throw your head back, your hands on George's shoulders, tugging up and down to massage yourself against Fred.

"What is that bump in your pants?" he finally questioned, having snapped out of his shock.

"Just a sex toy" you reply earnestly, making no alterations to your position.

There was a sudden sting on your clit that made you yelp and stop for a moment. Fred must have bit you... and it was incredible. You wondered whether you could get him to do it again, "It's loves being in there while I fuck myself with it. A tool for my pleasure" You were bouncing up and down like a rubber ball, poking him to react. He still wasn't doing anything to participate, but it was fine. You were doing more than enough for the both of you. All he needed to do was be there as you pounded yourself onto him. Then, your continuous lifting and applying onto him made his shoulder lodge so deep inside of you, you let out a howling moan, crushing George's lips to yours in order to muffle the sheer volume of the scream. He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, urgently swiping his tongue against yours. You moan and put everything you have into the kiss, allowing him to dive in and taste you. George's lips began to wander, bitting, nibbling and sucking his way to your pulse. His hands came up to hastily undo your tie and shirt, pushing them aside to reveal your bare stomach. As he works your skin into his mouth, creating a glorious love bite on the swell of your neck, his palms fan out across your stomach. You take a sharp breath, as he caressed towards your bra, grinning against you when he notices it's the one he got you for Valentine's Day that unhooks at the front. Lucky coincidence, all your other ones were just dirty.

"I leave you for one night and you become a horny mess" George teases, his hands gliding down your sides to grip your hips. He nudged your legs apart, spreading you wider over your toy. Although he didn't take over the pace, he certainly sped you up. God you could have kissed him for knowing exactly how to whind up your pleasure. A shame then that his mouth was currently occupied with other things. You tangle your hands into his hair as he strokes your nipple with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks to suck it hard. Your head lulled back to angle yourself further into him, whimpering at how close your climax was.

Seemed Fred was just as desperate to get it over with as you were. He was now doing everything in his power to jack you off. He had somehow managed to grasp your clit between his hands, and paired with your thrusting it created a borderline unnatural amount of pleasure. You were screaming with moans. But somehow more importantly than all that, he had his leg plunged inside of you.

That was it. The idea had been toying in your mind this whole time, but now you knew you needed him inside if you. "Wait a second George" you breathed, perching yourself a little higher in order to stick a hand down your panties, pinching Fred so his arms were trapped by his sides, and sliding him, feet first, through your entrance, until nothing showed of him but his head.

Head back, mouth open in an overjoyed groan, something in you snapped. You didn't even have to thrust him in and out. He was twisting, his arms and legs were flailing in the little space available to them. The walls were hugging his every curve, likely trying to suction him to the back. It was the combination of George flicking your nipple with his tongue and Fred massaging your insides that had you finally unravelling. Hot, slick, arousal came dribbling past what little gaps Fred’s body provided, and you went limp in his brother’s arms with one final howl.

George straightened up to hold you close, stroking your hair until you were ready to stand on your own again, “Nifty toy you got there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so animalistic” he chuckled.

Wiping the sweat of your brow off on your robes, you tried to make yourself look presentable again, smirking up at your boyfriend as you redid the buttons of your shirt, “Yes, well, nothing beats actual sex with you. Wanna go for a round two in your room?”

He beams, “Course! Want me to wait?”

“Nah, I’ll meet you up there” you gesture him away. Normally you would ask him to stay, but you had something to deal with first.

“Alright, see you in five” all excited, he ran for the door, then turned back just as he had performed the unlocking spell to give you a quick peak on the lips, then off he went.

Rummaging around in your shorts, you sigh as you unclog your hole, the contents stringing against Fred as you lift him to eye level. Merlin he looked awful. His fiery hair was stood on end, gelled up with your cum. His white shirt was practically transparent and clung to his abs as though it have been soaked in water. His eyes were a little bloodshot probably from liquid splashing into them, and his lips were rather swollen, like they would be after making out with someone for too long or too roughly. Just generally, your essence was rolling off of him in big globs. You placed your other hand to your mouth and giggled at his appearance, but he seemed the furthest thing from amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, a highly displeased scowl etched across his face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” you say, “If you hadn’t planned the robbery so terribly, or lied to me on twooccasions in the 8 hours proceeding it, getting me to write a whole 4 thousand word essay on things that were complete horseshit, humiliating me on front of Snape and—“

“Alright alright—!” He had softened up a little, averting eye contact, but you didn’t care.

“No! I’m not done!” That got his attention again, “Fred, you have been a dick to me for the past six years! Sure, you’re funny and can be sweet sometimes, but most of the time you don’t know where the line is! You prank me all the time, it’s relentless! And today you bloody pushed me over the edge. I had a perfect means of getting revenge and damn it I took it.”

He shrugs, “Whatever, I guess we’re even now”

You open your mouth to continue arguing but snap it shut when you realised what he had said. That really took much less convincing than you though, probably because you were feeling a smidge guilty for going so far in the heat of anger. It’s not like he orgasmed or anything... well if he did you wouldn’t be able to tell, his trousers were drenched, “Yeah, I guess...”

You waddled to the sink, turning both faucets on for lukewarm water, plonking him in the basin to clean off the sticky residue. You then hobbled into the closest stall to grab a wad of tissue and wipe yourself clean with it. Despite how absolutely caked in the stuff Fred was, you were still drenched. You exit the stall a couple of minutes later to find him completely washed down, "Right, let's get you back to your normal size, but let's put you in my pocket this time..."

"What a shame. I had really learned to call your vag my home" the sarcasm drooled from his lips.

You scooped him up, pinning him with a warning eye, "I'll put you back in there if you're not careful."

"Sorry sorry sorry!" he back peddled, extending his arms like a man about to be hit by an unforgivable curse. You gently lay him in your pocket, and snapped your head up to find Moaning Myrtle staring at you in disbelief.

"Umm..." the ghost muttered, for once in her life (or death) at a loss for words.

"Don't tell anyone what you saw here today, Myrtle" you warned, pointing a long threatening finger at her, "Not like they'd believe you anyway"

She nodded vigorously and dove into the nearest sink.

#giantess #giantess smut #fred weasley x reader smut #fred weasley x reader #geroge weasley x reader smut #fred weasley #geroge weasley #geroge weasley x reader #geroge weasley smut #fred and george #fred weasley smut #fred and george weasley smut #harry potter smut #fred weasley lemon #weasley twin smut #weasley twins smut #weasley twins x reader

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justasimplesinner · 3 years

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Ok ok Eddie with a jock friend (and eventual s/o), here's what I'm thinking: High school Eddie (whatever version honestly) mouths off to some teachers or embarrasses them with his superior intellect in an insulting way and gets sent to the principal's office. Since this is a repeat offense (try seven times and counting) the punishment is more severe...but the principal says she'll lighten his detention sentence if he uses his smarts for good and enters the high school's peer tutoring program for at least a month. Cue jock who is eager to learn but maybe has a learning disability or ADHD and their course material just isn't sticking.

They come to Eddie for help and he's a bit of an ass at first but then he realizes that they're not just looking for answers; they are genuinely interested in what he has to say and wants to learn so they can do their homework on their own. He gets to know them and how intelligent they are in other ways and his little heart goes doki-doki.

this invoked violent daydreaming in me, i've gotten distracted by my own thoughts every 5 minutes while writing this

Edward with a dumb jock s/o hcs:

safe to say, this situation isn't ideal, and Eddie is not happy at all. he has to deal with idiots and brutes every day anyway, and now they're taking some of his only spare time away from them all just because he was right and his teacher was wrong? why is he constantly being punished for being right, for being smart?

he doesn't get along with his fellow peers from the program at all. some of them recognized him already and knew it was better to stay away lest they wanted to get insulted either by him or everyone else for talking to him, some of them tried to reach out but gave out pretty quickly. in highschool, Edward became way more bratty and mean. in middle school, he was still trying to fit in but he was incredibly overwhelming for other kids and also an easy target, and that really made him resent everyone around him. so getting along with the other students wasn't really an option

however, he dreaded meeting the ones he had to tutor even more. partly because he did not want to deal with some idiots that couldn't get an equation right, partly because he knew most of those idiots are going to be the same ones that always pick on him. half the football team had to be assigned to that program so they would pass their classes. sports don't always give you a get out of jail free pass apparently, and they were forced to study, which didn't sit well with them at all

and then, you came along. he didn't know if you were better or worse than the rest of the jock community that he had the displeasure of meeting. you were just so... dense. it's like you were smart but didn't even know it and couldn't quite use that to your advantage. it fucking annoyed him. incredibly so. you were frustrating beyond imagination. you were getting distracted so easily, and he had to explain the same thing over and over to you and it was driving him up the wall. why couldn't you just get it? Edward both thinks he's the smartest and that nobody will ever understand the lengths his knowledge goes to, and can't quite grasp the fact that people just can't understand something that's so blatantly obvious to him. safe to say, he would not be a good teacher

Ed is absolutely appaled by your eagerness to learn though. practically everything he says flies over your head and despite all his rambling, you still don't understand jack shit, but at the same time... you're such an avid listener. you genuinely think this peer tutoring program could help you get better. you want to get better. and as much as he doesn't want to admit, it really scores you some brownie points in his eyes. because despite everything, you at least try. you don't expect him to do your homework for you and guarantee you a good grade, you genuinely want to work for it. you expect him to explain things to you so you can do that homework yourself and you can be proud of yourself for doing something right. sometimes, he thinks he'd prefer it if you just threatened him to do your work for you because getting you to remember something is an impossible task, but he doesn't mean that

he remembers one of your first study sessions together when he just snapped and almost screamed at you that you were an idiot. to his absolute astonishment, you didn't beat his ass, you didn't even scream back. you just smiled your stupid dorky smile and laughed your stupid dorky smile, saying that he clearly wasn't in the mood so instead of studying you took him for a late lunch. a lunch. and instead of learning more about what you were supposed you, you were trying to learn more about him. best thing is, that day was the first and only time he shared any form of personal information with you and - as opposed to the Mendeleev's table - you memorized most of what he said. hell, next time you saw him, you brought him that specific chocolate he somehow admitted to liking

more and more often, you were bringing him small things, 'thank you gifts' as you called them. as if you knew you were hard to put up with sometimes, at least for him. of course, at first he took it as some sort of bribe, that you tried to worm your way into his graces so he'd do your homework for you or whatever but soon enough you made him realise that you were just genuinely being nice. he has never met someone quite like you, you were an enigma to him

soon enough, he didn't even realise he was looking forward to those study sessions with you. he was constantly lying to himself about how annoying and dense you were, and yet he started feeling more comfortable around you and talking with you freely. he started liking your stupid inquires that usually were something along the lines of "what kind of animal is the Pink Panther", even smirking at them under his nose as if he found idiocy amusing. it was both a nightmare and a blessing to have you around

he couldn't quite understand the weird feeling he got whenever you referred to him as your friend or greeted him at the corridors. or when you offered to have some study sessions at your house because you couldn't keep quiet in the school library and put all the librarians on edge. he didn't really get what was going on with him when he smiled and laughed along with you, in your messy room, as you were trying to figure out how to write a proper essay

he... liked coming to your house. it was admittedly better than the library. your parents were really warm and welcoming, weirdly supportive which he couldn't quite understand since you weren't... well, the brightest. the food was nice, too. and your room was so... you. that's the only way to describe it, what with all the little trinkets and posters and things laying around, and with some music or movies in the background. he also noticed a constantly reoccuring theme amongst your possessions and he was surprised how much knowledge you had on one or two specific subjects. your small little obsessions that you somehow learned about a lot easier than anything else

at some point, without even realising it, you two started hanging out. like, really hanging out, not just meeting up to study. you played some games and talked about random stuff, with you always inquiring about everything, which in turn made him feel like someone actually listened to him for once and rambling for hours to no end. you even tried to teach him your favourite sports, despite his protests, and he was really shocked when you didn't laugh at his general clumsiness and awkwardness when it came to physical activities. you were actually just as weirdly supportive of him as your parents were of you. he didn't see you get annoyed at him even once, and you always tried to explain to the best of your abilities how things worked in sports. show him the proper moves and stances. he didn't quite pick it up, but you two had... fun

spending so much time with you made him notice your strengths, and there were suprisingly many, not just physical (but god, you could just lift him up like a stick? like he wieghed nothing?). he started to slowly figure out your thinking process which made him use different teaching methods that suited you better and lo and behold, there was progress. nothing too crazy, but it was progress. he didn't know which one of you was more proud - you or him

you finally found a way to learn and you started getting better grades. you didn't have to sacrifice school for sports or vice versa. you were going to pass. and all those small victories made Ed realise that soon enough, you won't need him anymore. you'll be capable of learning by yourself, since now you found a good way to do it. you weren't going to meet up with him so often, instead going out with your actual friends since now you could. now you had time. and when i tell you that he almost sabotaged you both just to force you to stick with him for a little while longer-

who was going to tell him stupid jokes now? who was going to listen to him? who was going to talk to him? who was going to cuddle him on your bed and fall asleep there with him from the pure exhaustion from studying? who was going to be his golden retriever friend when you were gone? he wouldn't ever imagine he'd be so sad to get rid of a bumbling idiot in his life? you were his bumbling idiot, and he really didn't want to go back to how things were before he knew you. he didn't want to be alone again. he didn't want to stop being so happy

so let me tell you, the pure fucking relief on his face when you start telling him about how many fun things you two can do now that you don't have to study all the time and hang out more is unimaginable. you never felt him hug you so tight as in that one moment

#riddler #edward nigma #edward nygma #the riddler #edward nashton #my writing #headcannons #fluff #some angst #sovereign of succ #god this is my favourite trope #i love it here

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amelia · 3 years

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related to that last ask but now i actually have a question! what are your favourite episodes for amy as a character? (sorry if i’m pestering you btw you don’t have to answer right away ❣️)

it is absolutely never a bother for me to talk about amy pond!! gosh though this is a Question. okay. i did interpret this as episodes that are my favorite for the lens of My Understanding Of Amy instead of favorite pond era episodes as a whole if that makes sense? under the cut bc i got long as i tend to do

i think my number 1 has to be the big bang, because it really is just like. okay, pond era absolutely runs into the problem of frequently making stories/episodes that should be centered around amy's emotional journey actually about somebody else — but the big bang is all hers. it is all on her! she's leading the show SHE'S the one in the pandorica SHE'S the one who remembers the doctor into existence it is HER choice to say goodbye to leadworth and continue to travel completely without remorse SHE IS THE HERO. it goes from "time can be rewritten, he'll find a way" to AMY being the one who finds the way. rory and river and the doctor all of course get their Moments but it's unquestionably amy's spotlight moment the whole way through

i have also ALWAYSSS been obsessed with starless universe amelia and the way that she still believes in stars in a world where they DON'T EXIST the power of her mind and the conviction of her beliefs is a CORE TENET of amy's character, the doctor has NOTHING to do with it!!! it's just who she is !!! best character of all time <3

other things about the amy's writing in this episode i love: the line "the universe pouring into her dreams every night," space florida outfit <3, ok i obviously do not love this but i think so much about amy talking about the doctor at her wedding and her mother is still like "NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN… i thought the psychiatrists FIXED her" like once again !!! a UNIVERSAL CONSTANT that amy is the one who believes in things nobody else does and is LOUD about it and is RIGHT !!! (let's kill hitler tried to retcon this but it simply won't work on me ❤️ just like anything else about the let's kill hitler flashbacks ❤️❤️❤️), OKAY DOCTOR DID I SURPRISE YOU THIS TIME? <3

number 2, i think, is the eleventh hour itself? like it's just… i've rewatched it so many times and it's still the most captivating character introduction i have ever seen. i know i'm biased but i love it so much. her introduction as a clearly neglected seven year old girl (constantly think about the deleted line that has her talking to aunt sharon and saying "you're not supposed to leave me, i'm seven!" WOOF) who's not afraid of anything except for the crack in her wall… she has drawings up all over her house of burning houses, she draws smiley faces into her apples bc her mom used to do that, she can cook for herself way better than i could at seven, and she desperately just wants to leave. but when the doctor tells her he'll be back in five minutes, amy is already so used to adults leaving her and breaking their promises that she doesn't believe him. but he makes her believe anyway. and he doesn't come back.

and all of the rest of her character hinges on that introduction — of course she has to believe him, he was REAL, nobody can take his realness away from her even if she is the only one who believes. but he also left her all alone for so long, just like everyone else who was supposed to be there for her did, so what good does that to her? so yeah of course she grows up angry and bitter and hiding those layers of hurt deeply under the surface, scorning all attachment and serious relationships because she knows she can't trust them. she outwardly distances herself from her childhood self by changing her name but she IS still just such a child inside.

she's not ready to settle, to grow up, to become what everyone in her tiny village wants her to be, thinks that she should be — so when she gets the chance to GO, of course she takes it. but she's also not just going to let the doctor off the hook for [gestures] her entire life, you know? the exchanges "people always say that" "i'm not people, do i even look like people?" | "people always have a reason" "do i look like people?" "Yes." always just GUT ME. she may trust him but it's NOT a blind trust, it can't be.

number 3 has to be the beast below it just makes me SCREAM how good that episode is at really developing amy through her compassion for other people — right from the start she sees that kid crying and she thinks the doctor must ignore stuff like this all the time, and she says that she could never do that. she's learning and intuiting leaps and bounds about the doctor with everything he says to her — which is another one of my favorite amy character traits, the way she is SO quick to pick up on things about other people and analyze them. everything that she picks up about the doctor allows her to KNOW what to do to save the star whale, allows her to be confident in the fact that the star whale wanted to help the whole time. the choice is IN HER HANDS she IS THE HERO <3 as she always should be. you couldn't just stand there and watch people cry! all that pain and misery and loneliness and it MADE IT KIND. i don't care how overused that quote is it still HITS !!!

um. number 4 is the girl who waited but my very specific headcanon-ridden interpretation and cutting out all that garbage "rory's the most beautiful man i've ever met" "defying destiny causality the nexus of time itself for a boy" bullshit. idk there's so many terrible things about this episode but it also gave me so much to think about when it comes to amy it's on my mind a LOT. one thing i think about is the way it parallels amy's first abandonment by the doctor — not just in the obvious sense but in the way that she's actively fighting for her life in a hostile atmosphere, but nobody else SEES it as a hostile atmosphere. the two streams facility is leadworth like it really is. and what adds a more chilling component is the way the handbots signature line is "do not be alarmed, this is a kindness" — like all the people who were trying to convince amy she was crazy throughout her entire childhood really thought they were doing her a kindness. they thought they were helping her. but they were killing her. because she wasn't made for that environment.

beyond that i am just obsessed with 36-years-later amy she is an icon she is a legend she is the moment i don't care! every mean thing she said about the doctor and rory was absolutely deserved and in fact she should have been so much meaner! she is SO SMART she makes her own SONIC PROBES OUT OF CAMERA PHONES the fact that she even was able to SURVIVE THAT LONG and in COMPLETE isolation and still retain her own mental faculties is just insane to me it speaks so much about her insane mental strength oh my god it makes me sooo emotional i am tearing up a little typing this right now.

i just am always THINKING about the line "there he is, the voice of god. number one lesson: survive, because no one's coming for you. you taught me that" it says SO MUCH about her. oh my god older amy didn't want to die she'll be kicking and screaming and fighting til the end… i fucking hate this show and picking and choosing when paradoxes should apply OLDER AMY DESERVED TO LIVE

number 5 is probably the power of three but my own very headcanon infused interpretation of it. because it's like. the ultimate miscommunication/misunderstanding that exists between amy and the doctor coming to a head. where amy in 7.02 is like "i can't not wait for you, even now. (…) we think you're weaning us off you" (that line always makes me slow exhale … the phrasing of the doctor as a drug) and the doctor keeps insisting that's not true, "you'll be there until the end of me" "or vice versa" (and they have that loaded held stare and you know they're both thinking about what he said to her before he left in the god complex…)

but it's not until this episode where amy starts to actually believe he means it. at the same time she's spent so much TIME preparing for the inevitable moment where the doctor says goodbye and doesn't say hello ever again that she's not willing to fully hope that the doctor really means it when he says that he would never leave her permanently on purpose. and i love that this episode gives amy a lot of space to verbally communicate her emotions because the later pond episodes SORELY LACK THAT. and amy tells him, don't be nice to me, don't stop coming around just because you think that's the kind thing to do. even though she says herself that she doesn't know if she can have "both" — she knows that she can tell the doctor to stay, in her own way, and that he'll listen.

ideally they would have just gone off traveling together forever after that and the angels take manhattan did not happen but unlike what the doctor says about amy, i don't ever get what i want 🙃

also, this episode gave amy friends that weren't rory or the doctor or river so i love it for that on principal <3 i know amy had fun being the bridesmaid at laura's lesbian wedding. and kate!!

