#me and my friend always going to the same incredibly mid pizza place every time we go out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs | Tumgik (2025)

that the real reason they went to miceli's even after their disastrous first date there is that tommy is low key a picky eater and he already knows he can eat the food

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Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

Indulge Me.

Type : Fluff! (with a wee bit of Angst thrown in there)

Warnings : Internal conflict, swearing, kissing (pretty detailed, though nothing overly sexual), a little alcohol consumption I suppose, and that’s all. It’s super fluffy!

Word Count : 6.3k (kinda short, I know :/ my bad)

Request : Not Requested.

Summary : Johnny x Female!Reader, where they have been close friends for a super long time, and the reader (you!) has slowly developed feelings for him. A confession, a walk, and a sweet, slow, kiss, in the rain.

Authors Note : I don’t know why I got the urge to do this, but I started writing and simply did not stop, so here we are. I thought it turned out quite cute, although it is very cliche :) Also, Johnny is not famous in this, though it’s set in like ‘91, or ‘90. He’s just a really sexy regular guy, I suppose. That’s all :) Enjoy!

Indulge Me, Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

There was truly something about him - about Johnny - that you simply could not place. The two of you had been friends, strictly friends, for almost too long to remember, and it seemed that with every passing moment either of your spent, swaddled in each other’s company, that relationship merely grew. It manifested, and developed, so incredibly, yet entirely unnoticed, by both Johnny, and yourself. It was incredible, really, that such a friendship could hinder quite so rapidly, and seemingly only for one participant.

You didn’t mean to begin noticing the little things, the details, about him. Like the way he smiled, so incredibly gentle and uplifting - contagious, you could argue - or the way he would change, so naturally, when around you, in comparison to that of everybody else. His laugh would grow louder, freer, and his voice would amplify; no longer riddled with nerves and a sense of timidness. Comfort, you supposed, was a factor he allowed himself to become engulfed by, whenever you were present, and you certainly liked it. You began noticing the way he would touch you, tender, and cautious, or the way he held your hand - merely due to instinct, he would always blame, though your butterflies wished it something else - and the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, when you complained for the cool breeze, never once bothered by your close proximity. You noticed the way his eyes could light up, and he would smile something small; ridden with joy, for no particular reason at all. You noticed that his hair was longer, now, and that it fell to a messy central parting, digits consistently brushing it from his gaze - you liked the way he styled his hair, you decided, and it was so soft - so tender. You began to notice the way he treated you, so polite, yet bitterly brutal when his jokes played themselves around. You noticed things that you probably shouldn’t have, and, well, such an inconvenience caused a severe disruption to your whole mechanism.

At first, you thought it to be an illness of some sort. The stomach churns - the best kind, as you later discovered - and the butterflies, the tingle between your thighs. Am I sick? You began to think, as you checked yourself for a temperature. Alas, there was nothing but a flush of embarrassment to your reddened cheeks, and a heavy sensation within your chest, as you supposed that it would all disburse within a matter of days.

Well, a couple of days came, and went, and things had only gotten worse.

You began to dream of him, and, admittedly, you enjoyed them - of courseyou did - but it only made your face-to-face discussions an almighty difficult task to partake in. The butterflies ascended into a trail of breathtaking tingles, ignited by the slightest touch, and a sense of fire ruptured within your throat - it was so difficult to say the things you wanted to say, when your infatuation threatened to spill from your tongue at any given moment, and his beautifully chocolate gaze held you so captivated, so numbingly, to your place. He rendered you silent, your mind falling blank, with a simple smile, or a glance. Pathetic! That’s what you’d call it. Utterly pathetic. And, realistically, you knew it would only grow worse, the longer you decided to repress such information from your closest companion - and apparent lover, in your emotions’ eyes - but you simply couldn’t find it in you, not at all, to utter such simple words.

They could do so much damage - undo so many memories! And ruin everything. Maybe you were simply paranoid - maybe you were driven by utmost fear - but romance seemed so terribly painful, and you weren’t entirely sure if you could handle the way it would end. After all, everything good must come to something bad, right? Perhaps it was just the way your childhood played out, between lies and heartbreak, separation and loneliness, and fear and rejection - or maybe you were right. Maybe everything people were taught, all that they would read, about love, and about fictional infatuation, was just that - fiction. Maybe true love didn’t exist, and the books had it all wrong. Though that would not explain the thin sheen of sweat, glistening something noticeable upon your forehead.

You were nervous, to say the least.

The seven o’clock News displayed upon your television, igniting the darkened room in an expanding, blue, illumination, and you nibbled your nails somewhat anxiously, thoughts engulfing the surrounding buzz of the visual journalism - not that you ever paid it any mind, anyway. You always found the News boring - they reported nothing but shit, and you made sure to voice such an opinion, whenever Johnny would force you to watch it. “It’s educational!” He would laugh, gripping onto your hips and forcing you upon his lap. Of course, it was only something playful, and his arms would snake around your waist, chin against your shoulder. It was comfortable, you could never deny, but the News was still ever-boring and droning.

Though, now, it seemed appropriate. You were far too nervous to concentrate on anything in particular, like a gameshow, or something of the sort. Even the soccer seemed far too involving for you.

After all, today was the day you finally relieved yourself of such a weighty secret. You could hardly contain yourself any longer, and you were growing tired of the worried glances Johnny would throw your way, when you flinched from his burning touch, or paused mid-sentence, struggling to find your gasped breath. God, it was all so embarrassing. You hoped sincerely that it wouldn’t render something awkward, or differentiate your friendship, in any which way, but you were certain it was all one sided, and just wouldn’t be the same after. Perhaps he already knew, and was attempting to ignore such a thing, as best he could, and for that, you practically worshiped his ability to handle difficult situations lightheartedly. Or maybe he was as entirely clueless as he seemed to be, and it would be as awkward as you could picture the whole ordeal going.

Either way, you needed to say something, before it accidentally slipped within a regular conversation, and ruined everything. You attempted to reason with yourself, that if things truly did turn bitterly awful, at least tonight there would be pizza and wine, to salvage your mortification, and-

The soft jingle of metal echoed, distant, yet alarming, throughout the quiet and dim apartment. Scuttling, your hands grasped the remote control, muting the television in a rapid and almost panicked manner, breathing laboured and uneven. You weren’t ready - you definitely weren’t ready. You couldn’t do this - tell him how you felt, that is. How the hell would you even go about it? It wasn’t the kind of thing you could just bring up-

“They didn’t have any of that wine you like.” He sighed. You froze, rigid in your seat. “I got somethin’ else,” He trailed, “Doesn’t have a brand, I don’t think.” Two rustling bags settled in place before you, his keys landed with a loud crash upon the glass surface, jacket shrugged upon the ground with a sudden waft of cool breeze. Johnny glanced toward you, as he slumped hastily upon the sofa, booted feet kicked out before him. “What’s up?” He mumbled, his eyes fluttered to a gentle close, eyebrows furrowed gently.

“Nothing.” You said. How great of a lie it surely was, though you refused to blurt your confession aloud just yet.

An eyebrow raised, doubtful for your unconvincing reply, as a gentle grin teetered to the corner of his lips, and, oh, didn’t he look pretty. “C’mon,” He teased, “What’s up with you?” A finger jabbed to your side - an extraordinarily ticklish disposition for yourself - and you squirmed instinctively, a certain warmth engulfing your chest at the familiarity of that supple smirk.

“Really,” You persisted, “It’s nothing.” A breathy chuckle falling from upon your quiet tongue. “Have you tried that wine before?” You could confess your adoration for the poor man amidst the meal, though for now, it could wait.

“Uh-” He frowned, the quiver of a smile to trace his gaze.“No.” He said.

A subtle laugh dripped from your throat, gently shaking your head, as you mumbled a witty response. “Am I surprised, Jonathan?” To which he scoffed, his gorgeously depthful eyes rolling, and shone you a wickedly charming smile.

“Guess not.” He muttered, a beat of comfortable quiet to drift you both by. “You’re watching the News?” He then added, a furrow to draw his eyebrows closer; glance fluttered between yourself and the blare of the silenced television, projecting utter bullshit as it went - ever-the-regular, you could argue.

You simply nodded, “I am.” You said, somewhat a grin to upturn the crevices of your expression. A soft round of laughter fell from the man beside you, and you found your breath stuttered within the depth of your throat. It was an angelic muse, really, and thus you found yourself unable to conjure a furtherly coherent - never mind advanced - response, the simple two words proving enough for his bemused self.

“But you fucking hate the News.” He scoffed. “Why the hell are you watching it?”

A subtle giggle left your throat, and you snatched the lip of the bag before you, eager to indulge within the gorgeously scented - and warm - food. “Shut up, Johnny.” You said, a gentle smile to follow, “What’d you get?”

“I don’t know.” He smirked, “Somethin’ meaty, I think.”

“Of course,” You sighed, unable - quite - to dislodge the grin upon your rosy cheeks. “I mean, why would you know the pizza you ordered, right?”

“Precisely.” He smiled, “I’m thrilled you understand.”

“Always a pleasure.” You simply said, for your mind had distilled something blank, useless, and your words had seemed to fail you. The sofa was old, it was desperate, clinging on to the stitching hardly reliable, but it was comfortable. It was familiar. Johnny, and yourself, had refused to refurbish it - those cushions had been with you both, from the very first night. Roommates, you were. And simply the best kind. But there truly was something so tragic about a romantically tinted friendship, no matter for whom the sufferer seemed to be.

Johnny latched upon the large pizza box, throwing it open, and - unsurprisingly - knocking the wine glasses with a greatly shrill ring, their clink a subtle jump. They wobbled, slowly, though regained their posture, and you found your shoulders slumping to a tender slouch. “Idiot.” You muttered, a certain fondness about your breath, as he merely smirked, and picked up a stringy-cheesed slice, mauling the triangular corner with not but an ounce of grace.

A shimmer of grease coaxed the pout of his peachy lips, cheeks bulged with bread, and with toppings; over-loaded and particularly Johnny. Meats of various kinds - various shades - littered upon the excessive amounts of cheese. “Did you order extra cheese?” You mumbled. The man nodded, a wolfish grin to reciprocate his childish gaze, and you merely breathed a subtle chuckle. Of course, you thought; of course he did.

You reached for the wine, popping the cork with a slight groan, and you poured a tester within the clear glaze of the bowled glass. You raised the edge to your mouth, took a sip, and smacked your lips. “Not bad.” You uttered, decidedly enjoying the rich tang of fruity combustion, flat and coiling, upon your tongue. You poured the glass full, hardly a centimeter from the brim, and you took a rather large gulp, quite liking the flavour, as it trickled upon the back of your throat, and you sat back, nestled within the comfortable cushions of the wondrously aged sofa. It was almost moulded to your body; for you always sat on the right, and Johnny, the left.

A comfortable silence embraced you both, and you found yourself almost wishing it could remain undisturbed - you couldn’t find it in you, no matter how hard you probed, to conjure any kind of courage at all. Your knees, they felt weak, and your stomach churned uneasily - entirely disagreeing with the digested mouthful, as you rammed the corner of a pizza slice within your mouth, and you chewed slowly, cheeks beginning to rise in temperature. How the fuck would you even go about it all? ‘Oh, by the way, Johnny, I’m entirely in love with you, and I lose myself every time we touch!’ It sounded ridiculous. There was no possible way you could simply blurt out such a destructive sentence. You weren’t even sure if your feelings were real! They had just bothered you, and you feared that they’d somehow escape the breach of your lips, and flutter around, utterly unnoticed. Goodness, it was terrifying.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we gonna sit here in silence?” Johnny said, a light amusement to simmer upon his tone. You gulped, swallowing a particularly dry mouthful, and your muscles seized up.

Surely this was the perfect opportunity, no? “Well…” You trailed. You did not want to ruin everything you’d worked so effortlessly to build with each other. Maybe you were just being silly, and your feelings were hardly potent at all. Maybe it was all dramatic, and you were fine. Maybe it was an exaggeration, and the entire thing was meaningless, and- “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted. Fuck. Fuck, fucking fuck! Your eyes clamped shut, and you loathed the white noise. You could hope that he hadn’t heard you, though he wasn’t chewing, anymore, and he seemed suddenly rigid beside you. That was certainly a way to go about it, you scolded, wishing - with a burning detestation - that the sofa would swallow you whole.

Say something, you begged, silent, and to yourself, as the quiet continued on. He shifted, and you froze - furtherly, if apparently possible. You daren’t share a glance with his gaze, fixated upon your burning mortification, as another gentle bite snuck between your lips. You chewed, and you chewed, a soft shimmer of sweat beginning to accumulate upon your brow - how foolish you had been, to admit such a thing, in that kind of way. “What was that?” He muttered. Shit! His throat was tight, you could hear the subtle restriction, and tone low, quiet. Don’t make me say it again, you thought, a volumed gulp to follow such a ponderous moment. Please, don’t make me say it again.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. Goodness, was it always supposed to be quite so difficult? Something began to wedge within the base of your throat, aching substantially, as the rising sensation of freshly salted tears began its ascent. Were you really going to cry? “I didn’t-” The voice caught in your throat, hindered by that ever-growing lump. God, you really hated this. “I didn’t mean to.” You didn’t mean to ruin your friendship, and everything in between, for a stupid confession that held you to the brink of fucking tears.