( i do hate that this episode ends with that conversation between brian and the doctor. i hate brian as a character and i will forever. won't get into this right now but OUGH )

honestly this list is kind of wobbly and might change if you asked me in a month so i'll just rattle off other favorite episodes / moments real quickly: the good night minisode (it counts!), RIVER SONG DIDN'T GET IT ALL FROM YOU SWEETIE (timeline frozen amy my beloved!), "i remember it so it happened so i did it," vincent and the doctor specifically when vincent tells amy that he hears the song of her sadness…. ow, i could write a whole other essay about amy's choice and how it is so much more complex than people give it credit for but this post is already so goddamn long

#i literally do apologize for how long this got but you have to understand i was holding myself back .#she is…. everything. to me. i could keep going for so long #amy pond #ask #jonismitchell

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littledropoflove · 2 years

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being on your own for the first time in college is. I’m finally back to doing well academically, I’ve improved since high school. I’ve gone to a bad college and that’s why I’m doing good. I’m back on my bullshit. I’ve never had and will never have a work ethic. I have never learned how to write an essay. I’m a completely different person from my middle school self. I’ve improved a lot. My middle school self was the better version of me and she would have the current me in a chokehold. I love the friends I come to uni with and they are enough. I have never been more lonely in my entire life. Things will work out sooner or later. I’ll die lonely and miserable. I wish everyone happier than me would die. I deserve love and it’ll come eventually. I’m bitter and unlovable so it’s only natural people won’t start talking to me out of their own volition. I think the guy in my dance class was flirting with me today. Nobody would ever date me even if they were paid for it. I’m better and more fun than any of these people. Everybody here is phony. I love everyone I see and I wish could spontaneously hold hands with and hug anyone I wish. That guy just flipped his head away when we made eye contact because I’m creepy and disgusting. People are fundamentally so, so lovely. I wish I was a ghost who could glimpse into anyone’s life when I wanted without ever having to live one of my own. I have no passions. I want to major in literally everything. My friends only tolerate me. I have fifty crushes and I won’t talk to a single one of them. I need to try harder and be more outgoing. My presence alone annoys people and I have no right to force it on anyone. I want be one of those people who are friends with Everyone. I wish I wasn’t perceived. No one would go out of their way to talk to me if I didn’t take the first five steps. I should look into internships once I finish my assignments. My assignments are never getting finished. Have I ever been stupider. When you get to know me I’m a fun person and a great friend. I’m having a concerning amount of mood swings. Should I be going to therapy. never mind it was just my period. Other people are living the college experience and I’m recluse as always, socially and academically. Holy shit I nailed that interview. I’m the only person out of seven people who didn’t get in. I am worthless. My personal worth shouldn’t be tied to my interactions with other people. Wtf else can it be tied to? I want to be reborn as a solitary animal, a lizard basking in the sun. I have no idea who I am and what I like. Everyone is so beautiful and only looking at them is enough. I never want to see anyone beautiful in my life again. I wish beauty as a concept itself didn’t exist. I’m so tired tired tired tired tired of being ugly. I’m finally learning how to do makeup. I don’t think I used to care about beauty. What are the people on my floor always laughing at? Why are they always having the time of their life and not me. That’s not true, we were laughing way harder with my roommate last Friday. I’m one rejection away from death. I should still keep trying. Nobody actually wants you to be openly vulnerable. The only relatable person ever is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. When will I be loved? Will I ever be loved?

#can you tell that #I'm at the end of my rope

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myopinionhi · 4 years

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Solangelo as LGBTQ Rep and Possible Issues

I do not represent the LGBT community because I’m sure a variety of LGBT fans would have various reactions to Solangelo. As a shy, bisexual person myself, I’ll speak only for myself.

I’ve noticed some people praising Solangelo for being positive LGBTQ rep and then others thinking it doesn’t deserve the praise. I can see both sides.

I think Solangelo overall is positive LGBTQ representation. It’s not perfect. I’m glad Rick made Nico gay. However, Solangelo has one huge problem. It actually kind of suffers from a sort of harmful gay trope. The trope isn’t nearly harmful enough to take away Solangelo’s positive representation, but it’s there. I’ll elaborate more on it at the end of this essay.

Here are things I’m mostly not bothered with that others are regarding Nico and Will’s LGBT rep.

1. Nico being outed by cupid. The infamous Cupid scene made me uncomfortable, and seeing Nico forced out of the closet hit too close to home. I could relate to a young teen struggling to accept the truth about himself. Some LGBTQ characters in media appear in an amazing LGBTQ utopia that pretends LGBTQ individuals don’t have issues with self-acceptance. Heroes of Olympus doesn’t sugarcoat Nico’s issues, because the struggle can be real for some LGBTQ individuals. Yes, Nico was forced out the closet. But he was mainly forced out of the closet to himself. It was supposed to be some sort of emotional release and self-awakening. If he stays in denial, more harm than good will come out of it. What Cupid did was cruel and was supposed to be cruel. I’d have an issue with the scene if Nico was forced out of the closet in front of a group of people, but since he was only forced out in front of Jason and then Jason respectfully keeps Nico’s secret and supports him, I actually don’t have an issue with it.

2. Nico and Will constantly argue. Nico and Will argue since Blood of Olympus. Will is aggressive with Nico. I’ve mentioned this before in a previous essay; Will has to be aggressive because Nico is on the verge of death. Nico is about to disappear into the shadows and hasn’t properly taken care of himself in a long time. After not seeing Nico in months, Will must have been devastated seeing the state of Nico’s health and seeing Nico being so stubborn and anti-social about it. Will’s anger is justified, and Nico needs that push to start being healthy after so long. Nico’s anti-social and self-depreciation also probably frustrated Will. Nico thought no one wanted to be his friend and is going to leave Camp, so Will has to be assertive to convince Nico he is wanted.

Nico and Will’ s bickering in Lost Oracle is more affectionate bickering. They have very different personalities, so they’re going to disagree and let it be known. They have more harmless and playful disagreements. It’s actually more cute, if anything.

The only real issue I have with their arguments is in Blood of Olympus when Will snaps at Nico by claiming “Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away.” and “You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once...” The harmful implication of this statement is the dismissal of Nico’s real experiences of rejection and that if he’d just stop brooding he’d be happy. The implications are....unfortunate. Don’t get me wrong. Will likely lost his patience with Nico’s stubbornness after hearing Nico say he’s leaving Camp, likely never coming back. I understand Will’s devastation, especially since he wants to be Nico’s friend and knows others who do too.

The statement isn’t problematic because Will simply said it. It’s a human to say hurtful things. Will is an exhausted teen who’s on the verge of losing Nico. The real problem is the book doesn’t acknowledge Will’s statement as harmful. Will doesn’t apologize or acknowledge how he was wrong. Will says it and then Nico suddenly agrees to stay at Camp, implying Nico’s isolation was brought completely on himself. Hypothetically, if Will acknowledges his mistakes later, like in Tower of Nero, then this unfortunate line is more forgivable.

3. Nico has barely accepted himself. He’s not ready for a boyfriend. I’d accept this argument if Will and Nico started dating at the end of Blood of Olympus. Fortunately, they don’t. Nico doesn’t even acknowledge having feelings for Will to himself. It’s only implied. I find the many fanfictions having Will and Nico dating after Nico stays at the infirmary for three days unrealistic and rushed. But not this. Will and Nico aren’t a confirmed couple until Hidden Oracle, which happens months after Blood of Olympus. If Nico gets emotional healing and bonds with Will for months, it’s not unreasonable for them to be dating. Even their official relationship in Hidden Oracle seems pretty casual and low stress.

4. Will has Nico on a short leash. No Will doesn’t. After Blood of Olympus, when Will tries to save Nico’s life, Will isn’t controlling. He may tell Nico to be nicer or would bicker, but nothing too overbearing. Will teases Nico for not calling him his boyfriend and doesn’t get angry when Nico shadow-travels in Hidden Oracle. Nico seems to want to be around Will on his own accord. He enjoys being around Will, hence the doctor’s note.

5. Will “fixed” Nico and/or Nico became too dependent on Will. No, the reason Nico is happier in Hidden Oracle is because he has learned to accept himself and he has family and friends supporting him. Some of the most important loved ones for Nico include Hazel, Reyna, Jason, and the rest of the Seven. Blood of Olympus gives more focus and development to Reyna and Nico’s relationship than Nico and Will’s relationship. Will is the straw that broke the camels back, but it’s the accumulation of impactful events and support that gets Nico to happiness. Will helped, especially with Nico’s physical health. When Nico decides to stay at Camp Half-Blood, it’s likely he sees his home in Camp Half-Blood than Camp Jupiter. Bianca trusted Camp Half-Blood to take care of Nico. Nico and Will’s relationship did grow after Blood of Olympus, and Will’s support helps Nico, but there’s no indication of Will be Nico’s “fixer”. He’s just Nico’s friend and boyfriend.

Here’s an interesting argument I’ve been pondering.

Will can’t be both Nico’s doctor and his boyfriend. This argument interests me because if Will had a crush on Nico during Blood of Olympus, he maybe shouldn’t treat Nico as a patient. I’ve seen too many creepy fanfictions of Will using his authority as Nico’s doctor to get closer to Nico. However, Will likely is also the one who knows what’s best for Nico’s health. He’s a better healer even than Apollo. He may also be the only one who knows how save Nico from fading into the shadows in Blood of Olympus since Nico’s powers are unusual. Will’s emotional investment in Nico interferes with objectivity. Then again, Will may be emotionally invested with many people in Camp-Halfblood as well, and Will is the one with the best healing. Will’s doctor’s note for Nico to sit at the Apollo table does touch upon Will’s professional conflict of interest with Nico. It’s possible Will can keep it completely professional as Nico’s doctor since he’s a natural-born healer, but it’s relying on the good-faith of a teenager.

It seems unfair to deprive Nico of the best medical care because Will is his boyfriend. Especially during the winter, it’s possible Kayla’s and Austin’s healing abilities are very inferior to Will’s. At the same time though, there’s conflicts of interest when Will has Nico as his patient.

Here’s one issue I have in regards to Nico’s crush on Percy.

We don’t know how Nico gets over his crush on Percy. We’re never shown Nico’s POV until Blood of Olympus, so it’s very possible Nico goes through some self-realization after the Cupid scene. I find Nico’s dropped crush on Percy disappointing. I would have liked to see Nico admit there’s still some lingering, painful feelings towards Percy for a little while during Blood of Olympus. It would have been interesting seeing Nico accept the heartbreak and move on. Percy was Nico’s first love and someone who Nico invested in for years. House of Hades seems to imply there is still some lingering feelings, but then it’s dropped in Blood of Olympus, and Nico says to Percy “you’re not my type.” It’s lazy writing. It’s like Rick made Nico gay for Percy for that gay angst but then didn’t feel like following through. Nico’s crush on Percy affected Nico for years. How is it dropped within two books?!

The main issue I have with Solangelo

Their romance and relationship is hidden. Okay, if Will didn’t call Nico his boyfriend and Apollo didn’t gush over their relationship in Hidden Oracle, we wouldn’t know they’re in a romantic relationship. All their actions are completely platonic. I get that Nico’s probably not into PDA. I get romantic pet names may be too embarrassing for Nico. I get they may not want to flaunt their relationship. I get they may not want to hold hands. I get they’d want to keep their relationship private. I get they’re young. I get Nico doesn’t like being touched. I get Trials of Apollo is only from Apollo’s POV. That’s not the issue.

What actions do they have that imply they’re boyfriends instead of friends? The most affectionate they’ve gotten is Nico resting his hand on Will’s shoulder, Will casually leaning on Nico before the three-legged race, or Nico grabbing Will’s hand once to shadow-travel to the chariot. There’s not really any tiny romantic actions. There’s no clear romantic flirting, loving gazes, hand squeezes, hugs, legs touching, footsies, kisses on the head, or hugs. Only a couple of these small romantic actions are all that’s necessary. Nico and Will don’t have to go as far as kissing and cuddling. The relationship gets brownie points for using the label "boyfriend”, but then homophobes don’t have to be squeamish about two guys getting even a tiny bit of romantic affection. It’s too easy to censor the explicit gayness of their relationship because there’s not much to possibly censor.

Their absent romantic affection is only half of it though. Another major problem is Solangelo is only in two books. Even when they’re in those two books, their relationship doesn’t get a lot of scenes. In Blood of Olympus, Will and Nico work together and bicker during the battle against Gaia. It’s heartwarming, but they don’t even meet up until more than halfway into the book. In Hidden Oracle, Nico and Will are only in a handful of scenes, and many of these moments are brief. When Will and Nico are shown, they have chemistry. They clearly care and support each other. But this groundbreaking relationship of theirs doesn’t have much. Will is the son of Apollo, and, not including Tower of Nero for now, only appears in Hidden Oracle during Trials of Apollo. Why does Will Solace only appear in 1 (2 including Tower of Nero) books in Trials of Apollo even though his dad is the main character? We don’t know. He could be strong LGBTQ rep with a boyfriend, but....nope.

The same-sex ships get tiny crumbs, and then you’ve got all these straight ships shown and developed in more than two or three books. I’m worried Solangelo is falling under the “But Not Too Gay” trope, where an author wants a gay couple for representation credit, but then won’t give them the same appreciation as straight couples.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d much rather have Nico be gay, and I’d much rather have Solangelo be a couple. I think their relationship is wholesome, and what’s shown of them has positive representation. I don’t find Nico’s LGBTQ representation too problematic. It’s just sort of....missing something important that could make it really positive. For what it’s worth, I appreciate the Solangelo crumbs, and it meant a lot to me growing up.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #rick riordan #riordan universe #percy jackson #pjo #blood of olympus #spoilers #trials of apollo #house of hades #lgbt #lgbtq #long post #lgbtq rep #representation #meta #anaylsis

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midnighttmarauder · 4 years

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Go Away - Part 2

Read part 1 here!

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Summary: Reader thinks that James is in love with Lily and refuses to speak to him, so he writes them letters in hopes that they’ll realize the truth.

Warnings: like one mild swear word, rushed ending

Tags: @evyiione @quokkatrash @accio-rogers

A/N: This isn’t my best work, but I wanted to post something in a sort of comeback. I won’t be on here consistently because I just went through, and am still going through, one of the hardest times of my life. i just want to reconnect with you guys a bit and chat. As always, my inbox is open whenever any of you need to talk or just want to pop in and say hello. Hope you enjoy. Love you all xx

***

The past month had turned you into a master of avoidance. You had avoided James, Lily, and pretty much anyone associated with them to the best of your ability, which left you with nearly no one to talk to. Anytime Sirius or Remus even looked at you, you disappeared. It had been so hard to sleep that you had visited Madam Pomfrey, begging her to give you something that would essentially knock you out. The potion was effective, but disgusting. You had only taken it twice before you had given up and resulted to sharing warm milk and stories with the elves in the kitchens at night.

You committed James’ schedule and routes to class to memory. You took different hallways, didn’t even think of going to certain sections of the school altogether, and avoided the common room like the plague. From the little that you saw of James Potter, he looked happy.

James hadn’t actually broken up with you. He had confessed his love to Lily, which was basically the same thing. He had sent you multiple letters over the past few weeks, slipping them under your dormitory door or having them delivered at morning post. You didn’t have the heart quite yet to tear them up, so they sat unopened at the bottom of your trunk. Maybe you could open them one day. Or maybe they’d go straight in the fireplace.

James cornered you in the common room just before you could slip up the stairs exactly forty-seven days after he broke your heart. Seeing his face sent a pang of sadness through your heart, but it was replaced by a flare of anger that heated your cheeks.

“Can I talk to you?” James asked.

You only glared at him.

“C’mon, please just let me explain. You haven’t returned any of my letters, so I assume you haven’t opened them,” James said. He took your silence as your answer. “Since you won’t read them, at least give me a chance.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you ground out.

“Then you don’t have to. Just—promise me you’ll read the letters,” James said.

“Why should I? I don’t owe you anything,” you spat.

“I know. If you won’t read them for me, read them for yourself. You must have questions and I think the letters can answer them,” James replied.

“You know nothing about how I feel. You seem fine and dandy with your Lily flower. I should just throw your stupid letters in the fire,” you said. James sighed.

“Promise me you’ll read them. I miss you,” he muttered. You huffed and turned on your heel.

“You don’t get to miss me.”

***

James’ handwriting was both illegible and elegant. Sharp printing entwined with looping cursive created a lazy script that told when James’ hand got tired. Even though you promised yourself that you would never read the letters, something deep in your heart made you believe James. You cursed your weakness as you tore open the first letter with a little too much force, sending the wax seal sailing across your bed. You almost smiled as you unfurled the paper and smoothed it out on your knee.

Y/N,

I know you must hate me. But I want you to know that I don’t love Lily. Not anymore. I owe you an explanation.

I know you heard me tell Lily that I loved her, and I did. I told her that I used to love her because Sirius let it slip, as if I wasn’t obvious enough when I was in love with her. But I told her that I only love her the way I love Sirius or Remus now—as a friend. I swear to you that she’s nothing more. I wasn’t over Lily when I asked you to be my girlfriend. I’ll admit that I was a prick for getting into a relationship before I was fully over her. But you changed that. I never loved Lily as much as I grew to love you. You erased her and every other girl from my mind. You surrounded me, every second of every day. All I could think about was your pretty smile, your laugh, even the way you walk. I love everything about you. I still think about you every day, but now all I can think about is how I’ve messed everything up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

You’re it for me, love. I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me.

James had a big heart to a fault. It was what made you fall in love with him, the fact that he had so much room for love. He offered his entire heart to everyone he loved, and still had enough to go around. You sniffled and tore open the next letter.

Y/N,

I hope you’re well. I noticed that you haven’t replied to my first letter, but maybe it got lost in the post. Those ruddy owls have a habit of dropping mail in the wrong places.

I miss you. I’m sorry for lying to you and telling you that I was over Lily when I wasn’t. I should’ve been honest from the beginning. I was a different person back then. I only cared about myself. But I’ve realized now that you’ve helped me grow up and become a better person. I want to be better for you.

Sirius keeps bugging me about talking to you, but I haven’t seen you around much. We’ve got a big match against Slytherin this weekend. I hope to see you in the stands. I always play better when you’re there.

You let out a sigh as you put the letter down and reached for the next one. You hadn’t gone to the match, hadn’t attended the party in the common room after to celebrate their win. While part of you was still mad, the other felt bad that you hadn’t been there. Not for him, you told yourself, but for the party.

Y/N,

Suppose my last letter got lost too. Maybe I should take my owl to the infirmary or something. I didn’t see you at the game, but we won! 250-240, it was super close. I wish you could’ve seen it, it was one of the most intense games I’ve ever played.

Sirius and Remus are on my ass again about talking to you. Remus said he saw you in the library the other night, but he didn’t know what to say. He said you looked okay, working away on Slughorn’s essay. Funny enough, I checked out the book you used right after you returned it. That’s the closest I’ve come to you in weeks.

I’m so sorry. I’ll send you a letter to prove it for the rest of my life if I have to. I miss you like crazy. Please, write me back or give one of us some indication that you’re okay.

Your heart beat painfully in your chest as you skipped over the remaining letters and opened the most recent.

Y/N,

Alice told me you have all of my letters, you just haven’t been opening them. I understand that you’re angry and don’t want to read them. I guess it helps me to write these, even though I know you’re not reading them. I don’t know if I’d have the courage to look you in the eyes and admit that I’m a coward. I’d give anything just to see you. You’ve become a ghost. I’ll do anything if you let me talk to you for even a minute. Whatever it takes to make you see that I’m sorry and that I love you. I hope you still love me, but I don’t really blame you if you don’t.

You had read enough. You collected the letters and stormed out of your dorm, nearly knocking Alice over on the stairs. She squeaked as you brushed past her and towards the boys’ dormitory. The stairs mercifully stayed intact as you stomped up the steps and knocked on the door. Sirius swung it open, and something like relief flooded his face.

“Y/N, what are you-”

“Where is he?” you asked. James appeared over Sirius’ shoulder. His hair stood on end and his shoulder peeked out of his t-shirt as he nudged his glasses up his nose.

“Y/N,” James breathed. You pushed past Sirius and waved the letters in James’ face.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” you growled. You distantly heard the door click shut behind you as James staggered back.