More shuffling was to be heard, and you noticed his hands swiftly maneuvering the - now closed - pizza box, delicately dropping the white board upon the coffee table, no longer perched between you, and him. His gaze burned upon your expression, and your cheeks flamed scarlet, glare locked unwaveringly upon the television, slightly glazed with something fearful. You truly didn’t want to lose him - to have him laugh in the face of your affection, and turn you away. And although you knew the let down would be gentle - it was Johnny, afterall, and there was hardly a bad bone in his body - you anticipated the worst. “Y/N,” He said.You gulped. A sigh escaped his lips, and he maneuvered the pizza slice from within your subtle grip, sneaking a quick bite as he went, and placed it quietly upon the table. “Y/N.” He tried again. You turned to face him, hesitant in yourself. His expression was gentle, the comforting kind of soft, and the corner of his lips lightly fluttered to the ghost of a smirk. “What are you crying for?” He scoffed, the grin simply growing as he spoke. “Don’t cry, Love.” You had hardly noticed the slip of a few salty confessions, as a soft laugh fell from your lips, hands roughly ragging upon the moist complexion. Pathetic, you thought, you were so fucking pathetic. “Come ‘ere.” He said. Your eyebrows drew together, glance unsure and lightly confused. He was so calm, and seemingly unphased by your confession - you couldn’t quite understand it.

He rolled his eyes, the tilt of amusement to pepper his cheeks, and he grasped your upper arm, dragging you along the short distance of the sofa. You slumped into his side, another giggle trickling from your tear-tangled throat, his arm engulfing you in a tight embrace; one along your shoulder, and the other curled upon your waist. You rested your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat subtle and calming, and he shuffled about, gradually withholding a lying position, yourself flatly placed along his front. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, a light sigh to accompany the apology. You meant it, really, you did. It was never truly your intention to adapt to such feelings, to succumb to your attraction - he just made it so fucking difficult, with those beautifully brown orbs, and a smile filled with the brightest kinds of sunshine.

“Please don’t apologise.” He said. A short silence followed, and - perhaps it was simply an imaginational malfunction - you thought the rhythm of his heart rate differentiated, though only for a fleeting moment. “Did you mean it?” He whispered, tone soft; hesitant.

A gentle frown caressed the bow of your expression, and you tilted such to face him, his features crossed handsomely with a sense of slight worry. Of course you had meant it - why on earth would you lie for such a thing? “Yeah.” You said. His gaze flickered between your eyes, a whir of doubt embracing the warm stare, and his tender wrap upon your frame squeezed for a passing moment. The hint of a smile glazed his orbs, a certain light suddenly rupturing within their mocha tone, and the corners of his mouth twitched a feathered smirk.

“Oh, yeah?” He said.

Your eyes rolled, seemingly still slightly dampened by your emotional concern. “Yes, Johnny.” You said.

“Ah, right,” He muttered, grin widening to that of something toothy, and warm. “See, I thought I was going crazy.” He craned his neck to the slightest degree, gaze dropping momentarily to your parted lips, before springing back up, a twinkle of mischief to glaze his eyes. “I thought,” His tongue darted gently, dampening the flush of his lips, and you found yourself staring with a tingle of a blush - God. Your thighs began to ache, camped tightly together, at such a marvellous sight. “There’s no fucking way,” He continued, slowly, as his tone simmered to that of a tender whisper. “That the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, could fall in love with me.”

Beautiful. Beautiful, he had said. Beautiful! He thought you were beautiful! Your heart stuttered, and a furrow found your eyebrows, consciously aware of the circular trail, lightly peppered upon your waist by his wandering fingers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said, a mere mumble beneath your gaze of adoration and concern. What was wrong with loving him?

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, the simmer of amusement and amorous repentance dancing within his stare. “Well, why me?” He said, “You could choose anyone.” He shrugged, “Kenny, from that corner store. Andrew - you know, Andy, the one that makes the cakes all the time?” You merely nodded, albeit speechless as to his rambling. “And what about Louis? The flower guy?” You raised an eyebrow, “You could take any of ‘em. You got a choice. So why pick me?” Why wouldn’t it be him? Why would it be anybody else? You couldn’t quite understand his doubts, as you adjusted your positioning, and leaned up ever-so-slightly, with great attempt to level your shared beam. Surely he wasn’t feeling insecure, he had no reason to, after all - none that you had given him, that is.

“Don’t start that.” You said, “I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, “And why’s that, Love?” He was teasing you, you could ensure, though you felt little resistance to fall within such bait.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else, because,” He glanced feverishly to your mouth, and the words seemed to pause, caught briefly within your throat. His gaze returned to yours, his smirk filtrated with some kind of newfound arrogance, and, my, didn’t it look devilishly handsome on him.

“Because what, Deary?” He said, a sudden dark swirl to his tone. It was rich, nauseatingly good.

“Because I want you.” You said. “And I’ve always wanted you.”

Though your fear found itself wretched, stammering doubts of rejection within your conscience, you supposed there was just no going back from that. And you didn’t truly believe you wanted to.

A glimmer of something heartily mischievous eloped within his gaze, “In what way?” He humoured, a slow smile beginning to trace the very corners of his wondrously entrancing lips. You paused, a moment of silence, and wondered whether you could dare to be as graciously brave as your protruding thoughts were starting to grow.

Your tone fell to something quiet - low. “In any way you’ll let me.” You said. And, oh, it had you aching, the way those delectably beautiful eyes darkened, and a pepper of thickening quiet settled between the two of you.

Johnny’s mouth opened, the breach of something verbal threatening to fall from the gasp, though nothing came out, and he closed it, instead. His breathing stammered, you dared to notice, and you felt almost ill, bereft with the simplicity of your want, your need, for his emotional acceptance. “I see.” He said, somewhat breathless, and entirely succumbed with - what you depicted, perhaps foolishly, to be - love. You felt something rise, flutter, within the depth of your digestion - almost drabbled with such pride, that you could affect him in any which way. A grin engulfed his expression, once more, and elated the darkness, clouding his chestnut orbs in a magnificent kind of way, as one hand crawled up from upon your waist, and clasped the curve of your blushed cheek. His calloused thumb traced a thing of gentle affection, stroking the soft complexion in a timid manner, and that flock of butterflies found themselves satisfied with their numbingly strong fluttering, crawling upon your skin in a matter of nerves and anxiousness. “Well,” He spoke, glancing adoringly between your eyes. From one to the other, as though he couldn’t quite believe you to be smitten within his hold, reciprocating his feelings so endlessly. The warmth of his adorning breath fanned the supple part of your gaped lips, expectant; waiting. “Best go put on your shoes, then, aye?” He whispered.

And with that, he was gone. Hoisting you up, as he stumbled to his feet, and his expression elated a smile. He squeezed twice on your shoulders, humoured by such a frown, and he swooped down to collect his jacket from the floor. “Go on,” He said, “We’re off on a walk.”

“We are?” You echoed, a slight distance woven within your tone.

Johnny smiled, “We are, Love.” He said, and he barreled himself through the arms of his coat.

You paused, be it only a moment, as gentle tufts of hair drifted upon his forehead, and he brushed them back, a toothy grin etched upon his face. He stretched up, an arch to his back, and muttered a; “Go on! It’s raining, you’ll get your feet wet if you don’t.” With a hustle, and a small shove to your shoulders.

Frowning, you found your feet drifting you to the corner of the room - he’d gone mad. It was decided. Though, perhaps, you thought; you were just as crazy as he. For why else would you slip on your shoes, and throw on a jacket, hanging up on the wall hooks? Without another thought of hesitation, you shoved it all on, and you regained your full height, a little breathless - unfortunately so - and met the uneven smirk that was utterly Johnny’s.

He clapped his hands together, a soft connection, and rubbed them slightly, bounding to the door before you both, and swinging open the darkened oak. Neither you, nor he, bothered to dismantle the blaring illuminant that was the television, as he awaited the passing breeze of yourself.

You wandered him by, mind a whir of incoherent thoughts, though one - one in particular - stood out, among the others. He hadn’t said it back.

The weight of his arm, curled around the crease of your shoulders, brought you away from such a thought, and you had hardly noticed the few tender steps you had traced. “You smell nice.” Johnny said, a slight smile to his tone, “Fruity.” You merely grinned something small, and rolled your eyes. Ever the strange one.

“You’re sure you haven’t had any of that wine before?” You jested, “On the way over, perhaps?”

He smiled, something soft, as his free hand fumbled within his depthful pocket, and his gaze found his shoes. “The cheap stuff gives me indigestion.” He smirked, “Didn’t want the heartburn.”

“Ah,” You breathed, “I suppose that does make sense.”

You approached the stairwell, poised to the end of the depressingly dim hallway, and watched as he bounced upon every step, no longer wedged beside you, but rather bounding upon the echoing chorus of the descending metal. His hair, naturally dried from a drizzle of cooling rain, flowed - up, and down - in a majestic kind of motion, as a subtle giggle fell from you, and your legs maneuvered a slight jog, to catch up with his waiting frame.

He stood, slick with a grin, at the door, his arm a barricade upon its weight, as you muttered a curt thanks, and you stumbled into the waft of approaching crisp. The winter chill embraced your figure - a sudden movement, as it trailed from your toes, to your hips, to your finger-tips, and your nose - and you draped your hands within the depthful pockets of your dark coat. You shuddered - Heavens, was it freezing - and you clenched your jaw, spat with a sprinkle of dainted moisture, as the clouds shed their supple solemness.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Johnny muttered, striding to that of a similar pace, as his hands, too, found the inner comfort of his pockets, and his arm brushed with yours. You warmed at the touch, though not by much, and you simply assumed it was all in your head, dismissive for the sudden heat. “The night.” He continued. “There’s just something about it.”

You turned, gaze fixated upon the gorgeous glow of his sculpted features, contorted with a content smile, orbs fluttered upon the scenery before you both, unmoving, and entirely comfortable. Happy, you dared to notice. And as were you. “I know what you mean.” You mumbled, a saddened grin to quiver upon the corners of your lips, though you simply couldn’t force it’s obtain, as it fell, and your eyes found the floor. He hadn’t said it back.

“It’s like-” He paused, tongue winding upon his lips, and his eyebrows furrowed momentarily. “It’s like the whole world is asleep.” He smiled. “It’s not, but it feels less… Alive.”

You breathed a gentle laugh. “Like it’s only you.” You mumbled, “Without the pressure, and the judgement.” There was a subtle nod, as he brushed the fallen hair from within his vision.

“I know how to be myself, when the moon’s my only company, y’know?” He admitted, nibbling the tender flesh of his lower lip, as his gaze darted, between the street, to the tree, to the housing scattered around. “Like whatever happens, under the stars, it-” He paused, he let out a breathy chuckle, and continued: “It won’t matter in the morning.” You simply nodded, as he opened his mouth, a stuttered mumble falling from his tongue, and your silence remained, for you knew he was not quite finished. “I just- I-” He paused, another shaky exhale, and your eyebrows furrowed. He scratched the lower-crown of his hair, ruffling it, slightly, with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t want-” He frowned, gulping, and continued: “I don’t want tonight to be one of those nights.”

Your furrow seemed to deepen, the words falling before you found yourself able to grapple them. “What do you mean?” You mumbled, a gentle cloud upon the frozen nightlife.

“Look, I think-” He sighed, pausing mid-step, and standing, amidst the weighted rain, as it grew heavier, and you simply grew wetter. You paused, expression contorted with a slight confusion, dribbled with copious droplets that you didn’t bother to brush away. “I think I could dote on the darkness, forever and a day.” He said, and you frowned. You wondered just quite where he was going with such, though failed to interrupt his continuance, as he spoke, soft, among the patterning rainfall, draping upon the concrete with a rhythmic dance. “But it’s not-” He caught himself, one more, as another nervous laugh trickled from his dampened lips. Verbal gold, it surely was. “None of it - it’s not- it’s not as, uh, captivating, as you.”

Your chest fell woozy with a supple ache, furrow one of grave compassion, and he glanced, hesitantly, with a curt removal, to your expression. You smiled, a glaze of sorrow melting from upon those amorous features. Captivating. He thought you were captivating. “And I think you- uhm-” He coughed, a slight smile to catch the corner of his lips. “I think you taught me to love, again.” He mumbled, head-up tilted, as his warm, genuine, gaze, infiltrated your own.

“Oh?” You grinned, truthfully unable to rupture the flutter of great tingles, encasing your shivering complexion - a certain warmth cursing throughout your frozen blood.

He laughed, a glance of something shy to his shoes, and he nodded. “Yeah.” He mumbled, returning to meet your joyous expression. “And I think I’d like to dote on you, instead.”

“In what way?” You muttered, mocking for his previously sly commentary, a gratuitous - particularly brazen - step closer, to the grinning man, as his hands, slightly coaxed by a pink chill, from the breeze of winter's embrace, draped upon the clothed fabric of your hips.

He drew a step closer, your shoes toe to toe, and he spoke - dangerously low; nauseatingly rich. “In any way you’ll let me.” He smirked. And, well, that seemed quite enough for you.

There was a certain warmth about it - the capture of your supple lips upon the soft flesh of his own, molded wondrously to a hymn the Angels could never know. Eyes fluttered to a gentle close, engulfed with a sprinkle of vanishing warmth; the rain no longer seemed to matter. For you were clothed, slick like a second skin, in the thick moisture of everlasting water - wet, to the very bone - but no longer did you shiver, no longer did you tremble, with the ache of a chilling night. The pressure was timid, and the exploration a motion utterly anew - yet so beautifully divine, so entirely right.