“Wha-what do you mean?” he stammered.

“Why couldn’t you say all this to my face?” you asked. Tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to keep them away.

“Because I’m a bloody coward, that’s why! You wouldn’t talk to me and I didn’t have the courage to come find you. I didn’t want to see you looking at me the way you are now,” James replied. He ran an aggravated hand through his hair, and you would’ve laughed if you could at the way it stood up.

“And just how am I looking at you?” you muttered.

“Like you hate me. I don’t blame you, I hate me too,” James said. You had never seen him look so defeated as he sank onto his bed and put his face in his hands. You sighed and sat down on Remus’ bed across from him.

“I’m not mad because of what you did. I understand now that what happened was a big misunderstanding. I’m mad at myself for not reading your letters sooner, and I’m mad at you for not growing a pair and trying to talk to me,” you said.

“I did try. You just yelled at me,” James replied, his voice muffled by his hands.

“But it made me finally read your letters. I thought you didn’t love me anymore because you didn’t come look for me. I thought you were so happy with Lily that you had forgotten,” you explained. James raised his head.

“Merlin, Y/N, I wasn’t happy. I was just scared that you didn’t love me either and I tried to act like everything was okay so that nobody would worry,” James said.

“It looks like we’re both gits who need to learn how to communicate better,” you replied.

“I’m sorry. I understand if you want to break it off and just be friends,” James said. You stood from the bed and stepped in front of him. He looked up at you as you leaned down to press your lips to his. James froze for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” James whispered against your lips. You laughed and cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away with your thumbs.

“I love you,” you said. James smiled, and you found yourself smiling back. It felt strange after so long, but so right.

“I love you, sweetheart. Until we’re stardust.”

#james potter imagine #james potter x reader #marauders imagine #marauders era imagine #James Potter

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kuwurapikaaa · 4 years

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Chrollo Character Analysis

I have to warn you, even if this analysis does not have spoilers in the manga, but it is very long and with a dash of personal bias towards Chrollo - Admin MeiQi

Chrollo Lucilfer. One of the main villains of Hunter x Hunter. Leader of the phantom troupe, the band of thieves responsible for the Kurta massacre. Love him or hate him, he is an impressive character from a writer’s standpoint. You don’t know his morality. Like many characters in the manga, you don’t exactly know where to pinpoint him in the morality spectrum. He’s very gray in his morals, and that is what I want to see with a character.

Honestly, Chrollo is my most favorite character to write for, his complex character and his cunning personality easily makes him one of my favorites to stan and write for. Dissecting him is a very interesting thing to explore. - When I said that I can write a 2000 word essay on Chrollo, my friends said that they couldn’t believe that it was true or if I was joking, but here we are, with the quarantine and nothing to do, it has to lead me into this, a 2000 word monster.

His Past and How it affects him.

As of writing, we knew nothing about Chrollo’s past. And I think Togashi is not that interested in Chrollo. In my headcanon, Chrollo grew up roaming the streets of Meteor City. No family, no money, no food, nowhere to go. I can even see Chrollo doing sex work just to get around his life. He had to grow up very fast and was exposed to a cruel society at an early age. So, with his charm, his intelligence, and his sex appeal, he can put anyone around his fingers.

Meteor City is already a rough environment for an adult but you should also think about the children who roam the streets. How would a child interact with an environment as harsh as Meteor City? The city had always been described as this hell hole. Where people throw unwanted things, including unwanted children. Nobody was written in records and nobody knew the place. The city seems like it has no peace and is constantly in danger.

If my dad is writing this, he’d say that Chrollo is “Nagutuman” it literally means “starved”, it means that Chrollo got something taken away from him. Something that is really important. If I am going to paint a picture of Chrollo’s past, it would be less than beautiful.

Combined with Chrollo’s harsh upbringing and some type of mental illness, you have a recipe for disaster. - Perfect building blocks for a villain of a series as complex as Hunter x Hunter. As an aspiring writer, I always looked up to Togashi’s work and how complex the series is. Chrollo’s layers are one of the hardest for me to dissect without writing a long essay. Once you make me talk about Chrollo, I will run my mouth for ages. (Like what I am doing right now)

If I am going to embody Chrollo as one of the seven deadly sins, I think he’d probably represent greed, although envy is very close as well. He was a man with nothing who wants everything. He wants the money, he wants vast knowledge, he wants other people’s nen, he wants all the worldly things.

He was very obsessed with human nature. To the point that he will use this obsession to manipulate another person, and get what he wanted from them. He instilled himself to read books and observe the people around him. He used these books to pick a personality trait. Look, in typical literature, it’s easy to distinguish who is “good” and who is “bad” and personalities are not as complex as humans are.

With no one to talk to, he had this very reserved personality. Then, the books and observations couldn’t suffice anymore, so he started stealing very important things from people to know how they would feel when those worldly possessions were gone to them. When he saw how these people reacted to him doing that, he was joyed. He was happy in a twisted way to see what would happen.

I would say Chrollo is kinda numb, but can you really blame the man himself? I don’t think so. Nobody looked after him. Nobody cared for him. Not that I’m trying to convince you that Chrollo is a good guy, which obviously is not the case. (Being the antagonist of the series)

Stealing these things made him understand humans, made an empty void in his body filled in this twisted way. But since Chrollo is greedy, these things never satisfied him. I can even compare him to Ging, Gon’s dad. His greed made him leave his son so that he can have all these adventures and stay a hunter forever.

That’s why I would hate being in the hunter x hunter universe. As someone who has a very set standard of morals, I don’t believe greedy people like hunters deserve the privileges that they are taking for granted. I believe that people should have equal rights and people that have privileges should use their privilege in the right way.

What is the troupe for him?

A favorite quote of mine from him would be “I’m not important, but my orders are.” It shows that Chrollo treats and respects each leg of the spiders like his equals. I would even argue that the members of the troupe are the only thing that is important to Chrollo. I would go more into that in the last category.

The troupe is everything for him. His friends, his family, and lastly an extension of himself. The troupe became his identity, the thing that gave him life, and probably the only thing that is making him significant in this world. The troupe members are the only ones who cared for their beloved boss

To form it, he gathered people that he trusted the most. They all shared a thing in common, immensely talented nen users and outcasts. They shared his philosophy. “We can steal anything from you, but never steal anything from us” He built the phantom troupe with immense trust and him sharing the same principles as his members.

The troupe members are the only people that actually know Chrollo and even then, as I observed, he doesn’t seem super close with anyone in the whole troupe, minus Pakunoda and Machi ?? I will expand on Pakunoda and Chrollo at another time.

One of the ironic things I have seen with the Phantom Troupe is how they would go through all that for the death of a member. (With the requiem for Uvogin) But it was also said that in order to join, you have to kill a member. I find it very contradictory. Or maybe they would get mad or be like that when the person who killed Uvogin didn’t join the troupe ?? That is just very ironic.

Although I don’t have an opinion on it, I am putting it out there so that we can discuss it below and what do you think about this ‘rule’ made by Chrollo. It was something I never thought of when writing this analysis or just as I am watching the anime and dissecting the manga.

How would his demise be?

I think his demise would be ironic and symbolic. As an avid fan of Teleseryes, anime, and a reader of many book series, I know what I’m talking about. His death would be satisfying to both him and the reader. I am aware that Togashi defies the tropes of regular shounen manga, but this ending is the best in a way that it is shocking and satisfying.

His death would be bittersweet. - His death would seem cold, yet twistedly satisfying. He would have nothing to lose. I have to stress it again, that he’s a man who has nothing, and for him, death is inevitable. Remember what Melody said? “He walked with death by his side” That means that the man is really prepared for his demise and feels satisfied whenever it would happen at whatever point of his life.

I can see that his troupe members would be in heaven already. Him being cornered by either Kurapika or Hisoka (if Hisoka wants a re-match). He’d be happy if Kurapika killed him because the boy will get what he wants because he knows that nothing good will happen in a life full of revenge. Kurapika will just regret it in the long run.

Yet, he would die with a smile on his face. A genuine smile, not the one that he’s showing to the people he manipulated. It would be the only time Chrollo would feel happy because he can join his troupe members in heaven. (If they are ever going there) He would be happy to be with the only people that he cared about.

In his conversation with Neon, which showed his human side (but of course, in typical Chrollo fashion, he used this vulnerability as an Uno reverse card and manipulated Neon with it) he showed that he genuinely believed in the afterlife. In life and death. In heaven and earth. In sin and forgiveness. In my headcanon, Chrollo is a devout Christian like myself. He prays every night and day.

His favorite bible verse in someone’s headcanon that I also agree would be Corinthians 13:4-7 “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily anger, it keeps no records of wrong. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

This exact verse shows that Chrollo is someone that has sympathy, as much as he is portrayed as evil, in fiction’s black and white principle. But, he always cared for the Phantom Troupe. The troupe is above his life. The number tattoo that they have shows his loyalty and how he would instill to his members that “once you’re a spider, you’d always be a spider”. As said before, the troupe is the extension of his identity.

The million-dollar question: Is Chrollo capable of loving someone?

As much as I am the Chrollo fucker that I am, I will answer you wholeheartedly, No. Why? You may ask. Because at the end of the day, Chrollo is a thief, a wanted criminal with a high bounty on his head. Having a significant other can throw him off from his highly unattainable ambitions, from him achieving what he wants in his life.

When I was writing my OC, Zara, that was partnered with Chrollo, I started thinking about this deeper. Since Zara is an OC of mine that is like the opposite of Chrollo. She wanted simple things like a family and a husband that will love her forever. - Chrollo doesn’t want all of that. As I said before, what he wants is the treasures and knowledge to fill his empty void.

I don’t think Chrollo is someone who is capable of loving someone. - That is my opinion.

Like he isn’t the kind of guy for a long term commitment. He will fuck, but he’s the kind of guy to leave you behind. He sees that his troupe is far more important than some girl/man that would leave him if they knew he was this wanted criminal.

As much as the troupe is a piece of huge evidence to show that Chrollo is capable of loving people in a genuine sense, but his love for his troupe is limited to familial and mutual respect and trust. It isn’t something that should be taken into a romantic context.

Chrollo’s relationships minus the troupe will always end up in an abusive standpoint. It will always be filled with Chrollo feeding his partner lies about himself just to get what he wants. I said in his past that he never had anything, so he wants to take away everything from other people.

Without his manipulative nature, it would be hard for Chrollo to express love in a genuine way. I can even say that he’s like Kurapika in this department. They both are emotionally constipated people. Yet, they express it in a different way, being traumatized in different ways. Chrollo, unlike Kurapika, he used people to get what he wants and not push them away.

Since I am not a registered medical professional, I am not going to diagnose Chrollo with a mental illness. Like surely he does, but without proper knowledge, I cannot personally deliver it to the reader.

#chrollo #chrollo hxh #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #kuroro lucilfer #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter character analysis #hunter x hunter headcanons #anime #anime character analysis #anime headcanons #heacanons #hxh #character analysis #phantom troupe

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edenamador · 3 years

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100 Things about My Father

I forgot I was a poet. Skip down for the poem that came to me as clear as a crystal last night. Trigger warning - Suicide.

I mean I have an inclination toward having dreams at night,

thinking they have deeper meaning, and waking up with music in my head at 1:15am in the morning.

There is something about 1:15 in the morning which has a razor sharp precision to it. Even though I’m more of a disconnected abstraction. Some constellation of stars nobody has given meaning to. Dreaming about that straight crush in college twice in one night. All this after in real life, oh and he was a poet too, now in grad school, who knows if he is the happy academic he craved to be. Who knows if he is still writing poetry or writing technical sentences with so much jargon nobody can understand. . .

Its all rambly. I know it is annoying but that is how it comes to me. He asked me if I had followed the spirit and I told him I wrote the poem I was suppose to write. He was proud of me, like a dead ghost now, I loved him then but he is a stranger in a distant land now.

Yes, I was at Target, a place I worked so long ago and a previous co-worker said to me, “You look poetic, like you could be a poet.”

I didn’t know what to say but now I am dreaming of my poetic college muse and he is telling me to follow the spirit just as Beauvoir so now I’m on tumblr again because of that Target co-worker who said I should have a blog and get a following. An idea I laugh at because my poetry is well, I am poetic, I am not exactly a poet if I’m not writing poetry. So I guess I will share what came to me last night. At least a draft.

My mother always says, “You have choices to make.”

So when my boyfriend says, “You never talk about your father,” and then asks, “Why is that?”

I pause and my mother’s voice repeats, “You have choices to make.”

I could say a hundred things about the same thing. Like a simple fact about the color of a chair, “My father is dead.”

It sounds like, “The chair is red.”

1. My father died.

My boyfriend might ask how he passed away which means I have to say more. This leaves me with more choices but I haven’t even jumped the first hurdle. I don’t even run track but the baton has been given to me, “How did he die?” I could have anticipated the next question and already answered it more bluntly.

2. My father blew his brains out.

If I want to keep my boyfriend I should frame things particular to his way of life. That would be too precise and come off as indifferent like my father never mattered to me. He didn’t.

3. He died when I was four.

Again, if I put it this way he might ask, “How?” and I would get to say

4. He loaded a pistol. I think it was a .45 pistol or a glock, and took the weapon to rat lake where he blew his brains out.

If I present it with “when I was four” the cold way in which I say, “He blew his responsibilities away,” pops like a childhood bubble.

5. He’s pushing up daisies.

6. He’s seven feet under.

7. He croaked.

Before the gun fire went off out in the country where only the frogs and flora of the boreal northern forests would hear it the American toads reed. When the gunfire went off silence consumed the forest for a few minutes before returning to normal a few minutes later. A few hours later, with the loons calling, a friend of my father’s came across his body and reported it to the authorities.

8. My father was a mail carrier.

I could have said this as it would have delayed revealing the information about the death of my father, and how he died, the conversation about the long term effect it had on my psychology and the psychological impact on the rest of my family. Though, according to my mother everything turned out fine. Which is why as I approach 30 years old I am waking up in the middle of the night because I’m having dreams about people in graduate school programs saying, “He doesn’t even talk about his father! He talks about Black Lives Matter, Marxism, Gender Theory and all this crap, but he hasn’t even mentioned his father.”

9. My father is out of the picture.

10. I would rather not talk about my father.

11. I didn’t know much about my father.

12. I don’t remember much about my father.

13. My father left me with dry skin and a proclivity toward depression.

14. My mother was a single mother.

15. I guess I don’t talk about my father. Hugh, I wonder why that is.

I like this because I can act like I’m just as dumbfounded by it as my boyfriend is. Creative writer circles often told me I am not concrete enough. So I guess we were sitting at a park in Hutchinson Minnesota when my boyfriend at the time asked this question. A few years later when the relationship had faded and I asked to be dating again he told me, “Some gay men have issues.” While I cried about it and refused to speak to him ever again he was right. I was a gay man with issues, daddy issues to be exact.

16. My father had a beard.

17. My father was an alcoholic and when my mother said she had enough he couldn’t handle it and blew his brains out.

This one is the worst of them. It sounds like my mother caused my father to commit suicide. Nobody but my father took a gun to his head and blew his brains out.

18. My mother never remarried after my father was out of the picture.

Again, I could say this but it remains vague enough to lead to other questions any intimate partner would have the right to know. Or perhaps nobody has the right to know about my father and that I have the right not to talk about him to anyone. “Did they get a divorce?”

19. Do we have to talk about this. I’d rather not talk about this because I am not ready to reveal that story and its long term effects on me. Look, it’s a nice day and I’m happy talking about a million other things.

This might indicate I lack the trust necessary to share that story. He may take it personally and think that our relationship should be more open. Or he might respect that answer and remain curious. Most people would talk about both their parents openly and in positive ways.

20. All the options in my life have been formed by my father’s decision to kill himself.

21. He killed himself.

22. He offed himself.

23. He decided he no longer wished to live.

24. When given the option between suicide and coffee he chose suicide.

25. I need counseling to answer that question.

My mother was right. The choices were really endless. I could even use the same word presented in a different way. There were a lot of strategies for answering this question. Even after the question was asked I kept gathering new academic methodologies to answer the question, “Why don’t you talk about your father?”

26. If I open up about him I’m afraid I will scare you away because if I talk about my father I am admitting that I am a flawed human being with an abnormal childhood upbringing.

Again, more options appear even if I avoid the subject of my father all together. It seems that certain events have greater effect on the long term psychology of the individual than others. But was my childhood “abnormal” or was my mother “doing the best she could” in situations which were out of her control? But it couldn’t of been out of her control. . . “Everybody has choices to make. . .”

27. “My father died when I was four.”

28. “I was four when my father died.”

I cannot remember which of these I used but it was one of the two. So I said what I thought in the moment. I paused. I know I paused and my boyfriend said, “Only if you are comfortable talking about it.”

29. I might cry if I talk about my father. But I don’t think I will. I usually don’t but its sad. Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything. Why do people say sorry when I say this? What personal responsibility did they have for it? Why do I have to answer this question? Why will this question always come up when in relationships?

30. His death effect me because I was too young.

That’s a lie because I know it impacted the whole trajectory of my life. There were material consequences. For example his life was attached to the union. This left my mother with a small financial cushion to fall back on when she was left to raise three children. While it may have been small it was enough for her to go to college for ten years and get a bachelor’s degree in education.

31. I never talk about my father because then I have to talk about my mother. My mother looks like an American hero for the choices she didn’t make but talking about my mother also reveals the hidden demons I am not suppose to talk about as it might make her look bad.

32. I never talk about my father because it usually becomes a really long essay about masculinity, the effects of neo-liberal feminism, and requires a master’s degree in sociology and a Ph.D. in philosophy to get to the bottom of it. It requires skill, tact, intelligence, emotional strength, and persistence to answer with any certainty. It’s a philosophical question at heart and I am not a philosopher, I am merely a subject exposed to systems of power which shape my experience in a world I did not create.

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

33. Why did he commit suicide? Why did my brother point a gun to my head? Why did my mother trust a teenager to get me to and from school going ninety miles an hour down icy unplowed country roads at seven in the morning? Why did the chicken cross the road? Why is the sky blue?

34. He’s sinking in the swamps.

35. The worms are feeding on his body.

36. He’s dead.

37. He’s gone.

38. He’s no longer with us.

If at this point the possibilities seem pointless, redundant, or obnoxious, imagine being at work when a co-worker flippantly says, “I’m ready to blow my brains out.”

39. My father hurt his back and wouldn’t go to see the doctor. It was severe pain and he couldn’t really talk about it. He drank his physical and mental pains away. Sometimes he would come home drunk and punch walls in. I do remember waking up to the sound of shattering glass. The stove glass broke because my father kicked it in during one of his masculine temper tantrums.

40. I didn’t know it when it was first asked but I now think my father died because of hyper-masculinity. I don’t think he was allowed to express any of the emotional or physical hardships he had. He likely had depression and was obviously having thoughts of suicide. Other’s in the family had committed suicide and had mental issues. When I go to the psychologist they show me genetic connections but as a sociology major I am thinking more about the limits on men expressing emotions. My father couldn’t express his emotions, that’s for sure, so he likely imploded, quite literally.

41. I don’t mean to come off as cold hearted or disconnected, it’s just that the death of my father strikes me more as an abstraction than a concrete reality. When it does come up I am reminded of my differences, my class upbringing, the social values that played out in my childhood.

42. For my brother my father was a something which became a nothing. For me my father is a nothing who, when asked about his existence, becomes a something that should have been, but wasn’t.

43. By opening up about my father I cannot really say who he is without explaining who he was not and for me he was more of a not than a was.

44. “Your father loved you,” my aunt says.

45. My father bought two stuffed monkeys. The monkey was Abu from the Disney show Aladdin. He did this a few months before he killed myself. In addition to that he also bought me a small baseball glove. My uncle on my mother’s side went with my dad to the store to pick these up. My uncle says he was likely planning his suicide during this time and asked my mother that we hide these items when my uncle was around so he wouldn’t be reminded of my father’s suicide.

How could my father have loved me if he blew his brains out? It hardly seems like an act of love to abandon your child at the age of four.

46. “God has a plan for everyone and even though it may not make sense to us down here there is a plan and there is nothing we can do about it.” Likely something my pastor said or something my grandmother said or something someone said along the way. When on a date with an attractive suitable man one doesn’t want to delve into religious theology and questions about the existence of God, determinism versus free will, the meaning of life, and deeper levels of spiritual enlightenment, or lack there of. One wants to eat ice cream, giggle about some superfluous thing, and see if one can see some concrete shape in the clouds: its a duck, a bird, a dinosaur, a giraffe. What do you see when you look at the sky? Is there something more out there?

When asked about my father I am asked about a whole series of causal effects. When asked about my father I am asked to see myself as an object in the world formed by what the existentialists refer to as facticity. At this moment I free myself from the container which shaped me and am allowed to reconstruct the object that I am as I choose.

I also begin to ask myself, “what if things had played out differently,” as I am prone to ask the questions I was told weren’t worth asking. I was told there were no answers to them but the questions which don’t have answers are the questions I like the most. So being asked about my father is really asking me who I am and how I became who I am. I am inclined to answer if one has the time for it. Most people don’t have the time, the intellect, the patience, the attention span, or the emotional capacity for such things. So I prefer to say,

47. “Shh, daddy is sleeping. We must not wake him. He’s a terrible ghost. Let’s play hide and seek with death! Can you count to one hundred?”

48. “In any case, that little boy didn’t want to grow up for fear of becoming serious.” pg. 327 Jean Paul Sartre War Diaries

49. “But as soon as man grasps himself as free, and wishes to use his freedom, all his activity is a game: he’s its first principle; he escapes the world by his nature; he himself ordains the value and rules of his acts, and agrees to pay up only according the the rules he has himself ordained and defined.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre

50. “And man is serious when he forgets himself; when he makes the subject into an object; when he takes himself for a radiation derived from the world: engineers, doctors, physicists, biologists are serious.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre The War Diaries

51. When my father died my mother was left to raise three boys. He was a step father to one of my brothers so one of my brothers still had a father. So my father is really three people: a dad who was then wasn’t, a dad who wasn’t then was, and a step dad.

I could have never explained all this that day I was asked. There in a rural town in the middle of a corn-field playing out the waves of one of my first gay relationships I simply said, “My dad is dead.” Reality is bleak like that. It restricts possibilities. Reality is only here in the field of “you have choices to make”. Reality are the options available. I am free to make choices in relation to concrete possibilities. For example I used covid stimulus money to pay for my rent so I could I have time to write this. I could have used it to buy copious amounts of liquor to subdue my existential angst. I could have used it to put it to my loans. I quit my job to give myself the time necessary to heal the wounds of the past. I refuse to conform to the pressure to buy a vehicle and get a license because I would have to buy car insurance which would mean I need a job to pay for the cars insurance. I would need gas to go back and forth to work where I would only continue to suppress my authenticity. Authenticity can never be achieved. It can only be something which is consistently reproduced. I reproduce myself as a writer only in the act of writing. Even the short pause between characters I realize other possibilities. Writing must be a consistent act I partake in everyday as a way of pursuing my own projects with the material conditions given to me.

52. My father is four people or five people because he was a co-worker to my middle school friend’s father, also a wife, a brother, an uncle. Six or seven people. He was never a grandfather though and could never be a grandfather. He could never have the possibility of being a grandfather so when my nephew says he doesn’t have a grandfather, his great uncle says he would be happy to fill the role. So my uncle, married to my mother’s blood sister, is my nephew’s grandfather.

The more I think about choices the more I start to confirm that choices are in relation to particular material conditions given to a situation which show the constricting impact of choices.

53. My mother, because of my father’s death, often found jimmy-rigged options for babysitters when family members were not available. When she realized my brother and I weren’t mature enough to handle being at home alone by ourselves, she looked into other options such as having me stay at the library until it closed. Later I learned that urban libraries have a phrase for this condition called, “Library latchkey kids,” which are children who’s parents are busy because of social economic conditions they end up going to the library after school for free baby-sitting.

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16451347

I would stay in the library until it closed. My mother would slip the librarian a twenty dollar bill. I asked about it once and I learned in one way or another not to ask about such things.

When I took the Myers Briggs test in high school I scored nearly a hundred percent INFP which to me meant I was destined to be a genius like Shakespeare, taught in English classes all around the world for centuries to come. It meant I was introverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceptive. It meant that my room was messy but that my bookshelves were ordered perfectly with the Dewey decimal system. In high school I read Waiting for Godot with no idea it belonged to existential literature. On the question of why I don’t talk about my father, I am still Waiting for Godot.

54. My father’s suicide, in the long-term, meant I got to be alone with books. I often tired of reading and would chat with the librarian. She would ask me if I had a girlfriend and show me the things she wanted on craigslist. Sometimes she had to rapidly click her computer screen to hide some areas of the internet that should not be looked at while a minor sat reading Dr. Seuss, books about nature, or how volcanoes worked. I loved reading. I could never get enough. One of the librarians never believed I read as many books as I did and often discredited some of the books she believed were above my level. I was smart and there’s nothing worse to rural people than a smart, effeminate, boy with a love of reading.

I was always told that my mother was good and was always asked if she was still in college. For ten years I said yes she is in college. For twenty years I never told anyone my brother pointed a gun to my head because she left us unattended with the gun case unlocked. When I brought it up to her in my late twenties she said it wasn’t possible because my twenty year old cousin was there in the camper. When I asked I thought I was testing whether or not she could have subdued her ego enough to admit to the possibility that it may have not been the best choice to leave minors unattended with an unlocked gun case at home. That’s the way things were with her growing up so why would it be any different with us? All of a sudden she gets away with making the right choices because, “She pulled herself up by the bootstraps and got a degree in education.”

Anytime I try to explain my experiences of these circumstances I am caught in a social trap by which the liberal value of women choosing careers over a life of drunkenness and whoreish behavior to capture the love of a man my mother’s story overrides. My experience of having a gun pointed at my head by my own brother is over-ridden by another set of values.

55. I had a shot gun pointed to my head by my own brother because I was singing too loudly and he was hungover because he was drinking alcohol.

56. I didn’t know if the shot gun was loaded.

57. I stopped singing, fell backwards, and made a snow angel.

“Well, you’re mother could have brought over a bunch of rotten men. You could have been sexually abused.”

58. My brother used to chase me around the house naked and dry hump me. These are the effects of leaving minors unattended after school out in the country. And you know it which is why you started getting babysitters for us. It was after too many nights coming house to a destroyed house that my mother decided to have some family members watch over us and make sure we did our homework.

59. “Stop being a victim you liberal snowflake.”

60. But I’m actually criticizing the effects of applied feminism in the 21st century.

61. “You’re mother is a good person.”

63. “It could have been worse.”

64. “Everything turned out fine.”

65. “Everyone has trauma to deal with. Everyone has baggage.”

My boyfriend told me of growing up. His father was a chemist at Kellogg’s and his mother was an instructor at a community college. He was a potter, a knitter, and a banjo player. He became an English teacher. He told me that one time his dad brought home bags of Lucky Charm marshmallows for him and his sister to eat. His father recorded their responses to the marshmallows and adjusted the ratios of sugar based on those tests. That doesn’t sound like trauma to me. That sounds like a healthy childhood which leads one to have self confidence, self esteem, and the emotional stability necessary to face the mixed messages of life. In the meantime I seek out people who tell me I’m dumb, ugly, stupid, and will never amount to anything because I think that’s a normal relationship. If I am not doing that I am hiding in my room wondering what the point of being alive is wondering if there is any hope for me to heal and get better.

66. My father’s suicide is a traumatic past which shapes my entire experience. It’s a past that I have the right to represent by writing it. It’s a past which is not, “Everything turned out fine,” and no my mother did not, “Pull herself up by her bootstraps,” she had choices to make and one of those choices was to leave minors home alone with a gun case full of weapons and to trust that nothing bad could have happened in that circumstance. I will not limit myself to the blindness feminist discourse encouraged when I told my story to an existential philosophy professor at a liberal university. Yes, she could have chosen worse, but it could have turned out much better. I will not sit here silently submitting to my brother’s words, “Don’t tell anyone or I will kill you!”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

67. Well kill me. I’d be better off anyway. I am willing to die for the truth in the same way an American soldier is willing to die for his country. I am willing to stand for something even if I am alone. Pull the trigger. If it makes you feel like a man to point a gun at your brother you might as well pull the trigger.

“It wasn’t loaded. Do you think I would actually put a shot gun shell in it. I love you, I’m your brother. Do you think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t actually do that. . .”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

68. It’s exhausting. It’s a threat to my existence. It reminds me that blowing my brains out is a real possibility whereas for most people its a thing you say when life sucks. The following is an example of that.

When I was working as an English as a Second Language instructor I thought I had made it. I thought that teaching immigrants and refugees English meant I had established myself as a concrete being in the world permanently enmeshed as a career oriented man. My degree in Sociology was justified and my graduate certificate was no longer a waste of time, energy, and effort. I quickly learned that my masculinity was always under question and that the few men in that field were perfectly miserable beings. The whole notion that people became teachers because they were heart filled beings with a passion for helping others vanished when my co-worker, a professional teacher who taught abroad in Japan, made the shape of a gun with his finger, lifted it to his head, and pulled the trigger. I had simply asked him how he was doing and it was apparently not well. I was feeling rather dismal and would like to think I responded like this.

69. It’s a great position to be in. A cock loaded full of cum in my mouth and my cock loaded full of cum in his mouth. The tension was rising. Would we ever get to the desired result of all of our efforts? Would we ever achieve orgasm? Would we ever blow? Rest assured we exploded and were perfectly satisfied. There’s just something about holes and filling them which none of us can resist. Yet, even when the hole is filled to the brim with hot cum we feel so empty that we can no longer go on and so we pause. It’s okay to have long periods of stagnation so long as we can pull out at the right time and forgive ourselves for our responses to the past. The future may not appear to hold much but there is so much time and so many holes to fill.

70. They covered my father’s hole with makeup. They closeted the cause of his death. At the funeral they closed the bottom half of the casket which made me think that someone cut my father’s legs off with giant scissors. I screamed. I was convinced that his legs were cut off with giant scissors and that someone had caused his death.

71. How is a four year old suppose to understand this when adults are unable to tell the truth when the child asks questions about his dead father. He isn’t going to understand these things if adults themselves still don’t understand them. Adults go to great lengths to omit the grievances and effects of such events. “Everything turned out fine,” and “You’ve got choices to make.”

A four year old’s brain is not ready to understand such things because adults don’t understand them. His memories are barely forming and he is still fascinated by blowing bubbles. Adults have lost their imaginations. He smiles at the sound of popcorn popping while adults drench popcorn in so much salt and butter that they die of heart attacks and call it death by natural causes. A child laughs when he sees a frozen lake swarmed by a hundred seagulls as teenage boys stuff frogs down the barrels of shot guns and laugh when American toad guts go spiraling into the sky like fireworks.

The events surrounding my father’s death are my first memories. There are many of them like the pastor holding me trying to give me comfort. I press my stomach for comfort. My first memories are the feeling of anxiety, that weird pang in the stomach which goes unexplained by doctors and still causes ulcers. There’s my cousin saying my father is away for a very long time and that he is in heaven. These memories attach themselves to future interactions when all compiled leave one wishing there were no choices to make at all. It leaves one wishing that there was one defined path meant for everyone which would eliminate all angst and all decisions. In fact it often feels better if there was no free will at all and that God really did have a plan for each individual.

There is another pastor, who many years later, told me my father was in hell. This leaves me with one of those ridiculous choices and questions, “Is my father in heaven or in hell?” There is my aunt who tells me that my pastor is wrong and the Bible never mentions. There is my uncle who says people who don’t believe in God are not allowed in his home. There is the ice cream I ate after I was taken out of the funeral home to ease the emotional burden a screaming four year old must have placed on my father’s friends and family members. The ice cream was a temporary cure which taught me that negative emotions could be easily drowned with chocolate sauce and colorful sprinkles.

72. My father is in heaven.

73. My father is in hell.

74. My father is in purgatory.

75. I don’t know where the fuck my father is.

76. Do souls exist?

78. What is the difference between agnostic theism and agnostic atheism?

79. It’s ok to think about dying now and again. I think everyone has thought about it now and again but I’m not sure. I’m only one person with so many heartbeats.

80. I don’t think I will commit suicide because it doesn’t solve anything. Living doesn’t solve much either but at least I can say I tried to count to one hundred.

81. I might cry if I talk about my father.

82. It’s ok to cry.

83. It’s ok to cry.

84. It’s ok to cry.

85. It’s ok to cry.

86. It’s ok to cry.

87. If you cannot sleep count the sheep or cry.

88. It’s ok to cry.

89. Real men cry.

90. Real men cry.

91. Real men cry.

92. Real men cry like big men.

93. Real men cry like grown men.

94. Real men cry like real men.

95. It’s ok to cry.

96. It’s ok to cry.

97. Facts may not care about feelings but feelings are always seeking out facts to justify themselves. One must be careful about the facts used to represent their feelings.

98. Over intellectualization isn’t crying. It’s a defense mechanism.

99. It’s okay to cry.

100. Everything turned out fine.

#spilled ink #spilled words #masculinity #manhood #lgbtq #free will #existentialism #Sartre #jean paul sartre #lyrical #lyrical poem #lyrical prose

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ninamontagutbordas · 3 years

Text

HOW CAN WE MAKE AMENDS WITH OUR EXPECTATIONS? THIS IS WHAT MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE HAS TAUGHT ME

I don’t remember the last time I woke up past nine A.M. Usually (and my friends will confirm this just because I know they make fun of me all the time), I’m in bed by 9 or 10 pm. But, like with everything in life, there’s a good side and a bad side to it. In my case, the perks of going to sleep before my friends are even home from work, is usually that, between 6 and 6:30 am, without the need of setting a terrible alarm, I’m awake. It doesn't matter if I go out until late, I always wake up early.

Don’t get me wrong, I know there are times where, going to bed early, is a terrible thing to do, because, if I have so many hours of sleep, it gets to the point where I’ll wake up at 4:45 or 5 am and never go back to sleep. (Bear in mind that, whenever I wake up in the middle of the night, almost every two days or so, I start writing for a bit because I have so many things running through my mind I feel the most creative). So, even if I fall back to sleep, I never sleep straight from 9 pm to 6 am.

A few weeks ago, I woke up at 5:57 and I thought to myself: “This is a great morning to go for a walk, nobody will be around, so I won’t be bothered by the terrible noises of a stressful Monday morning in the city”.

I go for walks by myself many mornings, usually, around 6:30 or 7 am. I’m generally wearing headphones but of course, this was the one morning my phone battery died halfway through for no other reason than my phone goes crazy from time to time, so, as you can imagine, the picture of the perfect walk was already being damage by my own expectations. At this point, I was a bit grumpy but decided to keep going a bit longer because it was still very early.

I like to have breakfast after my walks, it’s like a religious routine for me. I come home, I shower and I have breakfast. However, I never leave home without my daily dose of caffeine (I take my coffee black, no sugar, no milk), but, of course, this very morning, I was running off coffee at home so you can imagine how desperate I was to find somewhere to buy my first double espresso of the day.

I didn’t think this through, clearly, because ridiculously, I was “such in a rush” to leave my bed for NO REASON. There were no open bars at the time and the ones where you could stop by and grab some coffee “to-go” didn’t open until seven or eight.

So now the situation is like this: No battery, no coffee – just sleepy Nina wandering around doing exactly what she didn’t want to do, alone time with “me, my thoughts and I”. Sometimes when I listen to music I tend to analyze the writing of the songs and see if I can learn something from it and that gets me pretty distracted. No open bars to sit in either because if there were, I would have been smart enough to carry a book with me in case my battery died, as it did.

If you know me, you know I’m a pretty foresight person. I can’t control if my phone dies but I can control it if I bring a book with me “just in case”, because “just in case” is what I always do. It’s what I know to do.

I feel like I should explain myself just because you don’t understand how important my morning walks are for me. Also, I just explain this so that you understand how much I dislike when things take a south turn and I didn't see it coming.

I hate meditation (well, hate is a strong word and I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t use it, so, I will GLADLY correct myself). I don’t like meditation, I’ve tried it several times because I suffer from severe anxiety but it just never worked for me. If it works for you, great. I’m happy to hear.

My kind of therapy is usually writing or walking. Or writing while walking. Or walking while writing, if that makes sense. Or having coffee after a walk while writing. Or having coffee while walking thinking about my writing. Whatever. The point is, my morning walks are usually what gets me through my day. I am home before everyone else is awake, so I feel like I already accomplished something.

Plus, If I wake up at 5 am and I'm at home doing nothing, I get stressed. To be honest, I enjoy a lot being alone, but I’m not a calm person at all, so I try to always seek quiet places to surround myself with because it’s something I need.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A WANT AND A NEED (Quoting my friend Selena Gomez in her latest song “I Want a Boyfriend”).

So, at this point, I’m 40 minutes away from home, with no battery, no coffee, no book, no bars, no writing. Nobody around but myself, the picture of the perfect nostalgic character that feels like an idiot and blames everything on the external factors instead of blaming it on herself. I could write a script about that character.

I didn't want to be like “you should have stayed at home”. I hate the word “should”. My relationship with it is pretty complicated because I try not to do things that lead me up to “I should have bla bla bla”.

I don’t have many regrets. I make choices and live with the consequences and this is probably because I always try to express my feelings and be as vulnerable as possible. And, by doing that, I can be brutally hurt sometimes, but in the end, I always find internal peace in it.

Also, I don’t like to give advice, but, if I have to sometimes, the only two things I say are the following:

1. Would you rather: Be awake because of pain or because of restlessness? Because the pain eventually goes away, but the restlessness, unfortunately, sticks with you for a very long time.

2. Don’t ever judge how a person’s feeling. You can have different opinions but a feeling is something intuitive and you can't disagree with it. Feelings are facts.

But, contrary to what I’m writing, that morning I was like “Should I sit down and just wait?” But then I was like “Wait for what?”. Again, I felt like an idiot, and unfortunately, I didn’t understand why. Did I want to go home? Yes, of course, I wanted to go home but, to get there, I still had almost an hour without music, coffee, phone battery, or a pen and a notebook, and that made me angry.

For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way I felt during and after my walk. During that time, I had stopped writing for a while (I usually write every day but there are times where I have to distance myself from my writing), but if I tried to write something down, this was the only thing I could write about.

Of course, none of it was good enough because I still didn’t understand what was I exactly feeling. To be very clear, I never consider my writings are good enough if I don’t understand where they come from. My therapist always makes fun of me because he’s like: “You really know yourself well so what are you exactly doing here?”.

What is the emotion that comes after anger? That's what I was feeling, and that's what I was asking myself repeatedly.

So I googled the question (yes, googled as in a verb, not a noun) to see if I found a comfortable answer. “Common emotions known to trigger anger are anxiety, shame, sadness, fear, frustration, guilt, disappointment, worry, embarrassment, jealousy and hurt. All of these emotions are experienced as negative and are perceived as threatening to our well-being”.

SO, WHY WAS I ANGRY?

Suddenly, it clicked for me. When do I usually feel like this? When have I felt like this before? I feel like this when I get things wrong, and by getting things wrong, I mean when my expectations about something or someone are far from the actual scenario. I’m a pretty good judge of character so, when I get it wrong, it makes me angry, and all the following emotions that come with anger.

But this wasn’t new. Many, many times before I had experienced this feeling, however, it had been a very long time since this has happened to me again in such an obvious way, so that’s why it took me a while to figure out where this was coming from.

The truth is that, whether it's hard to admit it or not, this is a problem I deal with constantly. I don't forgive myself when I get something wrong because of preconceived ideas that create an imaginary narrative in my head. Sometimes because I don't want to admit that some things will never be as I want them to be, and sometimes because it's hard for me to let go.

I felt something similar recently with a whole different experience than my morning walk, but, again, it felt pretty much the same. I got it wrong.

And, it got me thinking.

I always thought that, when it came to situations I didn't have full control of, I had to make a truce with people or moments I was involved with, but it wasn't until now where I realized the only one I have to be in a truce with, is myself.

And, by myself, I mean my expectations. I have to make amends with my expectations. Nobody but me is responsible for it. And that’s because I am the one who’s disappointed at the end. I have to accept the fact that sometimes I have lost (and will continue to lose) to my expectations. Expectations 1 - Nina 0.

Again, I don’t know regret so I’m glad I now can learn how to protect myself from this kind of feeling and take a bit of distance from situations that will tempt my imagination.

I now see very clearly what will make me feel good, and what will not. I went on a walk again this morning. This time, no phone, no book, no coffee, deliberately. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

Actually, It wasn’t bad at all, because when I came back home, I wrote this essay.