Your fingers - pink, and bitterly numb, in themselves - wove to clutch upon the lapels of his cotton jacket, a clutch of passion, and of longing, to emancipate the wondrous flutter in the depth of your gut. It twisted, it turned, it ached, it shrieked - you felt ill. Ill with the fever of amorous recipricance and a lover so sickly sweet, you felt you’d awake with cavities, in the later morn. You liked that thought, as your head tilted, be it only slight, to the side, and he followed your subtle retreat. Like honey, did he taste; like gold, did he display. And, oh, if this was love - if this, two lovers combined amongst the ache of winter’s cue - you decided that it was, undoubtedly, real. It was real, not a mere description of romanticised fiction. No. No; it was the golden sunlight, woven between your very hands; it was the melody of the birds, so suppley sweet; the dew upon the whispered grass, a lick of crisped morning; the enticing ferociousness of the oceanic waves, an azure of alluring power; the liquid gold, to drip from a Poet’s pen, woven beneath the tongue of their romantic thoughts - Oh, it were all that, and more. So much more.

And, as his feeble smile fluctuated upon his bowed lips, and his fragile hold - something so gentle, upon the flush of your frozen cheek, you hardly noticed the grace of movement, thumb brushed beneath your fluttered eyes - draped across your features, you found yourself discovering all that it ever could be.

His tongue, though warm, and tender, slithered something slow upon the breach of your lower lip, and your cheeks furrowed a blossoming grin. Parting your lips, subtly, you allowed the delicate invasion of a gratifying, sweet, pressure, as the flesh ran along the side of your tongue, and you encased it within a frail suck, withdrawing from such an entanglement for hardly a moment. You inhaled a particularly deep breath, unfinished and wondrously interrupted, as his lips found yours once more, a collision of teeth, and of grinning hearts, and he craned upon your stature, a barricade to crawl along the base of your lower back. The soft slosh of clapped fabric wove amongst the rainfall, and a breathy chuckle harmonized from upon your lips, himself ridden with a gorgeous grin; chest-to-chest, with a kind of warmth you had never before known cursing throughout the very complexion that was your own, as your bodies collided, and his strength held you close.

You inhaled the scent, familiar, though certainly different, and it tingled the depth of your nostrils - like woodland, and a subtle cologne. It seemed raw, so ravenously close, and your lips twitched upward at the thought. Oh, how you loved him. It ached your smitten chest, as he moulded his lips upon your own, and your movement harmonized something bitterly perfect, and it combusted among your soul. It tore the very sense you once held, from within your capacity, and it brushed such necessity beneath the carpet; for what was sense to a girl in love?

Nothing. All that made sense was him - was he - and you yearned to know it all; every crevice, every dent, for the rest of your days. Forever seemed a long time, though life so awfully short. To spend forever, a faux illusion of endless measures, by his side - it spread a warmth, such burning heat, throughout your tender frame, and you ached to know the script of every moment spent together, all until every moment were merely a memory, with nothing left to come.

His feathered affection fell to a tender null, a lingering pause to disperse upon the gape of your swollen mouth, and he draped a peppered peck upon the very corner, withdrawing from such an intertwined proximity. You fluttered your gaze to meet his own - a stare of saturated honey; of every nightfall; of every poetic tale - and he smiled. A smile, so incredibly warm, you found yourself unable to withhold the reciprocance, as a timid blush crawled upon the complexion of your grinning features, and your eyes retained their strengthful embrace.

For the bitter breeze had returned, and your lips were falling cold, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered - not the howl of brash wind, curling within your locks, and whipping the hood of your coat; the ache of layered rain, as it pattered, continually, upon the distilled world around; the treacherous ache of all things nauseatingly woozy, engulfing your frame in an intensely warm ambiguity - unfamiliar, though entirely welcome. None of it mattered - not as you drowned within the softness of his adoring gaze.

Adoring, you thought; oh, did he adore you? “I love you.” He mumbled, a quiet crackle upon the pattern of rain, though you caught it - oh, did you catch it, clutched within the fragile hold of your softened heart, ached with the pressure of convicting ribs, it cried for freedom, for home; for Johnny. A smile, so genuine, so utterly enticed; joyous, draped upon your lips, and the corners of your glimmering eyes fell to a crease. He loved you. He breathed a gentle chuckle, soggy arms curled upon that of your shoulders, as he drew you close - so unimaginably close - and he clutched your warmth upon his own. “God,” He breathed, his cheek slumped upon the crown of your head, down-tilted, and soaked with the cold of splattered rain. “I love you.”

Arms draped across his middle, clutched upon his lower back - you ached from the cold, though you minded it not - as you smiled, and you breathed the only response you felt acceptable. “I know.” You said.

“And I’ll give you the sun.” He continued, a mere rumble upon the quiet noise. “Indulge me, and I’ll give you the sun, ray, by fucking ray.”

Oh, how you ached for such sonerous truth - for you knew he would never lie to you.

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any human friend• graham coxon/reader

i know its been a while but at last its here! thank u so much for the prompt anon, hope u didn’t give up on me n i hope u guys enjoy it jkhkdjd loved writing this fic so much

word count: 2.873 pairing: graham/fem!reader

It’s a Saturday. Usually, you always have plans with your friends after your concerts, but for different reasons they all canceled that day's meeting. Life was tough for artists on the rise. The week had been exhausting enough that you wouldn't give up drinking to forget about your problems. When you arrive at the pub, you don’t recognize any familiar face, and, somewhat disappointed, you sit next to a man with graying hair who is very concentrated on his phone.

A bummer of a night for such a talkative girl.

“One pint of lager and a packet of crisps, please.” You order, mindlessly tapping on the table to the beat of a random rhythm. You kept stealing sideways glances at the man sitting by your side.

“Can’t believe she did this.” The man mutters, still very concentrated on whatever he was watching or reading. You, for a split second, thought he was judging your very basic order for some reason but then noticed he just thought out loud, and you joke: “What’s wrong with my order, mate?”

This takes him out of his trance as he awkwardly and quickly apologizes, and while you calm him down you notice he’s one of the artists that shared the stage with you on The Nightingale earlier that day. He was absolutely incredible - you wanted to tell him how much you enjoyed his music but didn’t get the chance. Well, apparently now’s the time. “Wait, I saw you playing today.” is what you say, mid sentence, a little starstruck even though, just like you, he wasn’t famous. You were at the same page in a matter of stardom, actually. He blushes and smiles, and after he takes a long sip of his drink, he asks: “And did you like it?”

“A lot!” You answer a little too excitedly, containing yourself so you don’t scare him away. Music was always a topic that excited you to the point of making you tremble sometimes. “Um, you’re an awesome songwriter. I played in The Nightingale today too, I don’t know if you were already there when I played. My name's Y/N, by the way. You’re Graham, right?”

“I actually arrived when you were at the stage. And yes, I-I'm Graham, nice to meet you, Y/N.” he chuckles, giving you his entire attention after he shakes your hand. Turns out you’ve found a company on this lonely Saturday night. “You’re an awesome singer, I’m quite honored to hear that you enjoyed my show.”

It was now your turn to blush, and you playfully motion as if dismissing his comment. “You were something else. ‘In The Morning’? I think that was the name of the first song?” He nods, basking on the attention his work has gotten from a fellow artist, and you continue: “Your playing alone somehow sounded like 3 different guitars on that one. Don’t Believe Anything I Say was a favorite of mine too, what an earworm.”

“You remember the names.” He notes, genuinely surprised and… happy. “Your voice blew me away too. You… you were stellar.”

God knows how hard it is to make a name for yourself. Actually, to make people just pay attention to what you’re doing when you aren’t a commercially successful musician is really tough. You know how you feel when you’re complimented in that sense, and you’re shocked that Graham’s artistry has been ignored all this time. He truly deserves the praise, and you want to give it to him.

“Thank you, you’re too kind. I mean, how could I not remember the names of your songs? They’re fantastic. For how long you’ve been playing?” Your order arrives, and you eat your crisps while he talks about the role music has had in his life. His reveal that it’s just a hobby to him surprises you.

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I paint. I’m a visual artist.” He steals some of your chips. “I enjoy it just as much as I like to play, but only painting is putting money in my pocket. What about you?”

“I actually work at a bank, but I’m trying to make music my main job. Do you plan on changing careers in the future, or…?”

“Oh, no. I’m too old to be a rockstar.” He ruffles his hair, timidly. There was something about this man. He’s quirky and seemingly distrait at his absurd musical talent, you almost feel offended at what he says about himself.

He also has super broad shoulders and his arms are somehow really strong and his lips inviting but you push these thoughts to the back of your mind. He’s a total stranger, after all. An adorable and extremely talented stranger, but still a stranger.

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re awesome, bloody hell, I became a fan of yours just from that gig and music’s just a hobby to you. I imagine you’re bloody Da Vinci when painting.”

“I’m really not all that, I swear.” He laughs. "Something I found curious was that you only stuck to covers. Why is that?"

“Oh. You noticed.” You answer, a little embarrassed. “I’m still not that confident in my own material. I write songs, but… let’s say I trust my music taste way more for now.” He nods in understanding. “But before you lecture me though,” he chuckles at your energy as you continue ranting. “I know how important it is for me to sing my own songs, I’m just building up courage to do it. I still think they’re stupid.”

“The only way to find out is to play them. People make all sorts of faces. It’s like a thermometer.”

“It’s true.” You down some of your pint in hopes it gives you more stuff to talk about. “Which of my songs you liked the most?”

“Well, they’re not your songs,” he jokes, and you share a laugh.

“Shush. Go on,”

“But I quite enjoyed your rendition of that Fiona Apple song and Wild Time. Also your cover of Band on The Run was really great. Not everyone nails that one.”

“Thank you. Those were my favorites too.”

“But I’m looking forward to seeing you again with your own material. Blend them with the others, depending on who you were influenced by, they’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right. Thanks for the words of wisdom, Graham.”

“No problem.” He pauses for an instant. “You’re a regular here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m here with my friends every Saturday night, but they all cancelled on me last minute. Some of them went to see me play, at least.”

“Huh. That’s rare enough. You were lucky.”

“I know. Did... anyone you know... come to see you?” You know what you were trying to ask him, and he knew too.

“Um… Someone used to.”

“What happened?”

“We weren’t exactly right for each other.” he smiled wistfully. “Did someone other than your friends… see you?”

“Not really, no.”

A comfortable silence hangs between you two, as both of you share some shy smiles. A song by The Smiths starts playing in the background, and that’s enough to get the gear of a nice talk running once again. You really liked this man. Gradually, he talks more about himself, and also learns so much about you in the span of a few hours.

As you feel more comfortable and used to his presence, you allow the back of your hand to brush against his a few times as you pick up your food. You give no indication you noticed the weight of his gaze, and you feel the butterflies fluttering on your belly. After eating and having a few more drinks, you were out on the sidewalk.

There's nothing you loved more than the aftermath of afternoon storms. The earthy scent that permeates the city's dusk while its lights are reflecting off the wet asphalt, the mysterious aura that hovers over every street is something that really speaks to your senses, in a way. You also loved how those lights now reflected in Graham’s eyes. He offers to walk you home - after you tell him where you live he agrees it’s indeed not very far. Those who walk past you might think you’ve been friends for years.

As he walks you up to your door, you feel he’s reluctant to say goodbye. And so are you.

And the inevitable question escapes from your lips.

“Will I see you again?”

“I… I hope so.” He answers, somewhat relieved you asked. “Whenever you feel like it. And… whenever you’re free, of course.”

“I’d love to. Actually… Graham, if you can, of… of course, I-I want you to stay tonight.”

He blinks, as if the invite went completely over his head. You giggle, and make your intent more clear. “Gosh, don’t make me repeat myself. I want you to come inside.”

“Inside, yes,” he blushes, his eyes shining. He reacts like a flustered, yet excited, teenager. “Of course. I want to stay too, then.”

-

You were definitely not expecting to bring someone home tonight, so your flat is a cozy mess you try to conceal as coyly as you can. You show him to the couch, and after handing him another beer, you go to the kitchen to fiddle with your temperamental oven to try and get it to warm up enough to cook a frozen pizza. While you wait for it to cook, you stand in the balcony, watching him from afar still wondering about the courage you mustered to bring him home.

His eyes met yours, and there it was, that cute, easy smile of his again. He sighs, as if silently asking what was going to happen next. And you answer. “I barely ate anything today because I was so nervous I was finally playing on The Nightingale. I know we ate already but I’m still hungry, sorry for being anticlimactic.”

“Don’t worry.” He looks around, a little nervous. I guess that’s a first for him too, you think. “Cute place.”

“I recently moved so there’s still a lot to unpack, but I haven’t had the time.”

Small talk ensues, and after you finally eat what you need, you share the couch with him - in a somewhat of a bold move, but just to show how comfortable you feel around him, you place your head over his shoulder. His arms fall over yours.

“Thanks for not letting me spend my Saturday night alone.” You murmur, positioning yourself so your face is closer and facing his. He tends to speak with his brown eyes - which are now cast on your mouth. He answers by very calmly slipping his hands below your ears, making you shiver, and pulling you to a tender kiss.