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calif0rnia-lovers · 5 years

Text

fake it ‘till you make it

chapter 1: you were mine first.

summary: a trip down memory lane as Tre returns home to find his best friend dealing with the fallout of her divorce proceedings.

a/n: this chapter is really long. it’s essentially full of backstory. i didn’t want to post each part as its own chapter bc that would end us up with four short chapters. so...prepare for time jumps. kinda wanted to get the backstory out the way so that i can get into the good stuff. let me know what you think. i know it’s a reader fic but i just think aja naomi is so pretty that’s why you see her face :)

if there are typos bare with me. I forced myself to stop making changes and just posted it. songs are linked because i’m hella dramatic and moody when i write.

words. 8,960

2006: junior year in high school. (gif).

You say we're just friends but I swear when nobody's around You keep my hand around your neck, we connect

You're seated, alone, in the corner booth at Happy's Diner. The AP Calculus book and notes spread out across the table are the perfect repellants for teenage boys hoping to "keep you company" until your friend arrives.

Your friend who just so happens to be running extremely late. Halfway done with your second glass of soda kind of late.

Trevante comes strolling into the diner, pausing long enough to say hi to Happy before heading in your direction. Climbing over the booth, he slides in next to you.

"Sorry I'm late," he huffs as he settles in next to the window.

His arm drapes over your shoulder, as he reaches forward to drag your plate towards him. Keeping your focus on the problem you're solving, you blindly lift his left arm, turning it so that you can see the face of his watch.

"You are forty-eight minutes late." You shove his arm off your shoulder, it finding its place back to your shoulder instantly. "Why do you wear a watch if you don't know how to use it?"

"Why buy me a watch for my birthday if you know I can't use it?"

Trevante narrowly avoids the slap you send towards his hand, stealing a french fry and popping it into his mouth.

His neck rolls, a groan escaping his lips as you move the plate out of his reach.

"Come on, Y/N. I can't have any-"

"No. You can tell me where you were. What was so important you left me waiting for forty-eight minutes? I already ordered the dinner you promised me."

"You clocking me now?" His brow arches as he drags the plate across the table.

"When it affects me? Yes. Yes, I am."

Trevante lightly shrugs his shoulder before retrieving the ketchup. The fact he doesn't want to tell you causes you to lift his arm from over your shoulder.

Resting his arms against the table, he silently busies himself with cleaning your plate.

"Why can't we study at your place?

Trevante watched as your shoulders rise and fall, your brow furrowing as you reach in your backpack. You're willing to acknowledge his question isn't that strange. From the fifth grade, the two of you have always studied at your house. Your dining room table has years worth of homework sessions. When you entered high school, your study sessions had migrated to your bedroom.

Trevante could usually be found sprawled across your bed; arm tucked behind his head as he lounged on your pillows. While you were found seated on the floor, books and notes displayed neatly around you. You would kill to be back in your room right now. Both of your giggles mingling with the latest playlist Trevante has downloaded on his computer. However, ever since your last study session, that doesn't seem like a great idea.

Your mind is still trying to make sense of what exactly happened. You were slightly hopped up on coffee, the late-night study session keeping you and Trevante up well past your parents. Trevante...was wired by something else. What exactly? You're not sure. He'd arrived at your place, hours before, in a shitty mood but refused to tell you why. You'd initially thought it was because you'd rejected his invitation to attend William Prescott's party because you needed to study. Trevante had gone to the party before meeting you. Whatever happened at the party had stopped him from being a semi-decent study partner.

You were used to the textbook attempts of avoiding his work. The television, conversations about something he'd heard in the locker room, etc. What you weren't used to was his fingers toying with your hair, or brushing against your thighs. His lips brushing against your shoulder.

You'd nearly caused him to break his neck on the stairs with how fast you got him out of your house that night.

You grip your eyes closed for a brief moment, an all familiar heat spreading across your skin as he studies your face.

"It's just, my mom...she said something about us having an open-door policy and raging hormones, and it just...weirded me out?"

"Raging hormones," he scoffs, his attention focusing on the problem you're finishing up. "Your mom thinks we're having sex? We used to take baths together."

Erasing your mistake, you try again. You don't respond until you've finished the problem. Sliding the nearly completed homework assignment in Trevante's direction, you pick up your soda.

"I know, that's what I told her. She seems to think guys became sex-crazed when they turn sixteen."

"It's earlier than that," Trevante teases as he looks over the work.

It takes him a moment to realize the assignment is his not yours. He'd given you the completed homework during third period.

"Can you look this over?" He'd asked, hastily placing a kiss against your cheek before starting down the hall after William. "I'll make it up to you tonight. Dinner at Happy's at seven!"

You'd marked up most of the assignment in red while waiting for his arrival. The fact he'd attempted to do the homework without your help leading to you redoing it for him to soften the blow.

Releasing a sigh of relief, Trevante grins in your direction.

"You're so fucking smart, Y/N. It took me all last night to finish that."

You wince as his grip tugs against your shoulder, pulling your closer. His lips briefly press against your cheek. Your giggles fill the air as a second kiss follows.

"Stop," you giggle, lightly pushing against his cheek you watch him place a kiss against your palm before returning your focus on the math problem to his homework. "Don't think compliments will get me to finish your homework for you. You're finishing the rest. Right now. I'm only helping you make the corrections from now on. I only fixed it early because I can't be here until ten again."

Trevante's eyes roll as he accepts the pencil you offer him. "I've got plays to remember. I don't have time to ace AP Calc."

"And I have an entire European History essay to finish when I get home, so focus."

You spend the next thirty minutes helping Trevante finish working through his assignment. By the time you're finished explaining his mishap in the last problem, he's got a headache, and you're on your second plate of fries.

"You got that?"

"Yeah."

"Tre?" You wince at the sigh escaping his lips. "You don't sound too convincing. Do you need me to explain it again?"

You look up to find him watching you. His brow furrowed.

"What do you think of Prescott?" Trevante asks.

Your brow furrows as you concentrate on finishing the remainder of your shake.

"Prescott? As in William Prescott? The quarterback?"

"Yeah."

You attempt to read his expression, but whatever is on Trevante's mind, he isn't giving much away.

"He's...nice? I don't know, Tre," You laugh. "I don't know him. I mean, he's spoken to me maybe...three times. Each of those times is because I'm with you."

William Prescott was hard to ignore. Even if you weren't acquainted with him, it was impossible not to know who William was. His father was mayor, his mother, a member of the school board. Not to mention William was captain and quarterback of your school's football team. You share two classes with William. The fact you tend to sit in the front, and him in the back, making it difficult for him to talk to you. You can't even remember the last time he looked in your direction, let alone acknowledged you.

"I'm pretty sure he's gonna try and ask you out."

Your eyes roll as you uncap the highlighter in your hand.

"Right." You snort.

Concentrating on highlighting the formula before you, you glance up when you realize nothing else has been said.

"He asked me if you were seeing anyone," Trevante responds, his expression unreadable.

"And? What'd you tell him?" You ask the urgency in your voice, causing Trevante's eyes to roll.

He shrugs.

"I said not that I know of."

You let his words sink in, your brow furrowing. You're not sure what to say to that. If there was anyone who knew about what was going in your life, it was him.

"Okay..."

"I mean...I told him you weren't really looking for him. I figured he wasn't really your type. He's the quarterback, and you're..."

You wait for him to finish, but he doesn't.

"I guess you're the only exception to my newfound hatred for jocks?"

Lifting his arm, Trevante didn't bother responding as you gathered up your belongings before heading to the door.

two weeks later.

You keep your hands out before you. With your palms an inch away from the vent, you struggle to keep your entire body from trembling. Your dress is clinging to your wet body, the fabric's weight adding to the uncomfortable sensation on your skin. The air pumping through the ten-year-old jeep is a struggle on a good day. Paired with pouring rain on a chilly October night, it seemed the old vehicle wasn't going to be up to the task.

The rustling alongside you isn't enough for you to open your eyes, or move away from the slowly heating vents.

Trevante continues rustling through his gym bag. He is in search of an extra set of clothes. The spur of the moment thunderstorm that had erupted at the end of the game left everyone unprepared. You were in the stands, only really attending to cheer on your best friend, so you hadn't brought an extra pair of clothes. With the downpour, exiting the stands was a disaster. You didn't want to twist your ankle running down the slick foundation. By the time you made it through the gates of the field, you had to trek up the hill to the parking lot. You had struggled against the crowd to reach Trevante's jeep. By the time he'd met you in the parking lot, you were soaked to the bone.

After retrieving his shirt, Trevante grabs his letterman jacket for good measure.

"All right," he huffs as he tosses his duffle into the back. "This is all I've got."

Tugging the wet dress over your head, you toss it into the backseat before gladly accepting the longsleeved shirt.

The initial stripping off your clothes left Trevante frozen. In his haste, he hadn't considered the idea you might have to undress to get warm. His eyes had widened, his gaze instinctively drifting down your chest to the light pink bra you wore. He pauses to admire how the light fabric contrasts against your skin. You are too busy struggling to tug the shirt over your head to notice. Clearing his throat, Trevante shifts in his seat before focusing on adjusting the radio.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into coming," you mumble as you slip your arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

"You can use my jacket." Stealing a second glance in your direction, Trevante felt his shoulders relax once it became apparent you were decently covered. "It wasn't like you were doing anything anyway."

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of the jacket, you can't deny him a smile as a warmth passes over your body. The fabric is thick, capturing his scent. It feels as though its nearly twice your size.

"I was because, believe it or not; my world does not revolve around you, Rhodes."

"Right," he scoffs. "It's just boring when I'm not around."

Trevante glances apprehensively in your direction.

"So…" You wait for his sentence to be completed. When he doesn't speak, you glance across the car to find his thumb tapping against the steering wheel. "Will Prescott?"

A heat flushes over your skin at the mention of his name.

A light shrug rolls off your shoulder, your gaze diverting. "What about Will?"

"You're going out with him next week."

"Sounds like you already know the answer to that," you mumble.

The laugh that fills the car brings the heat to your face.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Trevante shakes his head before shifting the car into reverse.

You reach forward pushing it back into park.

"No, hold up. What?"

He looks at you for a moment before releasing a deep breath.

"It's just...he's kind of a player."

"William Prescott, a player?" Now it's your turn to scoff. "He's the captain of the football team-"

"That should tell you-"

"Oh, so does that extend to you?"

Trevante smiles, motioning for you to finish your sentence.

"Besides, you didn't even let me finish. Will's the second smartest kid in our class, and I know that because I'm the smartest. He's the poster child of our town. You can't be a poster child, slutting it up without everyone knowing. I haven't seen him date anyone since freshman year."

"Yeah you're right...must just be locker room talk." Resting his head back against his seat, Trevante runs his hand over his face. "What'd you wanna ask me?"

Suddenly your motives for attending the game seemed stupid. You'd texted Tre before the game, asking if he could give you a ride home.

"I need a favor." Your text had read, followed by "A big one. However, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Ever."

"Depends on how many laws we break," he'd responded.

"It's…" Your voice tapers off as you concentrate on the working windshield wipers. "A terrible idea."

"A bad as you picking William Prescott over me?"

When his teasing isn't enough to make you smile, Trevante sits up.

"I'm not a cheerleader, Tre. I don't have guys lining up after me like girls do you. I don't want my first kiss to be with a guy I barely know."

"Look, Y/N, I was fucking around about Will. He's not that bad. Pretentious, but not a complete dick…" Trevante's eyes widen. "You want me to…"

Suddenly the idea sounds stupid, and you're backpedaling.

"It's just I mean, he's the quarterback. Also, I know guys talk and-can't you tell when someone's like inexperienced with that kind of stuff? I don't want that being the only thing he thinks about when he's kissing me-and then he goes back and tells everyone during "locker room talk." Next thing I know, the school newspaper will be publishing that I'm a virgin-"

"Whoa-chill," he chuckles, the smile on his face stopping you in your tracks. "Okay?"

You nod. Your gaze drops to your hands. You're almost sure the heat burning your cheeks is visible to him.

You reluctantly look at Trevante as his touch finds your chin.

His lips press against yours, pulling your eyes closed. It takes a moment for your body to respond. By the time your brain processes what is happening, his lips are gone. His eyes are on you.

"Relax, y/n." He chuckles, his tongue passing over his lips at the sight of the range of emotions flickering across your face. He gently brushes his thumb along the curve of your jaw. "I'm not looking to break your heart. It's just a kiss."

"Just a kiss. Right."

You nod, but the action only causes Trevante to laugh for a second time. He knows the wheels are churning in your head. That, just like every aspect in life, you are beginning to overthink.

"Relax."

"Easy for you to say, Cassanova. Besides I am-"

A squeal comes out mangled with a gasp as his hands find waist and he's pulling against you. He's lifting you into the passenger seat and resting you against his lap. Your hands find his shoulders, the urge to push some space between you the first thought that crosses your mind.

There isn't much space you can put between the two of you with the steering wheel behind you.

You blink. Meeting Trevante's gaze, you feel the pulse of your heart skyrocketed as his hands move from your waist to your lower back.

Sensing your tension, Trevante smiles softly.

"I'll let you take the lead. I know you're big on learning on your own."

Suddenly you're aware of your surroundings.

The smell of rain against your skin. The soap from his rushed shower. The tap of the rain against the window, and roof of the car. The feel of his jeans against your thighs. The sensation that rushes across your skin with each shift of his jeans against your skin when you move. The muscles of his shoulders beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. The slight spike of his heartbeat as your touch drifts to his chest. The rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath as he waits for you to kiss him.

Relax, Y/N. It's just a kiss.

When you blink, and your eyes lift to meet his, you find Trevante's gaze on yours. A tiny smile is on his lips, his head resting against the headrest. The sense of calm that seems to cover you from head to toe stems from the steadiness of his heart against your palm. His thumbs gently massage the outside of your thighs.

The sight of his growing smile causes one to spread across your lips in response. With a slight shake of your head, you place your hands along either side of his neck and lean in to kiss him.

His grip tightens around your waist, shifting your body forward so that you straddle him. Trevante's fingers are in your hair, keeping your lips pressed against his. The desire to feel as much of you as he can eliminate any remaining space between the two of you. Neither of you can keep track of who does what first. Who's tongue brushes against who's lips first, who's hands start to wander first, who's giggle melts into a groan as your hips shift instinctively against his.

Time seems to fall away as quickly as the rain.

His lips linger along the curve of your neck. The pain that had pulled a gasp of irritation from you, a few seconds prior, has been replaced by a much more addictive sensation. The kind that sends a shiver down your spine and digs your fingers into his shoulders. Your hips instinctively shift against his as the coolness of his breath fans the sensitive bruise forming against your skin. His lips press a kiss against the bruise, retracing their steps until they’re pressing against your lips suppressing your giggles.

The tap that echoes off the walls of the jeep causes you to jump. Your back pressed against the steering wheel, your heart skipping a beat as the horn fills the air. Trevante’s hands instinctively grip your waist, pulling you forward, steadying your body. He winces as your weight shifts, your hand pressing against his chest.

Through the damp window, you can make out a single figure. As if that isn’t enough to scare you, you realize the figure is surrounded by something much more frightening than a peeping Tom. The blending of red and blue lights flooding the car distorts the figure. A second tap, with the butt of the flashlight, against the glass follows.

“Don’t-” you catch Trevante’s wrist as he reaches to roll down the window.

“What? You think they’re gonna go away? We can’t exactly say we didn’t know they were there.”

The rain has stopped, leaving just the chilly October night air. You shiver against Trevante as he rolls the window down. There’s no point in climbing into the passenger seat, moving would only draw more attention to your current situation. Your face turns towards the passenger seat, Trevante’s hand lifting to shield his eyes as the flashlight floods the driver side.

Trevante blinks, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light residing on his face. His grip painfully tightens around your waist, his fingers attempting to send you a message, once he realizes who’s on the other end of the flashlight.

Your heart jumps into your throat as a man’s voice floats through the window.

“Game’s over Tre,” came a familiar voice. “You kids need to go ahead and clear out the lot. Take this somewhere else…Preferably with a condom, and off school grounds.”

Trevante nods quicker than intended. He clears his throat, his mind torn between focusing on hiding the fact you were half-naked in his lap and wrapping up the conversation so that he could roll up the window.

“Yes, sir.” He stammers, his weak smile arching the cop’s brow. “We’re – uh, we were actually getting ready to go grab some food. Kinda just lost track of time. But uh – we’ll go now. Sorry for the trouble.”

Trevante moves to roll up the window, but pauses as the officer rest his hand against the door. Cutting off the flashlight, he reaches in to clap Trevante on the shoulder.

“That was one hell of a game, kid” the cop whistled. “You’ve got some speed, son. Those boys from Eastside didn’t know what to do with yo-”

You grip your eyes shut as your father’s words come to an abrupt halt. His gaze lingers on the backseat, Tre’s eyes drifting shut once he remembers what’s in the back. Discarded in haste, your dress rested on top of his gym bag. The same dress your father had zipped for you this morning before you gave him a kiss and ran to catch the bus. You don’t have to turn and face to him to know that your dad’s shooting daggers into Trevante.

A shiver runs through your body as the door is yanked open flooding the jeep with the night air.

Pain shoots through your arm.

You wince as your dad’s grip tightens as he tugs you out the car. Your stomach flutters as nearly fall face forward towards the ground. Your dad pauses long enough to ensure both of your feet have planted before heading towards the awaiting squad car. You stumble forward as you struggle to match his much longer strides to prevent from tripping.

The initial shock is what allowed him to get you halfway to the squad car. But once you notice Ramos, his much younger partner hesitantly shrugging off the squad car, your heels dig into the ground.

“Dad, you’re hurting my arm –” You yank your arm back, the force causing your father’s grip to tighten. For a brief moment you both pause. The adrenaline from just a few moments before seems to have kicked into high gear as you meet your father’s gaze. “I can walk myself to the car.”

Trevante is already out of his jeep, partially afraid he might be drug out next. He watches you storm off to the car and takes a step in your direction. The more rational part of his brain tells him he should get back into his jeep and head home before your dad’s gun is out of its holster.

“Sir, I promise you, it’s not what it looks like-”

"Get your ass in the car, Tre."

It's not until you've slid into the back of the squad car, slamming the door as hard as you can for good measure, that Trevante realizes he was meant to join you.

Trevante hesitates. Pointing over his shoulder, he takes a step back towards the security of his jeep.

"Uh-my pop's will flip if I don't bring the car home."

"Don't worry about that," your dad smiles as he pauses to clap his hand on Trevante's shoulder. His grip digs into Trevante's skin, causing the young man to wince. "I'll explain it to him when I drop you off."

Once your dad is seated in the driver's seat, you lean forward, your fingers pressed against the grate.

"You're not going to let Ramos cuff me? Take me down to the station to prove a point?"

Your dad doesn't speak to you. Instead, he lifts his radio and shares that he's dropping two teenagers off at home.

In fact, he doesn't speak to anyone for the fifteen car ride home. He pulls up to the curb in front of your house and comes to a stop. You get out. You hop back as the squad car takes off. Driving past Trevante’s house, it does a quick U turn before speeding out of the neighborhood.

You take the front steps two at a time, not bothering to check if the door closes fully behind you. The last thing you need is for your mom to see you. You head straight to the shower, locking the door, and hoping no one will bother speaking to you. But as you cut off the light and head to your room, you know that is impossible.

You enter your room to find your mom seated on top of your bed, patiently waiting for you.

Your shoulders tense, your body bracing for the screams. But, your mom surprises you by quietly asking.

"Are you okay?"

"It's embarrassing. I wasn't doing anything-"

"That's not what your father told me." She interjects, your face falling into your hands. "He said you and Tre were...closer than usual."

You find yourself wondering if your father had recounted precisely how he'd found you.

"It was a kiss," you sigh. "Nothing else -- We didn't do anything else. We weren't going to."

"We're not surprised, sweetheart." Your mother's response causes you to blink in confusion. She was not lecturing you. She was using this opportunity to have yet another sex talk. "I mean -- your father is pretty surprised. But your father and I have had this conversation already. The two of you spend an awful amount of time together. You and Trevante have been friends for a while. You're both growing older, and your bodies are changing. He's noticing how your body's changing. You're noticing his-"

"Mom-"

"Your hormones are through the roof, your body might feel like it's hypersensitive around him. That's normal. You find yourself wondering if sex is as good as it looks on tv--"

"I don't need the sex talk again." You groan as you cross the room. Taking a seat beside her, you pick up your pillow before laying back. “And, what is it with you and hormones? This is the second time this week you’ve brought them up.”