Then he says, “Thank you for having me.”

He kisses you fully now as you arch into him. His hands are now inside of your coat, teasing to take it off, but before they explore your skin further than your sides, he asks if they can, if you’re comfortable with going all the way. You nod, positively impatient. After a few more heated moments of kisses, you now find yourself on your back, with just your bra and jeans on, his weight on top of you as his lips travel down your jawline and your neck. His fingers run tantalizingly through the hem of your high-waisted jeans. “Planning on taking that off any time soon?” he whispers.

“I was afraid you might think I was going too fast if I went any further, actually,” you giggle. “Do the honors.”

“My pleasure.”

After he takes it off you, he pulls you closer to him, your bare skin against his still very clothed one, and you wrap your legs around his waist, once again trying to be as near and physically intimate with him as possible. He seemed to want that too, slowly rocking his hips against yours, groaning softly. “Please get rid of those too,” You whine, voice slightly breathy, tugging lightly at his striped shirt. Your wish is his command.

Now that he’s shirtless, if he was already an eyeful to you before, you absolutely can’t take your eyes off his body now. He’s surprisingly fit for his age, though that wasn’t something you were particularly meticulous about. You were aching for him, painfully wet, and your anticipation was almost tangible in the air you shared - he detected it, apparently, and you hear the slightest waver in his voice when he adjusts himself to slowly begin stroking you over your underwear. “Tell me if I’m going too hard.” The softness of his voice made you shiver. You nodded, not intending to tell him anything of the sort as you pressed yourself harder into the soft pads of his fingers, gradually picking up speed. In a few more moments, you were worked up enough to nearly panting.

You pull your panties to the side and guide his hand to your heat directly. His other hand lifts your chin. “You want to see my face while you touch me, right?” you asked, voice smokey. He huffed gently, eyes darting away, a light blush spreading on his cheeks while your breath starts to falter. You don’t know what does it, exactly – the slow and deliberate circling on your clit, the lingering over skin that makes you whimper your pleasure, or the gentle flick of a finger over the small bead of nerve endings, but suddenly everything is blurry starbursts and your body is spasming with the intensity of your orgasm.

You let out a sound that’s hallway between a whimper and a sigh as reality blurs back into your consciousness. As you come down from your high, you try to say something but your voice doesn’t seem to be working quite yet, so instead you shut your eyes and let out a long breath. That had been intense. You wonder what Graham has in store for you next.

His finger then enters you without warning and your hips buck involuntarily into the penetration. You clench around him, gnawing at your bottom lip as he eased his finger in and out of you. You closed your eyes and shuddered at how good it felt. He pushed two in deep and crooked his fingers. You felt a flush of new heat radiate from your middle. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, shakily, and sank into it.

“I don’t intend to.” He coos as he presses the pads of his fingers against the walls of your pussy. Involuntarily, you made this needy guttural sound you’d never heard from yourself before. You wanted to ask what he was doing to you. While it felt good, it was different. There was a new kind of tension now. It wasn’t like your first climax. This was hot and urgent and taut like a fist clenching. You writhed on the couch and mewled for something.

Feeling you were close once again, he abruptly stops his movements - that fucker! - to your clear dissatisfaction - and rids himself of the rest of his clothes. His size intimidates you a bit, but you were determined to make it work. Once his hips are adjusted to meet yours once again and he puts on protection, after a few more kisses and a few more hard breaths, he is inside you, hands not leaving your clit this time as the eager hips of both of you started to settle into a cohesive pace.

"So fucking tight," he breathes. Your fingers dig into his skin as he's getting faster and more urgent with every thrust. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are half closed, and you tilt your face up and kiss him sloppily. There is no possibility for precision. Your bodies are rocking back and forth together too quickly for that. He grabs your ass, drinking in the moans he pulls out of you. "Come on my cock, baby, touch yourself for me," He murmurs into your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. Your attempt at a reply is cut off by another moan, pleasure overriding your senses.

He isn’t going to last very long, not if he keeps fucking you like his sole purpose is tearing you apart. And neither will you, as one of your hands goes to your clit and moves in sync with his hard thrusts. You want to tell him that you're about to come, but you can’t, you can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone coherent phrases, so you tighten the hand that’s gripping his arm tight and you press a bruising kiss to his lips while you clench around him, hoping it’s enough. Seconds after, judging by the way his breath falters and his pace becomes slightly more mechanical before it slows down and stops, you guess that has done it for him too. You stay some long minutes in that position after you're both done, completely spent.

He pulls out of you after he gives your forehead a small kiss. "That was amazing." He smiles, voice still a little breathy. "You're incredible in every way."

"So are you, and I didn't even know about that talent of yours."

"Got some more time for me to show you the rest of them?"

"Definitely."

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for @savethewaffle (we won’t talk about the prompt you sent me in my inbox😅)

-

She planned everything, down to the pencil she would use to write notes during the orientation. It was the only way Adora could maintain her stress, the only way to ease her anxiety, and while it helped, the pit in her stomach only grew heavier as she neared the university.

No amount of mechanical pencils could calm her down now.

She studied the orientation agenda, prepared her answers for all the “Get To Know You” questions, Adora even knew what she would order in the university cafeteria. So, how could she have forgotten to look at the school map?

After stepping foot on the campus center, Adora looked left and right, noting the millions of signs saying all the same things: “This way.” This way to what? How could there be so many arrows? Which signs was she supposed to follow? How was everyone else not as stressed as she was?

Adora checked the time, orientation check in would start soon. Coming early was out of habit, needing to maintain her schedule and follow her checklist bullet point for bullet point. Now, it was a blessing because the extra time would be used understanding where the hell she was going.

Her heart rate was increasing, if she didn’t move, Adora knew she would explode. She let her feet guide her, walking down the concrete path until it rounded a corner. Ahead of her were a group of girls. Their relaxed expressions and comfortable laughter let Adora know these girls were older than her. She looked at the time again, she wanted to be one of the first people on the check in line; she needed to know where to go.

Mustering up all the courage in her system, Adora walked up to the girls just as they finished laughing again. Each one of them turned their heads towards her, a silence fell over them.

“Um, hi, I’m Adora,” she began, losing focus as she eyed one of the girl’s biceps, “do any of you know where to go for orientation?”

They exchanged looks, a particularly mischievous smile grew on the girl in the center. She was much shorter than her friends. Adora’s breath caught in her throat, did all girls have smiles that pretty? She saw the girl’s tail waving behind her.

“Yeah, Huntara, she needs her Orientation ID number, right?”

“You’re absolutely right, Catra, that’s all she’ll need.”

Orientation ID number? Did Adora miss an email? How could Adora have forgotten so much? She didn’t know her Orientation ID number, she didn’t even know she had one.

“Oh, I, uh,” Adora felt her tongue dry up. Catra draped a piece of her hair behind her shoulder, how could something so simple be so beautiful? “I don’t, um, I don’t think I know my Orientation ID number? I must have missed something or It....”

Huntara and Catra bursted into another fit of laughter while their other friend rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry about them, they always mess with the freshmen on Orientation day.”

“Oh, you’re no fun, Scorpia,” Catra stepped forward, putting a hand on Adora’s wrist. She whispered, “I would’ve kept this up if that weren’t the cutest reaction from a freshman we’ve seen.”

Catra’s hand left her skin but her tail wrapped around her fingers for just a second before she stood again with her friends, “If you go through these doors, follow the hallway all the way down and take a right, you’ll see a table with a big Orientation sign, check in there.”

Adora stood there for a second, staring at this group of girls, at their smiles (warm, strong, alluring), at their eyes (friendly, powerful, mysterious), at their demeanors (welcoming, dashing, confident, self-assured, Catra, Catra, Catra). Suddenly, Adora realized her mouth was hanging open.

Catra laughed again, her head falling back. Adora didn’t even know she walked closer to them until she felt Catra’s touch again, blessing her shoulder, “Go on, dummy. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Adora felt her squeeze her shoulder lightly, why did her arm feel like jelly now?

Had Adora completely lost her mind? Before she could even say goodbye, the outside campus turned into concrete walls covered by posters and sign up sheets and Adora desperately wanted to get one final look at Catra. She looked down at her feet, they were clumsily moving, one in front of the other, following the directions Catra gave her.

Catra; The velvet sound of her voice echoed in Adora’s mind, the way Catra’s head fell back when she was laughing played over and over. The universe must’ve loved Catra, as it had sent a perfect gust of wind to blow through her cascading hair. The tingling sensation in her arm hadn’t gone away, but what even was this tingling sensation?

“Your name?”

“Huh?” Adora looked down at the table in front of her, Adora looked at the woman sitting with a clipboard and glasses resting on her nose. “Oh, sorry, uh, I’m Adora,” the woman continued to stare at her and Adora’s felt her tongue dry up, “Grayskull. Adora Grayskul?”

The woman checked her in, gave her a name tag, and a university tote bag before sending her through the double doors on the left. Adora found an empty table and started looking through the tote bag. Some pens, a pair of university sunglasses, and the upcoming semester’s directory. Adora had to do a double take, wholeheartedly believing Catra was on the cover in a cheerleader’s uniform. Upon second glance, the girl looked nothing like Catra.

What was going on? Why couldn’t she think straight, why could Adora only think of Catra?

And why did Adora keep breaking her pencil lead? All during the orientation, Adora would be ready to write down whatever the speaker said but slowly found her mind wandering back to the little fang that hung outside Catra’s mouth when she wasn’t smiling or laughing or doing anything for the matter. She thought about her jelly arm, how even after Catra’s been gone, the lingering sense of her touch etched itself into her skin. How could one encounter, especially as short as theirs, short circuit Adora’s brain?

The pit in her stomach was no longer from anxiety but rather, the pit in her stomach grew out of aching to be near Catra again. Just thinking of Catra’s tail lingering on her fingertips, of her soft hands on Adora’s skin, of the way her eyes captivated Adora beyond compare; it made the pit heavier and heavier and Adora couldn’t bear to carry the weight, so why couldn’t she stop thinking? She imagined getting to be the one whose hand touched Catra, watch her fingers gently flow through her hair and twirl a piece in hopeless spirals until it fell out of her hand. Could she hug Catra? Just a quick embrace? Could she bury her head in the crook of Catra’s neck and take a deep breath of her scent she wished she knew? (All three girls smelled wonderful, as much as Adora didn’t want to admit she had been taking deeper breaths the closer she was to them.) Could she hold Catra’s hand, let their fingers intertwine, have Catra show her around campus and bring them to the back corner of the library where no one could see them and push her up against the books and--

What was Adora doing? Half the orientation had gone by and all she had written down was the date and a few scattered lines from when her pencil point broke. This needed to stop, but how? Perhaps, seeing Catra again would help. Maybe it would stop her brain from grinding its gears and she could get her final taste and then get a grip. Even if just to see her for a moment, in passing, in a glance; her daydreams were too much for her to handle.

Paranoia wasn’t the right word, was Adora having delusions? Some sort of foolish fantasy that made her think Catra was around every corner, behind every open book, sitting in every chair of the classrooms they visited on the campus tour? Her heart rushed everytime she thought she saw Catra, any time she thought she heard that angelic laugh, and everytime she learned it wasn’t that godforsaken girl, her heart twitched and panged and fingers desperately wanted to find the girl for just one touch; couldn’t they make it even?

She wasn’t even sure how she answered the small group questions, she couldn’t even remember the other students’ names. She wished she could, it felt incredibly rude not to, but Adora was far too occupied with how Catra would look next to her in pictures. Too much, Adora thought, too fast, let’s scratch that. Instead, she thought of Catra in front of a camera, that smize being the perfect picture to capture, how that one look could say the million words Adora needed to clear in her head. None of her thoughts formed sentences, everything was hazy, she was too entranced with Catra’s whole entire being to even try and sort out what was going on.

It had been a few hours since she ate breakfast, maybe all she needed was food. She was thankful for the lunch time, grabbing every boxed lunch that looked good to her and found a seat in the corner. It faced away from the general crowd, her mind needed to rest, it needed to refuel; eating the Italian sandwich, chicken nuggets, burger, slice of pizza, cookies, chips, salad, grapes, and four juice boxes would help, right? It would be enough food to last her the rest of the day, through the night, hopefully through the rest of her existence because if this didn’t stop her from thinking about how beautiful Catra was, nothing would.

“Hey, Adora.”

Mid bite on her burger, Adora stopped and looked up. She blinked and blinked and blinked until Catra’s eyebrows furrowed and her face frowned. Was it really her, was she not dreaming?

“How do you....”

Catra’s head twitched in confusion, “You told me earlier? And,” she pointed to the nametag on her shirt and Adora thought she would pass out right there. “Okay, dummy, why don’t we put this down,” Catra said, taking Adora’s arms and helped place the burger back down on its tin foil and taking a seat next to her. “Do you always eat this much?”

“I,” Adora just finished the third juice box, how was her throat dry? “I’m just hungry.”

Catra snorted, crossing her arms, “Clearly.”

Adora stared at her, her memories hadn’t done justice. Did she even actually look at Catra the first time they met or did Catra just get more beautiful in the few hours they were apart? Adora couldn’t breathe, her face felt hot, her hands were clammy, hell, even in her tee shirt and leggings, Adora felt like she was in a sauna with no way out. Catra stayed with her arms crossed, surveying the cafeteria around her, effortlessly looking like she had walked out of a fashion magazine. Was she even real? No one else in the cafe joined them, and Catra and her friends looked like Greek goddesses, could she be dreaming? What if she was still in bed, curled up in a little ball, drooling on her pillow while her mind decided to be a big asshole and make her think her cause of death would be heart failure from meeting the prettiest girl on Etheria.

What a jerk her brain would be.

But, another student passed the table, saying hi to Catra before walking out the door. Catra only waved, bringing her eyes back to Adora and smiling, “You gonna keep staring? Maybe I should charge you if you’re gonna stare at me like that.”

“What? I,” Adora tried to break the eye contact but she was drawn in, far too deep to return to reality.

Catra exuded confidence, like she didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone would think of her. In that moment, Adora decided this was why she was fawning over the girl. Adora had never been the confident type, she never walked into a room like she owned it. It was something she’d wanted since she was a little girl, to be looked at and think, “She knows what she’s doing.” It was why she planned for hours, days, weeks for this Orientation that would only last a couple more hours and still, she failed at following through with her hopes. Catra wouldn’t have, Adora thought, Catra couldn’t.

Catra laughed, leaning forward and pulling her phone from her back pocket. She cleared her throat, placing her hand out. Adora stared at it and almost gave Catra her own hand but was thankfully stopped when Catra passed her phone over. Adora found hers and put it in Catra’s hand, watched as she typed and snickered and took a picture of herself before giving it back. She looked at her own phone and gestured to use it, Adora shook her head and wiped her hands, putting in her contact info.

She passed the phone across the table, Catra frowned and Adora thought she was about to die and that wasn’t what Catra had wanted.

“No picture?”

“Oh! I, well,” Adora tried to push a piece of hair behind her ear but there was no such piece to do so; her ponytail was perfectly kept and there were no loose strands. What was she doing? She looked like a complete fool in front of Etheria’s most beautiful person, what kind of first impression was that? Adora gulped, wishing she could start this day over and prepare herself to be an idiot. “I’m not the best with photos.”

Catra waved her off, pointing her phone towards Adora. She scooted some of the food further up the table and leaned back, smiling as she brought her phone back down. She showed Adora the picture, it was awful and embarrassing and Adora wished she could erase it but Catra’s smile was bigger than she’d seen it earlier and it was everything Adora had wanted to see for hours.

“Gosh, you’re such a dork,” Catra laughed, locking her phone. “Good for pictures, though.” She got up, pushed in her chair, leaned over and placed her hand on the side of Adora’s chair, “Text me, okay? I’ll give you the real tour of campus, I’ll even pay for lunch.”

As Catra turned around to leave, her tail lingered on Adora’s hands in her lap before she disappeared through the doors and out of the building. Adora stared at the doorway, suddenly understanding why honeydew and mint would be her new favorite scent.

Catra was beautiful, Catra was breathtaking, Catra was everything Adora wanted and fuck, did she want to kiss her.

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(maybe this time) I’ve hit a home run ⚾️♥️

(a one-shot inspired by @jamy-peraltiago‘s fandom challenge prompts, written in a flash of inspiration!) (x)

*

“Okay, so run me through this one more time.”

Squinting against the sun; Jake turns towards his girlfriend of nine months, a frisson of joy running through him as he realises how seriously she’s taking the task in front of her. “Fry first, then gummy worm.” He demonstrates with a grin. “Another fry, then dip the whole thing into the sundae, and enjoy.”

Amy shoots him a dubious look, following the instructions carefully and trying her very best not to cringe as she shoves the unnaturally colourful combination into her mouth. From his position closely beside her, Jake grins, and vaguely he hears the commentator’s voice crackle through the speakers around them.

Today he and Amy are attending a Mets v Phillies game at Citi Field - Amy’s first live baseball game ever - and once they’d made it to their seats, Jake had been eager to show her the combination of snacks that he has long since considered tradition. “Amazing, right?”

Licking her lips, Amy reaches out to rest a hand on his leg, squeezing gently. “Two things,” she begins, and Jake nods. “First, I love you. And second, please don’t ever make me eat that again.”

Incredulous, Jake lifts up the Peralta Combo in veneration. “French fries, sour worms and ice-cream? That’s the perfect combination of salty and sour and sweet, Ames! It’s a culinary delight. How can you not love it?”

Shaking her head, Amy takes a sip of beer to wash the taste away, and Jake leans in to kiss the remnants of froth from her upper lip. “There is SO much sugar in that, babe. If you ate a whole tray of that, I’m certain you would be able to hear colour and smell sound.”

“And who wouldn’t want that?!” Tilting his head to the side, he grins. “You know, I bet magenta has a real screech to it.”

“Definitely a high vibrato of some sort,” Amy nods, and he bends down for another kiss. “But probably not something we’re ever meant to hear, you know?” She winces, adjusting the tip of her baseball cap and craning her neck upwards. “I’m sorry, babe. I know it’s your favourite snack, but I don’t think I could stomach more of that.”

“Ames, it’s totally fine. More for me, anyways.” Giving a reassuring smile, he lowers his treats to the empty seat beside him and wraps his free arm around Amy’s shoulders. “And I love you too, by the way.”

(It’s still a little exciting, finally being able to vocalise those three little words, and the way they both returned the sentiment so eagerly makes it all the better, every single time - rolling eyes from surrounding audiences be damned.)

The Phillies fans in the stadium cheer as Eickhoff's swing hits the ball with a heavy crack, and as Amy leans forward to watch the action Jake sneaks a peek at her expression, desperately curious to see if she was enjoying the game or not. He’d been oddly anxious about today; worried that she wouldn’t feel the same thrum of anticipation amongst the crowd, or - even worse - that she’d find the whole thing ridiculous. Baseball was something that had been a part of his life since he was old enough to remember, and while he wanted to share it with Amy, the fear of her not enjoying the game was stronger than he’d anticipated.

But then he’d been waiting at his apartment earlier today, nervous as all hell, when she’d shown up in a newly purchased Mets jersey and sneakers that matched his own. Stood in his kitchen with a proud smile, spouting out stats on some of his favourite players as he’d finished getting ready (all of which had clearly been recently researched); and he knows that this probably sounds ridiculously schmaltzy, but he swears he fell even more in love with her right there and then.

Eickhoff stops his run at second base, eyeing off the Mets’ shortstop Cabrera as he lobs the ball back to the pitcher, and Amy joins in on the applause that litters the crowd. “Shortstop - that’s what you used to play, right?”

Jake nods, his eyes suddenly trained on a moment a few rows forward; watching as a young boy no older than six shares a joke with his father, meeting his offered high five with obvious glee. “When I was in little league, yeah,” he mumbles as the nostalgia washes over him.

There was a time when that would have been him; wearing his team jersey with pride as he ate too many hotdogs, laughing with Roger, riding high on his shoulders as they waded through the crowd on their way home. When they were watching baseball, there weren’t screaming matches filtering through closed doors, or strange lingerie stuffed in-between carseats for him to ignore on the way to school. At the stadium, it was just Jake and his Dad - a place where, for nine blissful innings, the rest of the world seemed to simply fade away.

It had been mid-season and a month after Jake’s seventh birthday when Roger had walked away from it all, and now - much like the tin of baseball cards that Jake had stashed far to the back of a cupboard - the value of his memories are only sentimental (but priceless all the same).

Amy’s knee nudges against his thigh, and Jake’s met with a pair of beautifully gentle eyes when he turns towards her. Her voice is soft as she asks him if he’s okay, and he adjusts the back of his own cap, running a hand along the base of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just … thinking.”

She nods, twisting in her seat and resting her elbow along the back of his. “Did you keep playing after Roger left?”

Nodding, Jake leans back into his seat, fiddling with his hat again as the memory of sitting at Sal’s Pizza for hours after the game, just in case Roger might swing by, surfaces from the corner of his mind. “Just for the rest of the season. I guess for a while there, I had sorta convinced myself that he would be coming back any day now. My plan was to just keep doing everything I normally did, so that when he did come back, it would almost feel like he’d never left.” Amy’s hand falls onto the nape of his neck, sweeping slowly in soothing strokes, and he sighs, relaxing into her touch. “But as the months went by, and the phone calls grew fewer, the idea of putting the uniform on again just seemed … I don’t know … wrong.”

Letting out a tiny hum of assent, Amy’s fingers card into the bottom of Jake’s hair. “You still like watching the game, though?”

He nods again, a smile growing onto his face as he explained his mother’s insistence on taking him to games after Roger left. “She’d never quite gotten a grip on the right terminology, and always cheered for both teams regardless of who was playing; but her enthusiasm was definitely contagious.” It had worked incredibly well at reigniting the love Jake once had for the game, and over the years he’d branched out and watched matches with college buddies and friends from the academy alike.

It was unexpected - but also so completely typical of dating someone like Amy - for today to be the day when all of his childhood memories came out in force. “Sorry, babe. I’m really dragging the vibe down here. Maybe we should - mmmh - ” Jake’s last few words die in his mouth as his girlfriend presses her lips against his, the palm of her hand resting against his cheek in a kiss that he only knows as being quintessentially Amy.

She smiles when they part, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his fringe. “You don’t ever need to apologise for talking about your past, Jake. I want to hear all of it, regardless of where we are. If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Mumbling another I love you, Jake draws Amy in for a longer kiss, hand wrapping around her waist and pulling away only when the crowd cheers at Herrera’s fly ball. It was pretty amazing, how talking about memories with Amy rarely felt painful, and on days like today he has the strongest instinct that it’s largely because with her, he can already see his future taking shape.

Leaning her body into his, Amy’s arm comes to rest comfortably on top of his upper thigh as she turns her attention back to the game in front of them, and softly she murmurs, “This is way better than watching the game in Manny’s living room.”

The sun feels warm against Jake’s skin as he links their fingers together, planting a kiss to the top of her baseball cap in silent agreement. It was a beautiful day in a lot of ways - the Met’s current lead of 2-0 a fine example - and getting to spend it with Amy made it all the better.

It’s at the bottom of the third inning that Amy twists away from Jake, rustling through her backpack before returning to her previous position and holding up a bag of nuts with unconstrained pride. “I thought we might get snacky.”

“You really are the perfect woman.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

Wrapping his hand around Amy’s wrist, Jake squeezes gently. “Apart from my mom, and occasionally Gina, you’re the only girl I’ve brought here, Ames.” It’s a small distinction, but one he feels is important to make, and the soft smile that Amy gives him in return reaffirms his instinct.

She kisses his cheek, brushing her lips against his skin as she moves to whisper in his ear. “Keep talking like that Peralta, and you’re going to see some solid third base action tonight.” Another kiss, this time to the base of his earlobe. “Maybe even a home run, once you see what I’ve got on underneath this jersey.”

(It’s an entirely new experience, trying to avoid getting an erection in a stadium while your girlfriend chuckles softly beside you - but one that Jake doesn’t totally hate, if only for the knowledge that the wait is going to be completely worth it.)

He’s fully reclined into his seat, one arm wrapped around Amy’s shoulders when the Kiss Cam pans onto them at the top of the fifth inning, breaking into laughter as he watches Amy’s face quickly turn a delightful shade of pink. He’s still considering a humble peck to her cheek when she swivels in her seat, coiling her hand around his waist and pulling him in for an almost non-PG13 kiss before another moment can be wasted, and as the crowd cheers and Sixpence None The Richer plays in the background, Jake knows that he is totally, utterly and madly in love with the one and only Amy Santiago.

There’s an oversized foam finger occupying Jake’s right hand, and his girlfriend’s fingers twisted around his left as they leave the field hours later, riding the high of another Met’s victory as they shuffle towards the exit. He listens contentedly as Amy chatters excitably about the potential for statistical analysis of the game - something about sabermetrics that only makes him think of Star Wars - and it’s as they head towards the carpark that Jake finds himself completely distracted once more.

He watches as a family in front of them move along the footpath, both parents holding onto one hand each of their child as they swing from their parent’s arms, the overjoyed giggles filtering through the noise of a departing crowd as they bounce on and off the pavement.

It’s the feeling of Amy’s hand in his, and the still unspoken assurance that both of them are in this for the long haul that allows Jake’s mind to wonder of the possibility of such a moment ever belonging to him. He can almost see it: a chuckling toddler bounding between his and Amy’s arms, wearing their favourite jersey and singing the team song as they head home, just in time for bath and bed and some well-deserved Mommy and Daddy time (aka, falling asleep on the couch). It’s a future so simplistic, but for the longest time seemed unthinkable, and Jake breaks out into a wide grin at the sheer notion that something so great as a lifetime with Amy could ever be more than just an unrequited dream.

Amy’s hand squeezes his as they draw nearer to her car, her face growing curious as she looks up at Jake. “What’s got you so smiley all of the sudden, Peralta?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Jake hunches slightly to drop a quick kiss to Amy’s lips. “I’ve just spent an afternoon in the sunshine with a beautiful woman beside me, watching my favourite team win. There’s a lot of reasons to smile right there, babe.”

Resting her weight against her passenger door, Amy rests her hands on either side of Jake’s waist and looks up at him with an equally happy grin. “Thank you for taking me here, Jake. I loved every second of it.” Lowering her grip slightly, she digs her fingers into his side in a request for closeness; and Jake bridges the gap for another kiss, letting both of them sink into it as the lack of surrounding strangers lends to a sense of privacy.