Your mom doesn't quite believe you. "A mother’s intuition. The last time we had the sex talk, honey, you were a freshman. You weren't thinking about boys-"

"And I'm really not now," you mumble from beneath the pillow covering your face.

"Take that off."

You groan.

Doing as she says you allow her to tug against your hands pulling you up. Sitting against the headboard, you tuck your knees into your chest.

"Kissing can feel good. But it often leads to something more serious. I'm not as naive as your father. You can't stay a little girl forever. I just don't want you rushing into something you're not ready for. Or at least not with a clear head."

"Mom, I wanted to get my first kiss over with. So I'm not the only girl in the entire junior class that has never been kissed. Tre just did it as a friend. Nothing is going on between us. We're still best friends."

Your mom is silent for a moment. You feel nervous as her gaze studies your eyes before leaving your face. It feels like with just a look, she can visualize every moment from before, and what is to come. Heat races across your skin as you think of Trevante's lips against yours. It rushes to your thighs as her eyes find your neck. The place where his lips showed you that kisses didn't have to be on your lips to feel amazing. The place where your flesh was tender, bruised.

"Best friends still need to understand the importance of condoms." She smiles as your brows raise. You're not sure how you didn't notice it before, but she lifts the box of condoms from her lap. "You can't depend on a guy to have one. In fact, most will try and say you don't need them."

Noting your wide eyes, she says quietly. "It'll give your father more peace of mind if he knows you have these. Even if you're not planning on using them."

You take the box, tossing it towards the chair in the corner.

She gets up pausing long enough to press a kiss against your forehead.

"I think it might be best if Tre doesn't stop by for a while. At least until your father can cool down."

"Fine," you huff.

"Night sweetie."

You watch the door close behind her, listening to her retreat to her room. A few moments later, you hear her speaking to your father through the phone.

You get up, crossing the room. You retrieve the previously discarded box of condoms. Opening the top drawer putting the box of condoms inside. You're about to close it when you stop to rearrange the clothes inside. You cover the box from your sight. Pushing the drawer shut you take a deep breath.

You study your reflection in the mirror. You swollen lips, wide eyes. The bruise on your neck. You realize it won't be easy to hide it in tomorrow's heat. When you cross the room, you pause by the window. You realize Tre's curtains are open. The light in his room is on. From your windows, you can see directly into each other's bedroom.

No matter how many times you've shared this tidbit, Trevante doesn't seem to utilize the blinds. You tend to keep your blinds shut in the morning and after his return home from practice. Accidently spotting him walking around his room, stark naked in the eighth grade has made you overly cautious.

You are in the process of untying the string holding back your curtains when you realize he's moved in front of the window. From what you can tell, your father hasn’t done any physical damage to him.

Trevante tugs his shirt over his head lazily tossing it in the direction of his hamper. He pauses to release the breath he was holding. As he turns towards the window, you take a step to the side. Your breath hitches in your throat as you bump your elbow.

He waits a moment. The light flooding from your bedroom making him hopeful you’ll check to see if he’s home. But you never do.

two and a half years ago. (gif)

Catching my breath, pounding my chest

I’m loving you less, I need to confess.

What is it about firsts that the human brain loves so much?

It seems as though we always remember our firsts.

Our first kiss, the first time we heard our favorite song. The first time we felt an inkling of true love. We can remember everything down to what we were wearing, how fast our heart was beating, the weather. Everything. Down to the smallest of details.

When you're in love, being able to remember all of your firsts is a beautiful thing.

What about when you're no longer in love? When only one of you is still in love?

Suddenly, your firsts are different.

You begin to remember the first time you notice his lips felt different against yours. The first time his hand stops pressing against your lower back as he passes you in the kitchen for his morning coffee. The first time he stops whispering how beautiful you look when stealing a second kiss.

You remember the first time his phone lights up, illuminating the bedroom ceiling when he thinks you've dozed off. The first time he calls to tell you he's working late, so there's no need to postpone dinner. The first time dates that once seemed important only seem important when he is reminded of their significance. You even remember the first time you gave up on sending him reminders.

Most importantly, you remember the first time he tells you he isn't in love with you anymore.

It had come in your favorite restaurant: The Gold Eagle. William always took you there when he had news to share whether it be a promotion, the winning of a case, or when he wanted to renew your vows.

You weren't expecting any news in particular when he asked you to book a babysitter for Colby. Certainly not the end of your marriage.

The words had come abruptly -- or maybe it seemed abrupt to you.

How else would can you describe the shift in conversation from plans for your son's birthday party to not being in love anymore?

Abrupt. It is the only way to describe it.

When he'd first spoke the words, you didn't respond. Will had thought you hadn't heard him. Under the music and laughter surrounding you, he couldn't be too sure.

Will cleared his throat, shifting in his chair as he paused the action of cutting his steak.

"Did you hear me?" He'd asked. His brows knit together as he studied your face for any sign of acknowledgment. "Y/N."

You had heard him. Loud and clear.

Your mind concentrated on his word choice. It was meticulous. There was a time when you loved that Will spoke that way. He never strung people along, or beat around the bush. He always told the truth, sparing someone's feelings came second.

You always knew where he stood, or so you thought.

"I don't love you anymore." Those were the five words that had come out of his mouth.

He hadn't said, "I'm falling out of love with you." He wasn't giving you a warning as to what might come. He was careful with his words because he knew you. He knew you were hoping he hadn't made his mind up. He wanted you to understand that there was no room for repairing.

There was a tiny part of you that was not shocked. That little voice, in the back of your mind, that has been whispering to you the last year. The tiny voice that has been telling you to trust your gut each time you doubted Will.

Reaching forward, you picked up the wine glass before you. Will's eyes observed as you downed the red contents of the entire glass.

He wiped at his mouth, his jaw tightening as you reach across the table for his untouched glass. He doesn't bother objecting as you down the entire glass of wine. He subtly waved off the young waiter approaching with a fresh bottle in his hand.

Will cleared his throat, sitting up in his seat.

"I've already drawn up an agreement. I believe you'll find that it takes both you and Colby into consideration."

He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. He produced a white envelope.

"William-," you gasp, the air in your lungs escaping you for a moment.

For a brief second, the sound halts his passing of the envelope. He watched the welling of your eyes. His throat clenched as he tried to swallow.

"I don't want to fight you for anything. I told my lawyer that the money's not an issue."

"The money you got because I stayed home with your son? The money you earned being able to show up at all hours at the drop of your boss's hat because I put off getting my masters and furthering my career? Now you’re kicking me and your son out of my house --"

"I told my lawyer that the money's not an issue." He repeated. "I have opted to split it all, 50/50. I'll pay a set amount the first of each month. It will be enough to keep you and Colby comfortable. It will cover his tuition-"

"What do you want me to fix?" Your question had come out softly. The raised question pulled Will's eyes from the envelope. "I'll do anything you want. I'll-Please do not break up our family."

William knew this would happen. He knew that letting you down wouldn't be easy, no matter how much he tried. That is why he can't meet your eye as your plea hangs in the air. He can't watch you cry, his gaze returning to the envelope before him. The tears which blurred your vision are his one weakness.

As he watched you wipe at your eyes, Will found his confidence slipping away. He leaned forward and placed the envelope in the center of the table. He needed to present his out, needed to make the break clean. There was one piece of information he knew would make you take your previous plea back.

"She's pregnant," Will continued as you concentrated on finishing the wine in your glass. It takes a moment for his words to sink in. You blink, meeting his gaze. "She wants to keep it, and...so do I."

Suddenly, everything made sense — Will's insistence on hiring a babysitter. There was a reason you were having dinner in a public place as opposed to the privacy of your dining room.

Will didn't want you to cause a scene, or at least knew you wouldn't. Not here.

"We can't have another kid right now, baby." You recited, the words halting his movements. "I'm swamped at the office. They're finally giving me a shot. I wouldn't want to leave you at home taking care of two kids just as I'm getting a break in my career."

Will shook his head. "I...It hasn't been right between us for months, Y/N. What's the point of staying together if we're drifting apart? Please don't say we need to stay together for Colby. I'm not leaving my son. But kids pick up on shit. No matter how good we are at faking it in front of him."

"Come on, y/n," he sighed as you glanced over your shoulder in search of your waiter. When you spotted the young man, you lifted your empty wine glass in the air. Will continued speaking the feeling he was digging himself into a deeper hole heavy against his chest. "This isn't a surprise to either of us-"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," you scoffed as you watched your hesitant waiter arrive. Sensing the tension between you and your husband, the young man quickly attempted to uncork the fresh bottle of wine. "I wasn't aware that my husband was fucking someone else while he was also fucking me-"

"Alexis and I-"

William watched your movements freeze.

The mentioning of the young paralegal's name seemed to break through the haze that had started forming on your mind.

"Could you be even more cliche? You fucked the office's teenybopper paralegal? And you got her pregnant? You could have just used a condom."

For a moment, William didn't react. He watched the range of emotions wash over your face. The frustration that morphs into disappointment. The resolution that forms as you reached forward taking the bottle of wine from the hands of the struggling waiter.

"He'll pay for it."

You removed the napkin from your lap, sitting it on the table. You picked up the envelope and shoved it into your purse. You're halfway to the door by the time Will can take out his wallet and pay.

The cold air hit you hard. The intake of fresh air causing your head to swirl. The burn of your chest and rush of your heart made the task of retrieving your valet ticket from your purse difficult.

Once you found the ticket, you turned. The wind was knocked out of you as ran into a solid barrier.

"Whoa. You okay?"

Trevante caught his breath, his hands instinctively finding your waist to keep you from falling back.

You looked up at him, the recognization on his face causing his brow to furrow.

"Fuck," you groaned, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest.

The look on your face caused Trevante to ignore your request of space; his gaze drifted over your shoulder in search of an explanation.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, the warmth of his hands finding your cheeks. His grip was firm, forcing you to stop your attempt to turn your face away.

You shook your head; your eyes gripped closed.

"I can't see you right now. You of all people. I cannot handle seeing you right now."

"Are you okay?"

Will's grip found your right elbow, his touch seeming to snap you out of it. Wiping at your eyes, you allowed him to guide your body closer to his.

"It's all good, man," Will smiled as he watched Trevante reach out to take your left hand.

"You sure?"

With one look, William knew he was not the one the question was directed to.

His weight shifted forward as Trevante takes in the scrunching of your nose. He knows the action very well. He knew that the silent breaths you take are an attempt to stop the tears in your eyes from spilling over. But you also won't meet his gaze.

"Yeah, look, man. Y/N just had too much wine." Will chuckled as he retrieved the bottle from your hand. "I figured it'd be best she finished this one at home. You know how she is. Could never keep up with the guys."

You wrapped your arms around your waist, your eyes remaining on the ground before you as Will draped your jacket over your shoulders. You nod.

"I'm fine. Just ready to go home."

Trevante was thrown by how fast your entire demeanor had changed before his eyes. The tears were gone, along with the shaking of your voice. He almost thought he'd imagined it.

Before Trevante could respond, Will had led you back towards the valet. He helped you into the passenger seat, pausing long enough to give Trevante a wave before walking around the back of the car and getting into the driver's seat.

2019: this morning.

Concentrating on your son, you smile as Colby absentmindedly toys with the phone in his hand.

The headphones resting over his curls, obstruct any sound or conversations you don't want him to hear. After your reunion, he'd climbed into your lap to watch an episode of Teen Titans.

You're both seated outside of the courtroom, patiently awaiting your turn. The clock on the wall, states you have five more minutes until your lives officially change.

They have changed steadily over the past few months, more noticeably for you than Colby. It took a while for him to understand that his dad was no longer living with you. William tried to stay present. He saw Colby more than you initially thought he would. The two of you alternate pickups and drop-offs at school. William stops by to share dinner with the two of you on Sundays, taking Colby to eat with him and Alexis twice a week.

When he's feeling up to it, Colby spends a week with his father. Usually, he opts for weekends. He hasn't warmed up to Alexis yet. Or their daughter.

Today is the first time you've physically held your son in two weeks. William had taken him to Atlanta to visit his parents for their wedding anniversary at the start of summer break.

"Thanks for letting me take him."

Instinctively, your eyes leave your Colby to find Alexis.

She is waiting beside William's lawyer, by the courtroom doors. She is cradling their daughter, Lola, in her arms. Although William's lawyer is speaking to her, Alexis's attention is focused on you.

"He is your son."

"I know, Y/N." William takes a deep breath. He releases it before adding. "I know two weeks is a long time, and you didn't want him to go...so thanks. It meant a lot to my parents."

You nod before looking in his direction.

"I'm shocked Alexis didn't show up with balloons, streamers, a "bride to be" sash, save the date cards...a marriage license for the judge to sign after she notarizes the divorce decree."

Your words harden William's jaw, his gaze sinking to his lap.

"We haven't spoken much about it," he breathes, but the wiping of his palms against his pants legs begs to differ. "We're still trying to settle in with Lola."

"But you have talked about it."

"She wants it to happen sooner than later."

"Well, you can come back here tomorrow and make it official. As of today, you are officially free of me, Mr. Prescott."

Most of the court proceedings are a blur — stipulations, and compromises going in one ear and out the other.

You didn't need to focus in on the words. You'd memorized that divorce agreement front to back. It's impossible not to when you've found yourself crying over it as many times as you have the past few months.

Many of those tear-filled nights, when you'd settled for a glass of wine over blowing William's brains out, you'd thought of calling your lawyer. She and everyone who learned the details of your split urged you to file under claims of adultery. It could increase the amount of child support and alimony, but it wouldn't give you any satisfaction. Your mother didn't care about satisfaction. She wanted you to hit William where it hurt, or at least where it would hurt Alexis the most, in his pocket. But you didn't.

It when you are having a lasting doubt about your decision when a slight nudge comes to your side.

Looking up, you find the judge's expectant gaze on you.

"Mrs. Prescott, would you like to keep your last name?" She asked for a second time. "You have the option of remaining a Prescott, or returning your legal name to that of your maiden."

"Um..." Alexis's brows shoot up at the hesitation. She leans over, whispering to William. He looks away from you long enough to respond to her. Keeping his last name had never crossed your mind, for more than a few brief seconds. It always seemed unimportant compared to ensuring you were financially stable for Colby. "I would like to keep it, your honor. It's the same as my son's."

William nods, his reaction falling on the opposite end of the spectrum when compared to Alexis's.

"Mrs. Prescott will keep her legal name," the judge noted. "As of today, upon the signing of the presented documentation, from both parties, your divorce will be finalized."

William meets your gaze. His fingers gently ruffle Colby's hair. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against your son’s forehead. He finds himself reaching out to wrap his arm around you, his arm giving you a gentle squeeze. He accepts the pen offered to him by his lawyer. William’s hesitation catches the attention of his fiance, but not yours as you place a kiss against Colby’s cheek.

"To new beginnings," his lawyer smiles, squeezing William's shoulder. The pressure a mixture of reassurance and urge causing WIlliam to remove the cap before leaning over the document.

"Yeah...new beginnings."

2019: later on in the day. (gif)

"Do I have to wear this?"

Tugging against the collar of his shirt, Colby attempts to undo the top button. The light green polo button-down was one of the many gifts found in Colby's suitcase, courtesy of William's parents. Each time he visits them, they send him home with an entirely new wardrobe.

He needs to start dressing like a young man, Y/N. William's mother would always say.

"Yes," you sigh. Taking a step forward, you ring the doorbell for a second time before moving back to stand alongside your son.

"Daddy's always making me dress like this," Colby huffs, giving the collar another tug. "I hate dressing like this."

"It's because you look so handsome," you gently tease. "If I unbutton it, will you feel better?"

Nodding, Colby allows a grin to slide across his face as you kneel down before him. Undoing the top button you watch him release a dramatic sigh of relief.

"Hold on, let me get my glasses. I believe my eyes are deceiving me. Y/N Prescott?" Stepping onto the front porch, Trevante's father joking adjusted the frames resting on his nose. "I can't remember the last time that husband of yours let you come down to this part of town. Last time I saw you, you definitely weren't this tall, little man. How are you, Colby?"

"Good, sir. Thank you for asking." Bouncing his weight against his heels, Colby pauses long enough to shake the hand offered to him. He attempts to take a step inside in search of the children's laughter from inside the house. But you catch his shoulder causing him to stay put.

Mr. Rhodes looks over your shoulder, his gaze scanning the street.

"Speaking of husband's, where's yours? I wish I could say I've forgotten what he looks like, but his face is all over town now that he's made partner at that law firm. What is called now?"

"He couldn't make it." Offering up the platter of brownies in your hand, you feel your shoulders relax as his attention shifts to the snacks. "I made your favorite."

Lifting the lid, Mr. Rhodes sneaks a brownie out.

"Go ahead and takes those in, sweetheart. You know the way. Let's not tell, the misses that I had one."

"Your secret's safe with me."

You keep your free hand on Colby's head as you make your way inside. He knows he must stay at your side until he delivers the gift for Trevante's mom.

With each step, you find you're surprised how familiar the house feels despite the number of years since your last visit.

The music blasting outside is muffled by the shut screen door leading to the back yard, and the laughter and voices coming from the kitchen.

Nearly all of the wives and mothers from the neighborhood are in the kitchen, ducking under and stepping around one another as they balance different plates and bowls. You remain off to the side, suddenly feeling out of place.

Trevante's mother spots Colby first, her squeal of excitement pulling a shy grin from your son.

"Colby Andrew Prescott, my angel!" Scooping him up, she quickly places a kiss against his cheek before stopping to give his face a good once over. "You have gotten so big! And so handsome, just like your father. I've missed you. Both of you!"

Pulling you into a tight hug, his mother places a quick kiss against your cheek.

"Can you be an angel, and take these out to Tre? We're running behind with the food."

Before you can respond, Trevante's mother has replaced the platter of brownies with a plate stacked high with hamburger patties.

She gives you a gentle push towards the back yard, leaving you no room for opposition.

When you'd gotten the call from her, a few days prior, you thought it was a mistake. Trevante was coming home, and she was inviting everyone in the neighboorhood to stop by the house. Your initial plan had been to not show. It wasn't as though the two of you were that close anymore. Surely no one would notice if you didn't attend.

Maybe that's why you pause in the doorway when you spot him across the deck.

He's peppering playful kisses against the cheeks of his niece. Her giggles fill the air as he catches her fingers before her lips before pressing a final kiss against her forehead.

Placing her down, Trevante picked up the tongs before removing the hot dogs from the grill.

"Can I have two of those?" Colby asks as he stops at your side.

"You can have as many as you want," Trevante chuckles as he takes a step in your direction. "Man, you've gotten big, kid."

Colby nods, his smile growing as he tilts his head back for a better look at Trevante.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

Smiling, Trevante squats down before Colby.

"How old are you now? Five?"

"No!" Colby's laughter fills the air as he rolls his eyes. "I'm eight. I turn nine in fourteen days."

"Fourteen, huh? I better start looking for a gift."

Colby's eyes widen at the offer, his head tilting back to meet your gaze. "My momma has the list...if you need help."

"Alright. I'll get a copy. Up top." Trevante winces as their palms collide, shaking his hand out. "Take it easy on me, lil' man. I'm not as strong as you anymore. How 'bout you go play for a bit. Work up that appetite?"

Lightly ruffling his hair, you watch as Colby takes off the yard towards the other kids. Your focus remains on him for a moment. When you look back to Trevante, you find his gaze on you.

He accepts the plate of patties you offer him, his gaze remaining on your face causing you to redirect your attention.

He knows the source of your gaze's redirection is him, but he doesn't look away. He finds his mind picking up on the visible changes you present. It seems now that you're in one another's presence, it occurs to Trevante the last time you were this close to him was two and a half years ago.

Placing the plate aside, he reaches into the nearby cooler.

"Want a beer?"

"Uh, no, thank you." You look up, watching as he twists the cap off of his bottle before taking a sip. "I'm Colby's designated driver. We're going to get ice cream later, so...lemonade for me..."

The heat on your skin causes you to point over your shoulder. "I'm actually supposed to help your mom. So, I'll see you later -- when I come back for the burgers."

"Okay." Trevante smiles. The passing of his eyes over you for a second time causes you to take a step back. "Look, don't be stranger. I don't want another two years to pass before you give me more than five words."

You nod. It takes you a moment to realize you haven't spoken. When you do, you manage an, "Okay."

There is a silence that rests between the two of you for a brief second.

"Just uh...come find me. Colby and I are at my parent's old house."

Trevante nods, his brow furrowing as his eyes linger on your bare ring finger.

"I know the one."

Turning, you start back towards the house but pause as you near the door.