The subtle scent of her perfume lingers over his senses as Jake pulls away, held closely still by Amy’s curled fingers around his belt loops, and he leans his forehead against hers. “What was that you were saying earlier about hitting some bases tonight?”

He chuckles as she pushes him away with a gentle shove, giving him the Santiago wink (also known as a slow blink). “How about we head back to my place and I show you what I mean, detective?”

The car fills up with laughter and the easy conversations of two best friends in love as Amy navigates them through the streets of Brooklyn - and as they head closer to home, Jake already knows that whatever the future may hold, with Amy by his side, they were going to knock it right out of the park.

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Donatello x Reader- Fanfiction Oneshot. (TMNT 2014-2016)

"Guys look what I invented!" Raph sighed when he saw you walking on the ceiling with your newest invention.

"She's at it again." he spoke, drawing in the attention of his other brothers. Donatello's eyes widened in amazement. "No way, you made gravity defying boots. "

You grinned from your upside down position, showing him a thumbs up. The beeping on your shoes made your smile drop. "Uh oh." the light changed from blue to red and you were now falling head first.

"AHHHH!!!"

Donatello rushed over, doing a flip and catching you mid air. His feet landed on the ground with a harsh thud, and you released a breath, holding unto him. "A-Are you alright!" he was surveying your body. All in all you seemed fine. You stared at him, admiring the beauty of his green eyes.

"I-I'm okay." your reply was said a bit shakily. Whether from the fall, or your slowly increasing heart beat, you couldn't tell. Donatello placed you on your feet, and Leonardo walked over, already preparing a speech. You knew that look on his face, he was about to scold you for your recklessness.

"(Y/N), you need to be careful. You could have gotten really hurt. What if we hadn't come in." You knew he was just concerned. Your head lowered. "I'm sorry Leo, I'll be careful next time." He raised his hand, patting you on the head softly. "It is pretty cool though." you looked up with a wide smile, fist pumping. Michelangelo was at your side in seconds, ready with an onslaught of questions. One of which probably included if he could borrow your boots.

Meeting the turtles was the best thing that happened to you. It was a real eye opener, that was for sure. You were an inventor at heart, testing out one of your creations. At the time you were just studying constellations and solar patterns. One night your panels picked up something strange. Whatever it was had a major energy source because it shorted your computer, as well as Donatello's equipment.

They'd been out on patrol while you were on the roof. And just ended up running into you. If your stuff hadn't overloaded Donnie's, they probably wouldn't have stopped to investigate. That was the first time you'd ever seen something so incredible. Of course when you saw them you fainted, from what you heard April had a similar reaction. But after that, when you came to, your curiosity got the better of you.

The fact that four huge mutant turtles were standing right in front of you seemed like the last thing you cared about. You just started asking questions. Like a scientist, you were inquisitive by nature. It wasn't long after that, you became quick friends with the turtles.

You and Donatello were especially close. He was just like you, always building and altering gear and technology, utilizing it to its maximum capacity. You were always helping him upgrade his inventions, and he'd give you ideas to create others to help the turtles protect the city.

Being able to explore your interest with someone who loved technology just as much as you did was all you could really ask for. So whenever you weren't working, you were down in the lair, testing out your machinery. Your boots were something you'd been working on for weeks. Unfortunately it still needed a bit of tweaking, because the battery didn't retain as much power as you hoped.

"As soon as I get it up to speed I'll lend it to you Mikey." That was all he needed to hear.

"Boyah!! I got first dibs guys!" he was already running off cheering. You pulled the boots off, studying it. "I may have to alter the size as well."

"So how was patrol?" You asked surveying your equipment.

"Nothing we couldn't handle." Raph said boastful, biting down on the toothpick at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sure. Well while you guys were gone I ordered pizza." That was all you needed to say because pretty soon they were all headed to the other room to devour their favorite food. You laughed at how quickly the room cleared. Splinter walked out, his tail swishing slowly behind him.

"(Y/N), it's always nice to have you with us. However I'd advised against indulging my sons in that unhealthy food." He probably regretted ever introducing them to it, because it seemed like that was all they ever ate.

"Even if I didn't you know they'll still get their hands on some." he sighed.

"I suppose you're right." He looked at you like there was something else he needed to say.

"Is there something wrong?" He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips.

"I'm just very grateful for you." the statement caught you by surprise.

"T-Thank you Master Splinter." It really did mean a lot to you that he thought so.

"I should be the one thanking you. Not many people are willing to accept my sons. They are extraordinary, but society has a very focused view on what is right and wrong. This world could use more people like you and Ms. O' Neil." you could understand where he was coming from.

"I know what you mean. Growing up I dealt with my fair share of ridicule. I guess to the other kids I was always just weird. " At a young age you'd seen things different. While kids were playing on slides and swings, you were solving mind puzzles and complex math sums. Technology was easier for you to figure out that people.

You glanced at the turtles eating happily from the other room talking among themselves. Your gaze lingered on the purple clad one maybe a little longer than necessary. When you realized you turned back to Splinter, who was wearing a suspicious smile.

"I'll leave you to it then." and with that he was walking away, hands behind his back.

"Hmmm?"

Sometimes you wished you could read his mind.

"Hey (Y/N), come and get a slice before they devour all." Donatello's words made you run over.

"Save some for me!" You spent a while wrestling to get a slice. Dropping down next to Donatello. her persisted to tell you some of the upgrades he was thinking of making in the lair. His computer set up was pretty impressive already, but just because something worked didn't mean it couldn't be further modified. Donnie was always thinking ahead.

"Just imagine if we made four of those boots of yours!" he sounded excited, letting out a laugh and a cute little snort. You paused for a second, and he pushed up his glasses, a little embarrassed at the sound that left him. You watched him with glowing red cheeks.

"OH MY GOODNESS WHY IS HE SO CUTE!!!"

If you hadn't already swallowed your pizza you would have probably choked on it. Who knew the nerdy little turtle would have such an effect on you.

~~~~

Mikey was patting his stomach, clearly content. You smiled, gathering the empty boxes of pizza to carry to the trash. Donatello caught you struggling with about seven boxes, still trying to stack more. "Let me help you." you nodded, and he took a couple from your hand, following you out the room. You walked with him, a comfortable silence gathering.

"What were you and Sensei talking about earlier, it looked pretty serious." His question caused you to slow down a little.

"Umm, not much. He was just saying he's glad I'm around. He also said I should stop buying so much pizza for you guys." you gestured to the boxes in your hand, causing a shy smile to rise on Donnie's face.

Upon reaching the trash area, you dumped the boxes in the bin. Donnie did the same.

"Well I am glad you're here." you looked over at Donnie, who suddenly seemed a bit flustered.

"I-I mean we're all glad you're here." he corrected, fidgeting. You watched him fiddle, your heart giving a slow flutter. Donnie really was the cutest. Maybe it was the glasses, but every time he looked at you, your chest would constrict in the most pleasant way. Hearing him say he enjoyed having you around was another plus. It did give you slight hope. Maybe he reciprocated your feelings. "I'm glad too." you replied, skipping back to the lair. Donnie's eyes followed as you moved through the sewer, a content feeling settling in his chest.

~~~

"Hey Raph, Leo." you waved at both brothers entering. Raph looked up from tying the bandages around his hand, greeting you. "Hey what's up."

"Not much, I just needed to borrow some material for a something I'm thinking about. Where is Donnie?" At the mention of his name, Raph moved closer, dropping a hand on your shoulder as he leaned in. "You know, you always run to Donnie's room whenever you get here. I'm starting to wonder if ya have a little thing for him." you sputtered, backpedaling.

"W-What No! That's No!" you shouted. Your yells earned a look from Leo, who was now very curious.

"If you're looking for Donnie he's in the training room with Mikey." Leo said almost on instinct. Did he know as well that you always gravitated to Donnie. How could you be so obvious? And here you thought you were covering your little crush well. You frowned at the smug look Raph sent you, putting his toothpick back in his mouth as you basically sprinted out the room, cheeks quickly turning red.

"Stupid Raph."

If he figured it out, maybe Donnie did too. What if he knew the entire time and just didn't say anything.

"That's crazy, stop it stupid brain!" you tried to rid the thoughts. You did like Donnie, but if he found out and things got awkward, you wouldn't be able to deal with that.

When you got to the training room, you froze at the door, just staring. Mikey and Donnie were sparring. You stood watching every move, flip, punch that Donnie delivered. Sometimes you forgot that he wasn't just smart, but also a very skilled fighter. The way he attacked so efficiently, carefully calculating every hit, retaliating with his bo staff. Your heart was definitely pounding now.

"He's incredible."

You weren't sure how long they had been going at it, but after a few more minutes they stopped. Donnie had successfully knocked Mikey off his feet. "I win." Donnie said with a cute little grin.

He held out his hand, and Mikey took it, standing to his feet. They high fived and that's when their focus was drawn to you.

"(Y/N)?" Donnie called in question. You were still standing there gawking. You blinked a couple times, then cleared your throat.

"N-Nice moves." you commended. Mikey puffed out his chest. "Well you know, what can I say, gotta impress the ladies. " At this point he was flexing every muscle on his body, yet all you could see was the thin layer of sweat Donnie was wiping off his forehead. The action made his biceps bulge. A short breath left you. You licked your lips, enjoying the sight of his very muscular body. You swallowed, hoping you weren't being too obvious. Because right now you couldn't help it. Someone so adorably hot shouldn't be allowed to live on the planet.

"This should be a crime."

Somehow Donnie had moved without you realizing, because he was directly in front of you, adjusting his glasses to check your vitals. "(Y/N) do you have a fever!" He sounded worried.

"Your heart rate is elevated as well as your temperature. Not to mention how red your cheeks are. You need to lie down. " he didn't give you a chance to argue, picking you up and carrying you to his room.

When he stepped in he laid you on the bed gently, before turning and searching around his room for medicine. He picked up a packet of tablets, as well as a bottle of water, dropping it on the desk, moving back to get a piece of cloth. When he got back to you he was unscrewing the cork of the bottle to wet the cloth.

"Just lay down and I'll-" because he'd been bouncing around so quickly you weren't able to stop him. Now that he was sitting right next to you, you took his hand, halting his actions.

"Donnie, I'm fine. I don't have a fever." His head tilted to the side. He pulled back down the goggles to scan you again. When he raised it, he looked confused. "I-It's back to normal. But you were just really warm. How did it go down so quickly. " he put down the bottle, still sitting on the ground before you. He reached over, placing his hand to your neck. He really was a sweetheart.

"The reason I was so warm wasn't because I have a fever."

"Then why?" he asked.

"It's..because of you Donnie.." you breathed.

"Because of me?" As smart as he was, he probably wouldn't figure out what you were trying to say. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed. With you sitting upright, and Donnie on the floor, you were right about his height from your position.

Throwing caution to the wind, you leaned forward, hands smoothening over his shoulders. Donnie just sat there, clearly alarmed at how close you were getting. You closed the space between you, eyes shut tightly as you pressed your lips to his. You didn't stay connected long. After a few seconds you pulled back to gauge his reaction. Truth is you weren't sure what type of reaction he would have, but you were tired of hiding how you felt.

"I love you Donatello."

"I said it!"

Donnie was still silent, you sort of expected as much. He just stared at you. When he finally did speak, it came out hesitantly. "Y-You...love me..?" you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I do." you confessed. He was quiet again, and you wished you could read what his eyes were telling you, because it was lost on you.

Despite that, you reached up slowly, taking off his glasses so you could get a better look at his gorgeous eyes. You placed them on the bed next to you, moving over to sit right between his legs. Now that you had a clearer view of Donnie's eyes, you noticed that they were dilated. That fact just made your heart pick up. You leaned in again, wrapping your hand around his shoulders this time as you kissed him.

This kiss was slower, passionate. You were conveying everything he made you feel since you'd met him. Every time he made your heart beat spike, pulse quicken, breath hitch.

All your emotions combined in one, just for him. When his muscled arms moved around your body, you swooned. You could tell he was cautious, because with his strength he could easily hurt you. Donnie held you softly, earning an appreciative sound from your throat. He finally started to respond, eyes closing, pulling you as close as you could get. Pretty soon you were gripping at his body, kisses hot and heavy.

All your pent up energy was coming out. You were shocked you were able to go so long without oxygen. The way you were kissing him made him lightheaded. It was if he were the air you needed to breathe. Your tongue darted out, hands moving to the back of his head to keep him right where you wanted him.

You were moaning softly, brows furrowing as you tasted him. So sweet, just like his adorable personality. Your hands ventured over his plastron, and this time Donnie moaned. The sound caused your stomach to coil in anticipation. When you finally pulled away, you were gasping in mouthfuls of air. Donnie did the same, chest heaving in equal pace to yours. As you tried to catch your breath, your eyes stayed trained on his soft lips. Partially wet with saliva from your most recent session.

"I...had no idea that you.." his sentence was incomplete, due to his panting, but you could put the words together. He obviously wasn't aware of your feelings. This entire time he'd been pining after you, and you'd felt the same way. Donnie scolded himself for not saying something earlier. All along he could have been kissing your deliciously plump lips.

"I'm sorry it took so long." you spoke. Now that your breathing returned to normal. You could think a bit clearer. He shook his head.

"It's okay.I-I just thought that because I'm a mutant and you're..you're.." he didn't finish the sentence, eyes moving to the floor.

"I never saw the need to try.." he lamented. His broken tone really made you want to cry. Of course he was insecure. He was a mutant turtle. You guessed he just expected everyone to judge him for what he was. You reached over, lifting his eyes to you.

"I don't care what you are Donnie. In my eyes, you're just.." you paused, looking for the right words. There were way too many to describe him. So you just settled for the first ones to pop into your head.

"Incredibly hot." you whispered. He gulped, obviously noticing the growing need in your eyes. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Intelligent." you pressed another kiss, this time a bit lower.

"Caring," a kiss to his neck. "Sexy." you were trailing kisses down his neck, and Donnie was having a very difficult time keeping his heart rate under control. Your head lifted, and this time you kissed him firmly on the lips. "Mine." you thought.

You stayed there, safe in his arms, exchanging long overdue kisses. People in this society would probably never accept what he was, but you'd love him, no matter what. And at the moment, that's all he could really care about.

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How To Choose a POV?

One of my writer friends asked me to write something about POV. She didn’t have a specific question, but basically asked if I might cover the different types of POVs and which ones work better in certain circumstances.

Well, like I told her, this is going to be a VERY biased post. I am incredibly partial to third limited. I choose third limited almost every story I write.

Let me start by explaining the different POVs.

First Person: Uses the pronoun I

“I went to the store.”

Second Person: Uses the pronoun You

“First you need to go to the store, get some eggs and vanilla extract.”

Second person is rare in fiction. It is most often used in non-fiction books that include instructions, or recipes, or other how-to guides.

Every once in awhile, a writer will be really artsy-fartsy and use second person in fiction.

Second person in fiction would look like this:

“You go to the store. You see a long line of people. You sigh and shuffle down the aisle.”

One notable example of second person in non-artsy-fartsy fiction would be the choose your own adventure books.

Third Person: Uses third-person pronouns such as“She/He/They/Ze/etc

“Ze went to the store.”

But within third-person you have two options:

Third Limited or Third Omniscient

With third limited, readers are privy to the thoughts and feelings of only one character per chapter or scene. A story can still have multiple POVs, but within a scene or chapter, the POV remains only with one character.

In my novel ‘Desire and Destruction’, I alternate POVs every other chapter. So it goes one chapter in Cole’s POV and one chapter in Ingrid’s POV. When we’re in a Cole chapter, we can see what Ingrid does, but not what she thinks or feels. We can not see into her head. And the reverse is true when we’re in an Ingrid chapter.

With third omniscient, there is a god-like narrator who is looking into the minds of ALL the characters. This narrator is often somewhat detached and may look down on certain characters and praise other characters. Basically, it isn’t that deep-third that we get with third-limited. The narrator often has their own personality and way of viewing the characters. Within any scene, the narrator can relate the thoughts, feelings, or backstory of any character.

I do not recommend third omniscient. As I covered in my last post, very few people have the skill to know when to use it AND how to pull it off effectively. Most stories are not enhanced by third omniscient. I’m not saying you should never use it, but don’t jump in and give it a whirl just because a lot of the old classics use this style.

Remember the time period that was hard AF for third-limited also experimented with narrative style to the point that Frankenstein is told via letters by someone who has nothing to do with the story and just happened to meet Dr. Frankenstein out in the wilderness. It’s a summary of a summary. Wuthering Heights is told exclusively in conversations between the housekeeper and a tenant, neither of whom are main characters. Look.....the classics of the Romantic and Victorian era were....on some real other shit. Writing like the classics isn’t always a solid plan.

So that’s my extreme cautioning against third omniscient. I just don’t think it adds anything to most stories and is far too likely to jar or confuse readers and come across as head-hopping.

But third-limited on the other hand....

I ADORE third-limited. Let me explain why I like it.

You get all the perks of first person AND all the perks of third-person. You can be somewhat detached, but you still get a front row seat to the thoughts and feelings of one character at a time. When you really pull off a nice deep-third, you’re fully immersed in the character’s inner world, but there’s still a bit of a buffer. You still aren’t writing AS the character.

Here is a section of my book‘Combustion’ in third-limited where I was going for deep-third.

~The flame birthed itself at the end of the match. It danced, red and orange, against the backdrop of the still night. Rachel opened her mouth as wide as she could, until the corners of her lips were stretched as far as they would go. She made sure that her mouth was a wide, round circle. Just like the man on fire. Probably just like Mary Reeser had done. She was going to spontaneously combust. She would do it now.

And she could stop waiting for it to happen. She was never going to have to be afraid of it happening again. It was all about to be over. Rachel watched the flame slide down lower, burning away at the wood of the match. It was going to reach her hand soon, so she had to do this fast. Spontaneous Human Combustion started inside the body.

Rachel understood why the man on fire had his mouth wide open.

There wasn't any time left.

Rachel took the match and placed it into her open mouth.~

It’s in third-person, but it’s still written in a way where we can feel her fear, her confusion, her dissociation. We can see her reasoning. Of course, her reasoning is flawed. She should not be trying to make herself spontaneously combust JUST so that she can stop being afraid of it happening.

So how do you know if you should choose third-limited or first? (because third omniscient and second person should rarely be used). Well, I’m biased, and I believe third-limited works well for most stories.

That being said, I have chosen first person for two of my stories. One is my now shelved manuscript‘Femcel’ which I will eventually be rewriting and it will be retitled‘Pick Me.’ The other is my collab story with Emily Hurricane‘When The Darkness Takes Us.’

For‘When The Darkness Takes Us’ I had a very specific reason for choosing first person. This character is a self-insert. It’s a fictionalized account of something very difficult I went through semi-recently.

So I suppose I’d say, when it’s a really emotional story with strong voice, first person may be a better choice. When it’s a very personal story, first person may be a better choice. When you’re writing a character who rants and raves and switches gears mid-thought-stream so quickly that a third-person narrator wouldn’t do it justice-it would only slow the stream-of-consiousness down.

I also chose first person for my book‘Femcel’ which is not currently online, because I need to make some changes to it.

Here is an excerpt from‘Femcel.’

~If every single day was a day off from work with Sailor Moon dvds and an entire pickle pizza all to myself, well, then I think life would be a-okay. Today has been great. I cleaned my room and then I pulled out my trusty Sailor Moon box set. Auntie and Mom-mom are both at work, so nobody to bug me about what I'm eating. I ordered a large pizza and I got the owner on the phone when the new guy didn't understand that they can put pickles on a pizza. It isn't on the menu, but they do it for me all the time.

I told him, "You charge me for a pepperoni pizza and tell the guy cooking it to put on pickles. Ask Jim. He always does it." But the guy still thought I was full of it.

Eventually they sorted it out though. And yeah, I know it's bad to eat an entire large pizza myself. Don't go thinking I'm a total pig. I only eat like this when I watch anime.

Usually I don't eat enough. Mom-mom says I'm too thin and she isn't wrong. If I lay on my stomach too long at night, my ribs start to hurt. I'm the only woman in my family with a stick body. Everybody else has nice curves. I barely have boobs and my butt is flat. I tried doing squats for awhile, but when nothing much happened, I figured it was probably all nonsense. You know? A placebo.

It's only four in the afternoon, but already it's getting dark. I hate winter. Especially once Christmas is over. I feel so upset and anxious every day in that long dead span of winter, January through March, when there's nothing to look forward to and it feels like the world just dead ass stopped. Sludge in every parking lot. Everything is cold and wet. Kek. And it's the middle of January. Top kek. (I mean that sarcastically. Obviously).~

I chose first for Ana’s story, because I imagined her as this very voicey character with this sweet and sarcastic personality. She’s also incredibly immature (which does make sense since she’s in her very early 20s) and I felt that youth and naiveté would across more strongly in first person.

So....what’s the hard and fast rule for deciding between third-limited and first?

I....uh....

I wish I could tell you lol

Like my last post about balancing dialogue with other storytelling elements, I have to say, I just play it by ear.

I will say, I think every writer should figure out early on which POV they prefer to write in. Try them all out. Try writing the same scenes in first and third and see which one you like better.

I did this while I was getting my B.A in Creative Writing and after several rounds of playing with third-limited and first, I discovered I’m incredibly partial to third-limited.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t any room for first. Like I said, I realized first was the better choice for two of my WIPs. But knowing that third-limited is my default style, I always have a starting point. I start most stories in third-limited and it’s only when third-limited starts to feel....well...limiting that I give first a whirl.

In the end, it’s about what YOU as the writer are most comfortable with. Some people say it depends on the story you want to tell, and I agree to an extent, but at the same time, if you hate writing in first person and you try to force it, the story may suffer for it. For years, I wrote exclusively in third-limited before I was comfortable enough to test out first person.

Third-limited and first both accomplish different things. First person has more voice and immediacy, while third-person allows a writer to be more poetic and detached.

Which POV do you like best? When you experiment with both POVs, which allows your story to come to life more?

There’s no real rule of thumb.

Like everything with writing, it’s all a matter of intuition; following your gut and looking at every story as a unique experience.

I know that was wishy-washy, but it’s the best I can do while still being honest!

There just aren’t any true absolutes with writing.

Good luck fellow writers <3

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And now that I'm without your kisses, I'll be needing stitches | luke hemmings

Image credit: Ryan Fleming

So @spicycal​ wrote a beautiful blurb about winning Duke over with a knitted blanket, and a delicious piece about a 5sos weekend away in a winter cabin (in the same universe as these two brilliant stories 1 2 from the brilliant@talkfastromance4​), so inspired by these incredible pieces and the fact that it’s the middle of bloody winter here, I’m miles away from my friendsand I’ve started knitting again (because what else do you do in quarantine?) - here’s a little something about being homesick and teaching Luke how to knit. This is the third 5sos thing I’ve written ever, so feedback is always welcome :) hope you’re having a lovely day, wherever you are in the world!

More writing here | send feedback/thoughts/suggestions here

(This is a fem reader insert)

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.6k

Life in Los Angeles had certainly been an adjustment. Moving overseas for the first time was intimidating, and it felt like the first day of school but over and over again. You got lost more times than you could count, struggled to order a coffee every morning thanks to your accent, and tipping was still terribly confusing. But the people in your new office were friendly, and one day one of them, a girl named Sarah, invited you out for drinks, and from there things started to get a little easier.

Sarah’s birthday was coming up, and her boyfriend Andy had organised a weekend away up in the mountains to celebrate. Sarah begged you to come along, promising snow, mulled wine, and roasted marshmallows – how could you say no? Even though Sarah being the only person you knew made you nervous, you tried to convince yourself that going on trips like this was all part of the adventurous experience you were determined to have when you left home all those months ago. YOLO, or whatever, right?

The day of the trip arrived, and Andy and Sarah were in your driveway waiting for you to join them. It was a fun journey up to the cabin, with lots of singing along to the radio and delicious homemade snacks, and you arrived mid-afternoon. A couple of cars were already parked outside the cabin when you pulled in, and you took a deep breath to yourself before following Andy and Sarah inside. Shouts and cheers met you as you entered, as the guys and girls gathered in the living room rushed forward to greet the birthday girl. You awkwardly stood off to the side, not exactly knowing what to do with yourself, when a tall man with a black buzzed haircut approached you and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Calum, nice to meet ya!” He said with a grin. You reciprocated, and shook his hand gently.

“Here, let me grab that for you. Come meet everyone!” Calum, your apparent new friend, tugged your overnight bag out of your grip and dragged you over to the rest of the group, introducing Luke, Ashton, Michael, and a few others that had come along for the weekend of celebrations. You could’ve sworn that Luke held onto your hand a little too long when he shook it, but surely you were imagining things. As the day progressed, you felt your nerves begin to dissipate, and you starting enjoying everyone’s company. Andy had organised a series of games, including Sarah-based trivia, competitive snowman building, and generally boisterous revelry. You quickly learned that Ashton and Michael were fiercely competitive, so you tried to either get onto their team or stay out of their way. After a loss in trivia (“How were we supposed to know her star sign?!” “It’s her birthday tomorrow, you dickhead!”) and a win in the snowman building (“Excellent creative execution and structural integrity. It’s the key to any construction-based art-task.” Ashton explained, in that mattter-of-fact shit-talking way of his), you shared pizza for dinner and then changed into leggings and a hoodie under your overcoat before meeting everyone outside near the campfire for s’mores. You were two marshmallows in when suddenly the wave of homesickness hit you.

The smokiness of the fire, and the gooey sugary goodness of the marshmallows took you right back to your childhood summers, where your grandparents would take you and your siblings camping for a week or so. Your granddad taught you how to start a fire, and your sister taught you how to braid your hair, and your grandma taught you how to knit as you sat around the fire for hours at a time and told stories and watched the stars. You closed your eyes and breathed in the smoke of the fire, when the laughter of the group around you brought you back to reality and snapped you out of your reverie. There was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t quite get over, so you quietly excused yourself and headed inside the cabin.

It felt silly to get so upset about a memory, especially in front of people that were basically strangers to you a few hours ago, but it was moments like this where you felt every inch of distance that separated you from your loved ones. You dug around in your overnight bag before retrieiving your craft bag that held your set of knitting needles and the deep orange half-finished scarf you’d been working on, and settled on the couch in the living room in front of the fire. As your fingers moved swiftly, looping the wool around and pulling through the stitches, you felt yourself start to relax. You had no idea how much time had passed, but you’d knitted a good ten rows before a voice behind you made you jump in your seat.