Biting your lip, you release the breath weighing against your chest.

"Tre." At the sound of his name, Trevante glances back. You wait until he turns to face you to speak. Your gaze falls to your shoes. "What did my dad say to you that night?"

It was a question you found yourself pondering more frequently as of late. One you'd never mustered the courage to ask when the first shift in your relationship occurred.

His silence makes you think he's having trouble remembering what night you're speaking of. You had nineteen years worth of consecutive nights spent together to catalog.

When you look up, you find his gaze is across the yard. A soft smile is on his lips. Lifting his beer to his lips, Trevante takes a sip before taking a step back.

He meets your gaze before smiling, "these should be done in about twelve."

Taking a second step back, he turns and focuses on laying out the fresh patties across the grill.

..... to be continued .......

tags: @chaneajoyyy @kemkem101 @l-auteuse @doublesidedscoobysnacks@ghostfacekill-monger @blackpinup22 @blkroyalltea @essaysbyciara@wakanda-inspired @eyestheyseeyou @hufflepuff-ish

#let me know what you think?#aja naomi king is who i think of when I write this #but i made it a reader fic for ya'll #Trevante Rhodes #trevante rhodes fanfic #trevante rhodes imagine #rome flynn #trevante rhodes x reader #fake it 'til you make it

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter twelve (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4080

AN: Thank you so much for all the sweet comments and reviews on this fic. I can’t even tell you how happy it makes me to read them <3 And thank you writ for betaing and being the most wonderful headass one could ask for.

(then)

“This fucking sucks.”

Brooke looks up to see Vanessa’s head in her hands, slumped over her keyboard. The clock above them reads 1:23 a.m., and the sight makes her wince. They’ve been sitting in their spot in the library for the past seven hours, chipping away at the personal essays they’ll need to submit for their med school applications, and Brooke would be lying if she said that she didn’t want to just quit altogether.

“I feel like I haven’t done shit. Like a sham. How am I supposed to make them believe all of this?” Vanessa’s voice is muffled by her sleeve, and Brooke shuffles her chair so that she’s closer and can wrap an arm around her.

“You have done things, Nessa. You’ve been volunteering on the cardiac floors at Toronto General Hospital for the last, what? Two years? And you’ve been working in Dr. Roberts’ lab since the end of first year. And you’ve started TAing for those first year biology courses. Your list of accomplishments is already a mile long.” Brooke rubs her back. She gets it, she does. No matter what they do, it feels like they’re not doing enough. That there’s always going to be more that they can get done to make sure their applications stand out from the rest of the crowd.

Brooke’s seen the way that the bags underneath Vanessa’s eyes have begun to darken, how her brain has become a little more fatigued as they’ve started their third year while they try to do everything at once. It feels like they’re in a marathon where the route seems to stretch out longer and longer the more they run, with everyone else in the race already starting to leave them behind. Though they can’t stop, because if they stop it means they’re going to have absolutely no chance of ever catching up.

The feeling of not knowing is the worst part. Not knowing if what they’re doing is enough, not knowing if they’re going to be accepted into the same schools, not knowing if they’re going to be accepted anywhere at all. The uncertainty about the next year or so leaves Brooke on edge. She likes having a set plan so that she knows what’s going to be in front of her, letting her able to schedule out her life to leave nothing to chance.

Except applying to medical school is the biggest game of chance there is, taking big risks in preparation without even knowing if there’s going to be any payoff in the end. It’s like they’re driving and driving in the dark without any clue of what’s going to come - a cliff, a mountain, any sort of risk that could affect them. Brooke wishes that she could turn on the headlights that would illuminate their future, make it more clear so that she could at least know what to expect.

Going through the process with Vanessa feels like she has a lifeline, someone to keep her grounded and from losing her mind with the endless quest for high GPAs and volunteering experiences and published research. Knowing that she’s not the only one who feels like she’s drowning makes Brooke feel a little less alone, and being able to support Vanessa and be a rock for her too is strangely calming.

Brooke gets the feeling of not being enough, feeling like a fraud. Like they’re not supposed to get this far. It’s a sensation that she’s been used to for her entire life - not dedicated enough towards ballet to go professional, not pushing hard enough in classes, not being a good enough daughter. As if there’s always more she can do. It makes her push herself harder and harder out of spite, using it as motivation. Though she hates seeing Vanessa becoming so similarly weighed down - doubting in her abilities and her strengths and thinking that she’s not enough. Because she is, and Brooke’s going to keep telling her as much as she can.

She presses a kiss to Vanessa’s shoulder blade, pausing when she hears the way that Vanessa’s breaths have slowed down, become deeper. She tucks Vanessa’s hair behind her ear, moving it from in front of her face and sees that she’s fast asleep, her mouth slightly parted and eyes closed.

The sight makes her melt, and also tugs on her heart. Vanessa’s exhausted, they’re both exhausted. The med school application process has made third year so much more draining, having to get everything done while also studying, completing exams, writing papers. It’s all for a good reason - so that they can get into med school, eventually become surgeons, end up on the career paths that they’ve wanted for so long. But it’s hard. The fact that they still have such a long road ahead of them makes it feel as if they’re never going to reach that future.

Brooke runs her fingers through Vanessa’s hair, until she’s blinking sleepily and murmuring softly under her breath.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go back home.”

Vanessa rubs at her eyes and leans against Brooke’s shoulder, nuzzling as close as she can. “We’re still not done these essays.”

“We can do them tomorrow.” Brooke kisses the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her before standing them both up. “Sleep first.”

The process may be exhausting, stressing them both out and making Brooke’s stomach flip on a daily basis, but she’s glad that she’s not doing it alone. They’ll get through it together, like they have done so for the past two years.

Brooke can’t help the way that she paces the hallway, waiting for Vanessa to come out from her interview. She’d finished hers twenty minutes prior, and the relief running through her veins feels palpable.

It had gone okay. Her first medical school interview had been okay. Sure, she had tripped over her words a little bit, but each question had seemed easy enough to answer. She was able to come up with responses that made the interviewers nod, even smile a couple of times. She feels good about it.

Brooke leans against the window, looking out at the University of Western Ontario campus and all students milling about in their Western sweaters, going to and from buildings that are unfamiliar to her. She wonders how things would have been if she had chosen Western instead of the University of Toronto back in first year. It would have been real different. A different group of friends, a different set of classes, different professors.

And she never would have met Vanessa.

Brooke’s never been so relieved about a past decision in her life. Going through the last few years without Vanessa would have been like a half life. Sure, she would have made friends, gone to class, maybe dated around a little bit. Though she can’t picture anyone lighting up her world, making her as happy as Vanessa does.

Brooke thinks back to this morning, when Vanessa had been up early because she couldn’t sleep in excitement for the interviews and made them both omelettes, just because she could. How Vanessa cracked jokes their entire drive to the Western campus to make Brooke laugh, because she knew that she was nervous for what was to come. Vanessa always seems to preemptively know what she’s feeling, what she needs. Just like Brooke does for her.

The door in front of Brooke opens, and she has to hold herself back from running over to it when Vanessa comes out. Vanessa’s face, to anyone else, would be unreadable, but Brooke can see the way that she’s biting her lip, the way that her eyes seem to be a little more downcast than usual.

Uh oh.

“How’d it go?” Brooke tries to keep her tone light and casual, in case nothing really is wrong and she’s just projecting.

But then Vanessa’s face crumples and she lets out a sniff, and Brooke wastes no time in taking the few steps over to her so she can wrap her arms around her. “Oh, baby. What happened?”

Vanessa’s face is buried in Brooke’s shirt, wrapping her arms around her tight. Her voice comes out muffled. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Brooke murmurs it as soft as she can in case anyone else is in the hallway, running her fingers through Vanessa’s hair.

“I messed up. I blew it.” Vanessa sniffles and Brooke can feel her heart tug, the way it does whenever Vanessa is sad, or upset. She wishes she could take it all away from her.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t like anything I said, the one guy on the right was making a stank face the whole time and then the lady in the middle argued with one of my answers and I’m pretty sure I accidentally swore in there during another question.” Vanessa lets it all out in one breath and buries her face deeper into Brooke’s shirt, letting out a groan before continuing. “I was nervous, so nervous and I think they knew and I just messed up and they’re definitely not going to accept me and I hate having to talk all formal to strangers.”

“Oh, Ness.” Brooke wraps her arms around her tightly, trying to ignore the feeling of her own heart sinking in her chest.

“I wish we didn’t have interviews. They make me feel so dumb because when I’m nervous I can’t control what comes outta my stupid mouth.” Vanessa pulls back, wiping an errant tear and crossing her arms.

“You’re not dumb.” Vanessa’s not. She understands concepts a lot faster in class than Brooke does sometimes, she needs less time to memorize things when they’re studying for tests. Vanessa’s brain, when focused, is laser sharp. She’s the one who explains things to Brooke a lot of the time, who has to work just a tiny bit harder, study just a bit more to be at the same level.

“I sure fuckin’ sound like it sometimes.” Vanessa sounds defeated, and Brooke can see the slump in her shoulders, the way her eyes are downcast.

Brooke grabs her hand. “You’re going to prove them wrong. If you did mess up, they’ll still be impressed by the rest of your application. And if not? We still have four more med school interviews to go at the other universities. We’ll practice like crazy, until we sound all suave and natural, and until the answers can roll off your tongue with no problem. One interview doesn’t determine anything. We can do this.”

Vanessa finally looks up at her, gives her a half hearted smile. “You said ‘we’.”

Brooke shrugs. “Course I did. Because we’re doing this together. We’re a team, you know that.”

They are. They have been since first year, and they’ll continue to be one. Vanessa helps Brooke through tough times, and she does the same for her. Because that’s what they do.

Vanessa looks like her face is going to crumple again and Brooke wonders for a second if she’s said the wrong thing, but then Vanessa throws her arms back around her, squeezing tight. “Fucking love you so much, B. So much.”

Brooke presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too. Now c’mon.”

She pulls back, making Vanessa tilt her head in a question. “Pretty sure I saw an ice cream truck on the walk over to this building. Think we’ve earned ourselves a treat, don’t you?”

Vanessa lets out a noise in delight despite herself, squeezing Brooke’s hand. “Now we’re talking.”

They’ll do it together, make it through this application process and get to med school in one piece. They have to.

(now)

Brooke falls back on routine because she can’t push herself to do anything else.

Wake up, brew coffee, go to work, go home, sleep. Repeat. Over and over again. Sprinkling in food when she’s occasionally hungry, opening a bottle of wine when all she can think about is Vanessa.

Brooke can’t let herself think about Vanessa.

So, she drinks more wine and puts on Netflix and thinks about how truly pathetic she has become.

The coffee makes her more jittery than usual, her hands shaking and her brain travelling at a hundred miles an hour because if she gives it a second to rest, it’ll start to spiral. She can’t have that.

But pushing herself more and more and more is affecting her work - not in the sense that she’s making more mistakes, but that each procedure, each hour in the lab, each meeting leaves her feeling more burned out, more exhausted. Avoiding the topic that her brain wants to ruminate on is draining her of the very little energy that’s left in her system in the first place.

It’s not until she falls asleep at her desk one evening, staying past six, then seven, then eight because she can’t get herself out of her chair that she realizes that routine isn’t working anymore.

Brooke needs to face it. Not directly, because she’s not that masochistic. But leaning on someone. She may not have much, but she has Nina. Has had her since med school, and she’s so, so lucky for her.

Brooke knows what it’s like to lose people, and Nina’s unwavering support through their friendship is still unbelievable to her sometimes. Nina’s her least judgemental friend and, to her credit, desperately curious about what’s going on between her and Vanessa since the latter started working at the hospital. Brooke owes her a little bit of explanation, at least.

Nina’s face twists in more and more concern when Brooke tells her everything over a glass of wine one evening. They’re stretched out on Nina’s couch, the site of many late night talks and evenings spent working on research proposals and sleepovers when Brooke’s had too much to drink. The Eeyore t-shirt that Nina’s wearing is a far cry from the pantsuit she wears as Chief of Surgery. Her hair is around her face instead of perfectly coiffed the way it usually is, but the softness in her eyes remains the same as always.

“You never told me Dr. Mateo was the ex you were hung up over during med school.” Nina’s voice is hushed, incredulous.

Brooke winces. The early years of med school weren’t the best for her for a reason. “Maybe it’s good we didn’t get close until second year, or you would have seen me throughout that whole breakup.” She can’t help the bitterness that bleeds through in her laugh.

“Wow, Brooke. Shit.” Nina runs a hand through her hair, takes another sip of her wine. “Why didn’t you tell me that first day she started?

Brooke fiddles with her wine glass, because how could she even have done so? “It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t have been, because everything happened so long ago.”

She should have been over it then. She should be over it now. Too bad her brain has absolutely no capacity to try and listen to her.

“Still, though. Time doesn’t get rid of baggage.” Nina’s eyes are full of concern and it makes Brooke want to curl up, or leave.

“It should.” Brooke mumbles, running her fingers over the leather of the couch. It would have, if Brooke didn’t go and sleep with Vanessa and remind herself of all the reasons that she still needs her, no matter how much she doesn’t want to.

“Neither does sleeping with your ex. Which, by the way? No sex in the offices.” Nina raises an eyebrow. “Can’t believe you two were doing the dirty on your desks.”

Brooke can’t help but snort. “Yes, boss. Not that you really have to worry about that anymore.”

“What are you gonna do?” Nina’s brow furrows and Brooke almost wishes that she told her sooner.

Brooke shrugs, biting her lip. “I dunno.”

What can she do? Brooke’s managed to keep her heart safe for the last decade from anything that could have gotten too close to hurt it. She’s always been the one to end relationships a bit too soon, before she’s had the chance to fall too hard and become invested. Leaving people before they can leave her. It’s served her well, but also kept her incredibly solitary. On her own.

Not that she’s minded, because she hasn’t had to go through true heartbreak in the last eleven or so years. It’s safer than what happened with Vanessa.

But right now, this feeling of Vanessa pushing her away and then coming back feels like heartbreak, as if Brooke’s heart is a measly trinket for Vanessa to play with that has little value. She doesn’t know what Vanessa wants, or if she even cares. If she’ll leave.

Brooke doesn’t want her to leave again. She can’t go through it a second time.

If Brooke is a tall mountain that wants to be strong and self-sufficient and able to take care of herself without needing anything, then Vanessa is a tropical storm that whirls her way through and cleanses Brooke with her rain. She leaves a path that shows where she’s marked her presence in Brooke’s life, with memories of her touches and her laugh as part of the debris.

“Do you still like her?” Nina’s question makes Brooke pause, though she doesn’t answer.

Brooke had liked Vanessa, when they were in undergrad. She’s liked their dynamic the past few months, bickering her which feels equal parts frustrating and like foreplay. Sleeping with her which had felt both like the easiest thing in the world and as if they were a time bomb that could reach the end of its counter at any moment.

“Do you still love her?”

Brooke takes a sharp breath in, looks down at the couch, the smoothness of the leather and the way it indents under her weight.

Brooke doesn’t want to love her. She wishes she could stop herself from it. But a tiny, sadistic part of her soul still does, the part that fills her exhausted brain of thoughts of only Vanessa and the way that she smiles and what it feels like to hold her. Projecting things that she doesn’t want to feel onto her soul, leaving imprints of Vanessa that will never wash away, no matter how hard she tries.

Brooke hates feeling so much longing for another person. She shouldn’t need someone like this. Especially if she knows that it isn’t going to end well.

“Oh, Brooke.” Nina reaches out and grabs her hand and squeezes it and the weight is grounding, pulling her back from the way her brain is already trying to run away.

“It’s stupid.” Brooke mutters the words under her breath. It is stupid, the way she’s still hung up over someone when she has no right to be. Vanessa doesn’t owe her anything.

Brooke doesn’t want to take it, either.

“It’s not stupid.” Nina’s words are immediate. “Honestly? I’ve been waiting for someone to actually make you feel something more than a tiny bit of interest that goes away just as fast.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “What does that mean?”

Nina gives her a look. “You know exactly what it means. Barely making it past a second, third date. Heck, your longest relationship while you’ve been friends with me was what, like three? Four months?”

“Four. With Maria.” Maria had been…nice. When they were interns fresh out of medical school, though it hadn’t lasted.

“And even that one, who ended it?”

“Me. Maria hadn’t been anything special.” So what if Brooke hadn’t been invested? She didn’t want to stick around just for the hell of it. It wouldn’t have done good for either of them.

“That’s the thing, Brooke! You’ve never been hung up over someone like this, the way you’ve been since Vanessa started working here.”

“So what?”

“It’s gotta mean something.” Nina’s looking at her as if she’s Sherlock Holmes and has a fresh lead in a case. Not that Brooke can tell what it is in the least.

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “What, exactly?”

“I dunno.” Nina shrugs, leans closer. “I just think you should try and talk to her, at least. You can’t let it end here.”

“I just - I can’t, Nina.” Brooke fidgets in her seat, ignores the incredulous expression on Nina’s face. She can’t.

“Why not?” Nina’s looking at her as if going and talking to Vanessa is the easiest thing in the world, as if it won’t immediately cause the knife in her heart to twist more and more until she’s never able to get it out again.

“It’s not that easy.” Brooke stumbles over her words because how can she explain it? “It’s better this way. For both of us.”

“Do you really think that you can go on forever like this, not talking to her? Cutting her out? It’s not like she’s not going to keep working here. You’re going to have to keep interacting with her for the rest of your career.” Brooke sighs at Nina’s words because she’s right. It’s not like either of them are moving away anytime soon. They’re going to have to see each other around. Work together.

Still, Brooke is nothing but stubborn when she wants to be. “I can try.” She can. It’ll be hard to do, but she can.

“Do you want to, though? Never talk to her outside of work but know that she’s right there?”

Brooke huffs. “I can’t just go talk to her. It’s not that easy. It’s not going to change things.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t even know what she wants. I don’t want to be there when she figures it out and decides it’s definitely not me.” Vanessa’s been sending her nothing but mixed messages, and Brooke gets it, she does, but she doesn’t like it. Feeling hot then cold the next second is draining, leaving her with whiplash.

Vanessa the only one who’s ever been able to affect her like this, and it makes Brooke feel all open, exposed, as if the armour she’s built around herself has a kryptonite.

“How do you know that it won’t be you? Even if it’s not, don’t you at least deserve closure?”

Brooke deflates. Closure. They never had closure back then, and certainly don’t have it now. She’d channelled all her unresolved feelings and emotions into school and then later into work, and now the chance to actually figure things out, to look back on what they’ve been through feels dangerous, as if they’re going to open even more wounds that had been stitched up with time.

“Think about it. Because honestly, the two of you suck at communicating. Don’t you both owe it to yourselves to figure out what you want, instead of making assumptions about each other forever?” Nina punctuates her statement by draining the rest of her wine glass.

“She doesn’t want-”

Nina cuts her off. “You don’t know that. You won’t know until you properly talk to her.”

“She’s been avoiding me, too. Not coming up and trying to talk to me again.” Brooke fiddles with the couch cushions. It’s a measly excuse, and she knows it.

“Because the last time she did, you brushed her off and walked away from her. Maybe she’s trying to give you the space to come to her first?”

Brooke sighs, because there’s a chance that Nina is right. Not that she wants to face it. “Who made you so smart?”

Nina squeezes her hand and smiles. “There’s a reason I got the position of Chief and not you.”

“You know I didn’t even apply, bitch.” Brooke shoves Nina’s side when she snickers. “But thank you. For listening to all of this.”

Nina gives her a look. “You know I’m always here for it, the way you’re always here for me, too. Stop bottling things up and let someone with common sense set you straight for a change.”

“No one can set me straight.” Hey, Brooke may be spiralling more than she’d like to admit, but even she can’t miss the opportunity for a gay joke.

Nina snorts. “Hilarious. Truly.”

Brooke leans against her side, feeling the way Nina that leans her head on hers in response. The thought of talking to Vanessa makes her stomach churn like she’s twelve and about to give a speech in class for the first time. What if Vanessa really does want it to be over, confirms everything that Brooke suspects?

Or, an even more daunting thought - what if she doesn’t?

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #hospital au #nobody knows where we might end up #holtzmanns

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solange-lol · 5 years

Text

not so typical love song - ch. 2/13

Chapter Title: Never Fall In Love

Words: 4,751

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

read on ao3

---

Nico woke the next morning to his dog, Mrs. O’Leary, licking his face. (How she had gotten into his room, Nico didn’t know, but he blamed Hazel.) The Mastiff was nearly crushing him, being just about the same size as he was. He gave her a quick kiss and a pat on the head before pushing her off of him, rolling over with a groan. Curse the education system for making them get up at ungodly hours.

He heard a notification go off on his phone, and immediately the events of the previous night flooded back into his brain. Nico reached for his phone, hoping for a reply from Blue from the night before. Maybe if he was an early sleeper than he was an early riser. Unfortunately for him, there was no such luck. The notification was just a text from Piper reminding him to print his essay for English. The inbox for his email remained empty, besides the previous emails from the night before.

He clicked on one from Blue, rereading it. Then reading the following email from himself. Nico couldn’t help but smile; the excited tone was evident in his writing. Generally, he wasn’t the biggest fan of change, but this was one he could vouch for. These conversations were something he needed.

Now he was just hoping that Blue would respond again.

The pondering came to an end when Nico realized that if he didn’t start getting ready for school soon, he was going to be late. Quickly jumping out of bed, he threw on the first things he saw in his dresser (perks of an all black wardrobe), which turned out to be an old black and white checkered t-shirt along with black jeans and converse. He then shoved his laptop in his bag, grabbed his phone, and raced down the stairs.

“Nico, hey!” Hazel called from the kitchen. “I made pancakes!”

Hazel’s cooking was amazing, not that Nico would ever admit it. That wasn’t to say that nobody else could cook in their family. Nico’s father had some recipes that he kept from Maria, Nico’s mom, for authentic Italian food. He then passed those down to Nico whose skills were admittedly still limited, but he was improving. Persephone, Nico’s stepmother, was more of a baker.

But Hazel? She could do it all. She knew how to make the soul food her own mother used to cook before she died. Along with that, she was obsessed with Food Network and would try out cuisine from any culture. (She once made a lasagna better than Nico’s own family recipe. This opinion was never voiced out loud, but it was clear when everyone had thirds.)

Unfortunately, if Nico didn’t get in the car in the next two minutes, there was no way his routine would play out as usual.

He leaned over the counter, grabbing a forkful bigger than he probably could fit in his mouth. He shoved it in anyway, though, nodding at the taste and shooting Hazel a thumbs up. Since he couldn’t talk through this giant mouthful of pancake, he settled for miming a steering wheel with his hands and then pointing in the direction of the school as if to ask do you need a ride?

Luckily, Hazel got his little charade and shook her head no. “I’m getting a ride from Frank.”

Nico just raised an eyebrow at her. After a couple of swallows, he managed to say: “I better meet this Frank before you two get serious.”

“He’s in your grade, you probably already know him. Plus, we’ve talked, like, twice. We’re just friends.”

“For the time being,” Nico pointed out.

That earned him a rare eye roll from his sister. “I swear, the moment you mention a girl, you are never going to hear the end of it from me.”

He gave her a harmless glare, but inside, Nico could feel his stomach twist. Right. Almost forgot the entire world thought he was straight after spending the night talking (flirting?) to a random person about how gay he was.

He couldn’t waste anymore time worrying about that, though. Waving to Hazel and calling a goodbye to his dad and stepmom, Nico stepped outside and towards his car.

Before he could step inside it, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone.

Apparently his neighbors had called someone to come mow their lawn, and the guy who was blowing off all the grass onto the road was hot. He had light hair that was peeking out from under his hat, and dark eyes from was Nico could see. The best part, though, was this tight shorts this guy was wearing. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this guy working before, but maybe it was all the conversation last night that just put everything into a new light.

Nico fiddled with the keys in his hand. He was going to be late if he put this off any longer, but who knows? This could be the start of something.

“Hey!” he called out to him. Either the guy didn’t hear him or he just didn’t care, though, because he completely ignored Nico.

“Hey!” Nico tried again, and this time the guy turned around, a puzzled look already crossing his face.

Not knowing what to say next, Nico panicked. “I like your boots!”

The guy squinted in confusion, holding his hand up to his ear and turning off his leaf blower. It was clear he didn’t hear Nico.

“I said I- I like your boots!”

If he wasn’t confused before, the guy was definitely confused now. He just nodded before getting back to work,

Nico sighed, opening his door. What was he thinking anyway? He slumped into the seat, resting his head on the steering wheel, which accidentally caused the horn to beep, and him to jump. Great, now the guy must think he was honking at him.

Nico sighed again. It was going to be a very long day.

---

Picking up his friends was a routine that was established the moment Nico got his license. He no doubt had the nicest car out of his friends and actually kept it clean. Plus, it was just easiest for them all.

Jason was first, followed by Reyna. They lived across the street from each other; they grew up together and had been friends all their lives. While they drove to their next stop (and Nico’s personal favorite), Jason would usually try to analyze his dream and how it was going to affect his day, usually losing both Reyna and Nico halfway through his retelling.

They then stopped for a morning coffee at their local coffee shop. Nico preferred his hot with a shit ton of sugar, Reyna liked tea, and both Jason and Piper preferred iced lattes.

“Oh, can you get Piper’s with almond milk?” Jason said, tapping Nico on the shoulder from his spot in the back seat.

“How do you know so much about Piper’s coffee order?”

“It’s not hard to remember that someone prefers almond milk to regular.”

Nico just rolled his eyes before adding Piper’s request. Jason’s crush on Piper was so obvious, but he still refused to act on it. Something about not knowing her for long enough, since she had only moved to their town that summer.

From there, they went to pick up Piper, who lived on the farther side of town, and then headed for school.

It was a miracle they were still on time considering Nico’s morning tangent. He was so distracted by trying to make the bell that he sort of forgot about Blue.

That was, until third period English when he went to search up a quick fact and noticed a new email notification. There was only one person who knew that email address.

He tried to ignore it, tried to pay attention to the lesson, but his phone felt like it was burning through his pants pocket.

Blue had responded again.

He quickly snapped back to reality and raised his hand.

“Nico?” the teacher asked, and he quickly realized that she had just asked a question judging by the other hands lowering. “What do you think?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher sighed, nodding her head in the direction of the door, and Nico rushed out. It felt like he was racing down the hall towards the bathroom, the weight of his phone still heavy in his pocket.

It felt like time was slowing down as he locked himself in the last stall of this thankfully-empty bathroom, staring at the loading screen of the app. Finally, the email popped up.

Nico took a deep breath and tapped it.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 10:20 AM

Subject: Re: Punchability

I’m so glad I qualify for an exception of punchability. But I’m confused, because I heard there was actually a second punctuality exception for cute guys who don’t know slang (I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘catch these mittens’) and poor judgement. Re: Nutella, despite being warned.

And how did you know about my interpretive dance skills? Though I don’t really think of it as an extracurricular activity. It’s more of a calling.

I know exactly what you mean about it being easier to be open with someone who doesn’t know you. We exchanged, what? Like 5 emails? Already, you know things about me that I’ve never told anyone else. I guess it makes you think about what it really means to know someone

I’m okay with being each other’s Ultimate Therapists, even if we both suck at it.

-Blue

He let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding before laughing quietly to himself. Of course Blue would respond, and he did it in typical Blue-humor fashion. It was clear last night that emailing Nico was as therapeutic as it was for Nico emailing him.

Thousands of heat-filled butterflies entered his stomach as he read it over. Was Blue flirting with him? He hardly remembered the conversations last night, but it was clear now that this had gone a little farther than plain old friendly teasing.

He quickly typed a response, already anticipating Blue’s next reply.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 10:50 AM

Subject: Catch These Mittens

What about me makes you think I have poor judgement? 5 jars of Nutella sounds like a fantastic idea, if you ask me. If anything, I’m not the one with poor judgement; that’s all on YOU, Blue. You’re the one who ate the Nutella, if I remember correctly.

I relate to everything you’re saying, though. I already feel like I can tell you things I haven’t told any of my close friends. I do think a big part of it is the anonymity. It’s not just that, though. It’s weird but I feel like you get me in some way. Which is probably why I responded to your post in the first place. Or maybe it’s just something that comes from nobody knowing you’re gay.

It’s like, I’m not lonely. I have great friends, a better-than-average family. But I still feel lonely more often than not. At least I’ve felt a little less lonely in the past day, thanks to you.

-Angel

It was weird, he’s more honest with Blue than he is with himself. Like some sort of alternate-persona situation. All of the jokes and the extra personality he kept inside himself out of fear was just let loose when he talked to Blue.

Nico tapped send without thinking and almost immediately regretted it. What if Blue was in his English class and saw him rush out? If he had email notifications on, it would be obvious that Nico was on the other side.

Nonetheless, Nico felt his heartbeat speed up with slight excitement and nerves. If Blue found out it was him sending him emails, there was a chance that his undecided maybe-love story could speed up a bit, or at least cure his curiosity about who this other gay kid was. On the other hand, it could also scare Blue away, and Nico really needed him right now.

Nico switched off his phone and pocketed it. He was out too long already, and he needed to get back to class. He could worry about Blue there.

---

Lunch came, and Nico found himself observing the room more carefully. All the juniors had the same lunch period, which meant any guy in that room could be Blue. He was praying it wasn’t like one of those dramatic teen show situations where the homophobic asshole turned out to be the gay one.

Turning to his own lunch table, he realized that any of his own friends could be Blue. They were all theatre kids, which meant it was more than likely at least half of them were queer anyway.

Percy Jackson was sitting directly from his left. He was their stage manager as he loved to lead the team and also couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. The looks made up for it though, with the gorgeous sea green eyes and unkempt black hair. He was a lot taller than Nico (though most people were) and while previously assumed straight, he also doubled as a soccer player along with some of the other guys at their table, including Jason. The way he treated, teased, and tackled Jason, there was no way he wasn’t at least bisexual.

On his other side was Jason, and while Nico admitted he was attractive, his heart eyes for Piper were clear.

Next to Jason were Travis and Connor Stoll, some of the other soccer players. Travis was also part of backstage, but Nico ruled him out as he was dating Katie Gardner. And while Connor was in the show and hypothesized as gay due to some apparent flirting between him and Mitchell that Piper overheard, Nico doubted it was him.

Across from him was Will Solace, who he was only recently introduced to. He wasn’t a part of their theatre program, but he was friends with Lou Ellen and Cecil, both of which were in theatre and who had invited him to the table. Nico hadn’t had many conversations with him, but he had an adorable head of golden curls and blue eyes that reminded Nico of an eclipse. He had thousands of freckles splattered across tan skin. So, a contestant along with the other hundred of guys in his grade.

“Nico?” Will asked, waving in front of his face. Nico snapped out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Will gave him a huge grin, clearly about to ask for something. “Can I have a fry?” he asked, pointing to Nico’s tray.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He was still halfway in daydream mode, and the words didn’t really register in his brain.

Jason looked curiously. “Is this the day Nico di Angelo finally finds his soul and is kind to another person?” he teased, still managing to find his fatherly humor within him even when surprised. “Guess not,” he continued when Nico flipped him off, and everyone laughed.

They went back to their conversation after that. (Jason was proposing that they all shaved their legs for the next soccer game which would supposedly make them run faster, an idea that was immediately turned down by all the other members.) There’s laughing and teasing; it’s the good-natured humor of his lunch table that begged for him to come out right at that moment. He knew his friends would accept him; he knew he was in a safe environment. And yet, did he know that?

He thought back to what Blue said, about wanting to come out but also being insanely relieved that nobody knew yet. He’s safer when nobody knows. So, he didn’t say a word.

The memory of Blue reminded him that he sent an email earlier in the day, and there’s a chance that Blue may have sent one back during lunch.

Nico pulled out his phone, quickly trying to refresh his email app. Unfortunately, with the amount of kids on their phones in that room, the internet was essentially nonexistent. The screen just kept on loading.

“Why is there no service in this school?” he mumbled to no one in particular as he jumped up from the table. Curious and confused looks from the other members at the table were exchanged, but nobody rushed to follow.

Nico didn’t bother rushing at this point without the promise of an email waiting for him. However, risking pulling out his phone in the hallway turned out to be a mistake, as he bumped right into the vice principal’s wheelchair.

“Nico,” Mr. Brunner addressed him. He was actually pretty nice most of the time, always going out of his way to see what was up with his students. It was almost like he doubled as a guidance counselor. (Mr. Brunner was better at emotional support than their actual guidance counselor, that was for sure.) He was still sort of stuck in the past, though, and while he never gave out detentions for phone use, he did confiscate them.

“Hey, Mr. Brunner. How are you?” Nico winced slightly at his feeble attempts to get out of punishment.

Mr. Brunner didn’t even answer his question. Instead, he just held out his hand. “You know the rules, Mr. di Angelo.”

Nico sighed. If the administrator weren’t so nice and if he was out, he would call this homophobia. Instead, he just bit the bullet and placed his phone in Mr. Brunner’s awaiting palm. “When do I get it back?”

“End of the day, after play rehearsal.” That was another thing, he had somehow memorized everyone’s extracurriculars. “You can come retrieve it in my office.”

Nico nodded. “Got it.” Going the day without knowing if Blue hadn’t responded wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t really have a choice.

---

As it turns out, Nico had some sort of heavy reliance on Blue in the past day. Even if they hadn’t known each other for long, and their conversations were short, they still meant a lot. They were a safe space, and the knowledge that he was now derived of that safe space, even for a few hours, made him uncomfortable.

Even in the theater, which was usually Nico’s comfort zone. They spent countless hours a week here. Just about everybody in the cast were friends, all having shared laughs or tears depending on how the rehearsal was going and what kind of mood their director, Mr. D, was in. Even Octavian, who was a slimy, stuck up kid whose body boiled with drama even outside of the auditorium, seemed human during a long rehearsal.

Without his phone, he also had no way to check the time, which meant he was relying on (i.e., bothering the crap out of) all of his friends.

The show itself was going as well as a public high school musical with limited theatre program funding could go.

“That was—” Mr. D started, rubbing his forehead from his spot in the audience. He tapped his pen on his clipboard, still not finishing his sentence. “Peter, help me out here?”

“That was a start?” Percy (Mr. D had a habit of getting his name wrong, even after three years in the program. Probably out of disrespect; they had a weird unspoken feud) supplied. The phrasing was nice, but the message was clear. The show was a complete trainwreck, and they only had until after the holidays to put it together. It was already October.

Mr. D pointed his pen at him. “Yes, that was a start.” He got up from his chair and advanced towards the stage, which meant he was about to change the entire set up.

“Piper,” he hissed between as Mr. D gave new directions to Jason. “What time is it?”

Piper just glared at him from her spot on the half-finished staircase. “Ten minutes since you last asked me!”

“And di Angelo! I need your jazz hands to be more dramatic! You just look like you’re trembling! This is a cabaret, not a breakdown in the bathroom!” He heard a snicker behind him, and turned to wear Percy and Cecil were mocking his shaky jazz hands offstage. If it weren’t for Mr. D standing near, he would have cursed them out.

Instead, Nico just sighed. Usually this was one of his favorite parts of the day, but they were barely halfway through rehearsal, and he already wanted out.

By the time the rehearsal was over, Nico had already packed up all his things and was bolting out of the auditorium.

He skidded to a stop from his near-sprint right outside of Mr. Brunner’s office, taking a moment to collect his breath and play it off as he strolled into the room. (The last thing he needed to do was look attached to his phone, otherwise Mr. Brunner might decide to keep it a little longer.)

“Nico! How was the unplugged afternoon?” Mr. Brunner smiled from his desk.

“Great,” Nico said, forcing a smile and giving a thumbs up. Whatever he had to do to make this conversation go faster.

Mr. Brunner reached into a drawer in his desk to grab Nico’s phone before wheeling around to where he was standing. “You should try it more often, maybe you’ll finally relax a bit.” Nico just laughed and nodded, not really sure how to respond to that. So, Mr. Brunner continued. “I know I’m hard on you, but I’m just looking out for you.” He regarded Nico now with slight concern in his eyes. “You’ve seemed kinda stressed recently, anything you want to talk about?”

Nico just forced another smile. “Nope! I’m good. Just, uh, a lot of homework to do, which means I should probably head home.”

Mr. Brunner nodded, handing Nico’s phone back to him. “Go, do your thing. Just remember, my door is always open.”

The words didn’t register, though, because Nico could see now that he got a notification from Blue. “Right, thanks!” he called, already rushing out of the room and outside.

Nico waited until he was in his car to open up the email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 2:46 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I’ve felt less lonely in the past day too. It’s nice to finally have somebody who just gets it. It’s funny, my mom even commented that I’ve been in a good mood lately. I told her it was because Taylor Swift had a new song, but I’m not sure she believed me. I think she knows I’m hiding something.

Anyway, I have a question for you: how did you know you were gay? And I know you said you haven’t come out to anyone yet, but do you think anyone suspects?

-Blue

A car honked behind him, snapping him out of his daydream as he quickly backed out of the parking lot. Nico nearly sped home from there, eager to respond. He barely acknowledged his stepmom or Hazel before grabbing a granola bar and racing up the steps to his room, Mrs. O’Leary right by his heels.

Nico flopped back on his bed, pulling out his laptop from his backpack and typing out a response.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 5:14 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I keep thinking about this whole coming out thing. I have a pretty open group of friends and a good family, I don’t think they would really be that torn apart over it. Still, though, I’m scared.

You know Mitchell, right? He’s been out for years now and as far as I know nobody has given him too much crap for it. Probably because everybody basically knew (which I feel is a really crappy thing to say, but it’s not like he was that subtle.)

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess I just feel like with me it’s hard to tell. I think my dad suspects something because I never talk about girls, but my friends like to joke that I don’t like talking about anyone, even if it’s strictly platonic. But besides that, nobody really talks about it. I mean, ‘who do you think is gay’ isn’t really a hot topic at my lunch table. Or a topic at all. (Though part of me wishes it was, or just wishes I was out, because I’ve had so many good joke opportunities.)

Anyway, as for how I knew I was gay, it was a bunch of little things. My older sister tried to get me into Harry Potter with her (instead I just got obsessed with a card game called Mythomagic.) But everytime she would turn on one of the movies, I would always watch with her. Afterwards I kept having this recurring dream of Daniel Radcliff. I also got really into Panic! at the Disco, and it took me a while to realize it wasn’t really about the music. (Brendan Urie is a god, don’t deny it.) And, of course, the pitiful crushes on half of my friend group.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, and I’m honestly not even sure if a girl has ever even liked me. I just never bothered paying attention to that sort of thing the moment I realized I didn’t have to.

What about you, how did you know?

-Angel

P.S: because I know you’re wondering, I’m a Gryffindor. (Or at least I am according to my sister.) Hope that doesn’t affect this friendship, because I really like emailing you.

He hit send, then immediately fell backwards with a groan. Since when did he become so mushy? If anyone ever saw these emails, he would probably implode. Even the idea of someone reading them made his stomach twist, although that’s probably more about the being-gay-and-in-the-closet thing more than it was about the being-mushy thing.

He stayed in that spot for a few moments, hoping that he’d hear the notification sound of a reply from his laptop, but ten minutes passed with no such luck. So, he sat up, closed the tab, and started to work on his calculus homework instead while he waited. After a while he forgot about Blue.

It’s only when he stepped out of the shower later that night and his phone lit up with a missed notification that he realize he got a response.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 6:29 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I know what you mean about the nobody-really-thinking you're gay thing. I mean, I don’t think it’s usually at the top of someone’s mind unless they like you, but you seem to not have much experience with that. Which isn’t a bad thing. Plus, I like you.

And actually, I had my own share of a Brendan Urie crush (who didn’t.) That was actually one of the first things I noticed about your email which, I could be completely wrong here, I believe that’s a P!ATD reference. I hope you don’t expect me to know any other of those alternative-edgy type bands. I’m more of a musical theatre person, which means I have about the same music taste as my Aunt Artemis.

Another one was Game of Thrones. I’m not a huge follower of the show, but every time I watched clips or walked in while my mom was watching it, I was always crushing hard on John Snow.

I’ve never officially had a girlfriend. I had a girl ask me to a seventh grade dance before, but I just really wanted to Cupid Shuffle on my own so I turned her down. She’s actually still one of my close friends to this day, funnily enough, and still showed up at the dance and kicked my butt at Cotton Eyed Joe. So, that turned out to be a better experience.

-Blue

P.S: I think you should actually take the quiz, because you seem more like a Hufflepuff to me. Or maybe I’m just self-projecting my own house onto you (I’m as Hufflepuff as you can get.) But no, even though you claim to be in the fraternity of Hogwarts Houses, I still like emailing you too.

Nico smiled, and unfamiliar heat pooling in his stomach as he reread that last line over and over again.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #pjo hoo big bang #nstls

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