“You okay in here?” Luke spoke up, shuffling into the living room and removing his coat.

“Y-yeah. All good, just got a bit… cold.” You offered, inwardly cursing at your awkward delivery. If Luke noticed how nervous you sounded, he didn’t show it, instead smiling at you and sitting down next to you on the couch.

“What are you making?” Luke asked, peering curiously at the project in your hands.

“Oh, just a scarf. They’re the easiest thing, basically just a giant rectangle. My grandma always said that craft should calm you, not stress you, so I pretty much exclusively do scarves.” You heard yourself say back, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you met Luke’s gaze.

“Calm you, not stress you… I like that. Your grandma sounds like a pretty switched on lady.” Luke smiled at you as he moved slightly closer to you on the couch.

“Yeah, she… she was.” You said softly, stopping your knitting and twisting the wool absently around your fingers as you remembered your grandma with a fond smile. It’d been years without her, but knitting always made you feel like she was still with you. You shook your head and snapped back to reality when Luke gently squeezed your hands reassuringly.

“Could you teach me?”

“Teach you… to knit?” You said slowly, not quite sure if he was being serious or not.

“Yeah, to knit! I’m always up for learning something new. And word on the street is that I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirked at you, wiggling his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh, and you realised the lump in your throat had gone away.

“Alright, let me get you started.” You said, reaching into your bag for another set of needles and some wool. “Red or blue?” You asked, holding up two balls of wool.

“Red! It’ll go nicely with your orange one. We can match!” Luke said, grabbing the wool out of your hands. Smiling to yourself, you sat closer to him on the couch and placed the needles in his hands.

“Okay, so to cast on, we start by looping your first stitch…” You began, gently wrapping the wool around the needles and moving Luke’s hands with your own. It took a little while, but he soon had the hang of it, and you returned to your own knitting, but you were pressed into Luke’s side as you both relaxed back into the couch. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you felt your eyes starting to droop as the warmth of the fire and the cosiness of being snuggled up to Luke on the couch overcame you.

“Hey… let’s make a move. Sleeping on the couch will fuck up your neck, and we need you limber for the ski races Andy’s got scheduled for tomorrow.” Luke nudged you gently, taking the knitting out of your hands and tucking it under his arm as he stood and pulled you up off the couch. You trudged up the stairs, hand over your mouth as you suppressed a yawn.

Coming to a stop outside the door of your bedroom for the night, you detached yourself from Luke’s arms and took your knitting from his hands.

“Night Luke. Thanks for hanging out with me.” You said, smiling sweetly up at him. (Damn, he was tall. How were his eyes so blue? And his hair, were his curls just like that when he woke up every day? Imagine waking up next to Luke… there you go, getting lost in your thoughts again)

“Any time, angel. Thank you for teaching me how to knit. Maybe we can have another lesson tomorrow? I wanna learn how to do stripes!” He spoke excitedly, making you laugh at his enthusiasm as you quickly nodded.

“Night. Sleep tight, I’m just across the hall if you need anything.” Luke stepped forward as he spoke, and settled his hands loosely on your hips before leaning in and softly pecking your lips in a quick kiss. You felt yourself grinning like an idiot and reached up to run your fingers through his blonde curls before kissing him again. And again. Before you caught yourself and remembered you were in a house full of people and you probably shouldn’t be standing on the landing making out where anyone could see you.

“Goodnight. See you in the morningggg!” You said in a bright sing-song voice, opening your bedroom door and smiling brightly at Luke, who chuckled at you before stepping away and opening his own bedroom door. You stole one last glance before stepping into your room and closing the door behind you, pressing yourself up against it as you brushed your fingertips over your lips. It felt cliché, but your lips were tingling. Who would’ve thought Grandma and her knitting would land you here?

You smiled to yourself as you realised that Grandma would’ve thought it. She worked in mysterious ways, that woman. The homesickness was still there, but instead of anxiety it was bringing you warmth and a sense of content. That, and the boy who was metres away, trying his hardest not to drop any stitches or make any knots as he worked on his red scarf in hopes of impressing his new companion.

More writing here | send feedback/thoughts/suggestions here

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Lover (TH BLURB)

Summary: You are a famous singer doing your performance at an award show. The song you sing is a love song written about your boyfriend, Tom, who is in the crowd cheering you on.

A/N: The song Lover is by Taylor Swift. I know it’s crazy popular but I figured it worked really well with the plot. I’m also a giant swiftie soooo

_________

Ever since you could remember, you were singing. In fact, you’ve been told by family that you were belting out songs before you were even talking. As true as that may be, singing was your passion in life. So much, you built a career out of it.

After working tirelessly, skipping from label to label, you finally got your chance. Within a few months of your first album, you were one of the biggest names in music. It was concerts, award shows, talk shows, red carpets, magazines, and everything you dreamed of.

For you, it was paradise. But then you met him.

Tom had been an up and coming actor the same time your first song went number 1. Although you had never met him, you always thought he was handsome, and had heard wonderful things about him through your other celebrity friends.

Then one magical night under the lights of Hollywood, you met the incredible man you’re with today. He’s been your everything for two years now, and you couldn’t be happier.

But on this particular day, you weren't so happy. You were nervous. So, so nervous. For today you would be doing your debut performance at the famous Brit awards,Britain’s most popular music award show. It was held in the O2 arena in London, filled with hundreds of stars and fans, and watched by millions around the world.

It was nerve-racking, to say the least.

The red carpet went swimmingly, Tom wearing his lovely navy blue suit and black framed glasses, the ones you loved on him. You were in a navy blue gown and gold necklace to match, your hair pinned to the side. Cameras flashed and your names were called as Tom held your hand and led you on the carpet, the giant Brit banner behind you. You posed together, his arm securely around your waist as you smiled, even turning and pecking his cheek cutely. Which made the cameras go wild.

After the carpet it was interviews. Microphones shoved in your faces and cameras rolling as you stood along the halls, all the chaos causing your nerves to rise even more. Anything and everything you did was photographed, tweeted about, posted about. Everything. You signed autographs and took photos with fans, smiling as they screamed your name.

The energy in the main arena was incredible, people chatting and catching up before the awards began. You and Tom were led to your table, a bucket of assorted drinks in the middle as your name tags sat neatly on the white cloth. Your table was full, Tom and you side by side, flanked by your manager, parents, and Harrison.

Within no time the lights clicked on and the camera’s were on, the show finally beginning. Luckily your slot was towards the middle, so you had some time to enjoy the show before you were ushered back stage to get ready. You bit your lip as awards were given out, stomach twisting as Tom reached over and squeezed your hand.

You smiled back, happy he sensed your discomfort. He knew you were on edge, he’d watched you pace back in forth in your room all morning. He’d told you that you would do great, prompting you to breathe. You stopped mid break down, letting him pull you in for a hug. His embrace calmed your beating heart, a kiss landing on the top of your head as you smile.

But of course, that was then, and this is now. And your time to leave was now. At commercial you were led back stage, your parents giving you a quick nod as Tom presses a quick kiss to your lips, wishing you well.

A stage hand tells you your cues, but you just stare in the mirror, trying to focus your breathing as your stylist pins the first layer of your hair back. Your dress was a pale pink, perfect for a love ballad. Without any time wasted, your ear plugs are given to you and you are on your way to the stage.

It was dark, the piano hidden behind a make shift wall blocking you from the audience view. You sat at the shiny black piano, glancing down to make sure your feet knew the paddles. The microphone is placed in the stand, adjusted so it’s in front of your mouth as your stylist does last minute hair spraying.

Stage hands scurry away, meaning your moment had come. You inhale deeply, hearing some famous model announce you from the other side. Applause roars around the arena as the wall is lifted, the white spot light going on you.

You close your eyes, fingers pressing down the keys as the chords of your song begin.

“We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January This is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?”

The camera swirls around you, the room seemingly silent as you play your song. You take a quick moment to glance up, eyes catching your table filled with loved ones. Tom’s sitting there grinning like a mad man, beyond proud of the woman he’s in love with.

You give him a smile, fingers moving across the keys.

“Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever”

As you play, memories flash in your mind, almost acting as a sort of fuel as you play your song. It was titled ‘Lover’ a song you’d written in your house one snowy night, just you, your piano, and Tom.

“And ah, take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover”

You close your eyes, embracing the moment and adrenaline. You brain plays a make shift movie, moments of you and Tom popping into your head.

“We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call”

This made you smile as you sang, memories of you and Tom moving into your apartment together. Painting the walls together and eating pizza on the floor before your furniture arrived. And of course, your third room mate, Tom’s best friend.Harrison always had a habit of sleeping over, but he was always a welcomed guest in your home.

“And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”

Everyone in the world loved Tom. He was every girl’s dream man. Hell, he was your dream man. Even though your status and popularity was great, it was never enough to cease your ever worrying heart and insecurities. It took him standing in the kitchen one night, both hands on your cheeks and big brown eyes boring into yours that you finally stomped out those demons. It didn’t matter how many gorgeous LA girls Tom came into contact with in his work, he only had eyes for one, and that was you.

“I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all”

You look up from the piano again, grinning as you carry the notes. It was true, you’d loved him the moment you met. He wasn’t just another pretty face to you, he was something special, and you learned that instantly.

It was a charity event in Los Angeles. Your label always did events and fundraisers to help those in need, and at this particular event you were raising money for children in need. The party was in full swing when you were at the bar, music playing as the high profile guests mingle. You sat back sipping your cocktail when he came up, ordering himself a beer. You turned, noticing who he was and took the opportunity to say hello. And the rest was history.

“Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever) You're my, my, my, my lover”

The charity event was only the start. Meeting him started your friendship, which blossomed into you both always visiting each other when you were in the same city. You both kept almost constant contact with each other. Thefriendship was wholesome and true, Tom being your rock when tours got lonely and haters got meaner.

One night in New York you both were having drinks on the roof, over looking the beautiful skyline. It was starting to get cold out, your cheeks red as the crisp air caused you to huddle close in front of the heaters. It was there, amongst the city lights he confessed his feelings, something you’d been hoping he’d do for a long time. It was the start of something truly beautiful.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue All's well that ends well to end up with you Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover”

Memories of you guys goofing around your apartment came to mind, every romantic embrace and every kiss good night. The nights you’d chase each other around the living room, or cuddle close in front of the fireplace. You didn’t know where this relationship was going, but you knew it was going to last.

“Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover”

The finishing chord brought you back to reality, lifting your fingers from the keys as the room erupted in applause. You grinned, bowing your head in gratitude as the audience stands. Your eyes catch Tom’s, his fingers moving to blow you a kiss.

The lights dim as the show goes into commercial break, crew members helping you off the stage as you’re ushered around. You pass through a corridor and you’re met with Tom, his arms wrapping around you.

“You were amazing” He smiled.

You leaned in to give him a quick kiss, reaching down to wrap your fingers with his.

“Thank you, lover”

A/N: I know that was crazy fluff but I’m kinda into it. I’m also kinda into this scenario so if you guys want me to do more with the famous reader X Tom thing for sure send me some ideas you wanna see!

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Freshers’ Week In Halls - Four Things I Wish I’d Known

I still remember the day I moved into halls so clearly; stepping off the train at Euston station, my family acting as concierges to move the ridiculous amount of stuff I insisted was‘essential’ for uni, and the blend of excitement of fear that set in when I hugged them goodbye and was left alone in my cold and empty halls room.

Freshers’week can be incredibly daunting, especially when you’ve moved away from home.It is a time where everyone needs guidance, and nobody really knows what they're doing. The most advice I read before setting off to university was ‘buy a doorstop to show you’re open to talking to people’; a nice idea on paper, but not really very helpful. Here are my top four things to keep in mind during freshers’ week that I wish I had known back then.

1) You don’t have to be a party animal to make friends.

Freshers’ week is always hyped up to be a week of binge drinking and non-stop clubbing, to the extent that it seems you have to join in this lifestyle to make any friends at all. But this is simply not the case; in fact, it’s the friends that you do things other than fireball shots with that you’ll likely continue hanging with after the madness of freshers’ is over. Plus, in London especially, you’ll find that going to the popular clubs like Ministry of Sound and Egg will eat into your bank account like crazy. There are so many more fun things to do that don’t involve killing your liver, and the student union website will usually have a calendar of all sorts of activities running throughout the freshers’ period where you can meet new people.

On this note – don’t discount the student union club nights. Glittoris, which runs once every month at the UCL Students Union, is an LGBTQ+ club night with free entry, cheap drinks and the most fun and welcoming atmosphere. They have cheesy pop tunes, drag queens hosting all night and run a lip-sync battle a la Ru Paul’s drag race mid-way through the night. You can even bring a guest along with you if you have friends visiting from other unis. You cannot go wrong!

2) You’re going to feel clueless.

Having moved into your strange, very basic halls room, there’s going to be a period of time where you ask yourself how you will manage to live on your own, as an adult. You’re going to realise that the only things you can cook are beans on toast, oven chips and microwave rice. Or, if you’re as a bad as I was, realise you can’t even turn an oven on in the first place. Or work a washing machine.

To avoid this crisis of confidence, arm yourself with a few basic skills before you make the move. For example, learn how to make some easy recipes. There are plenty of easy recipes online, my favourite go-to sites being BBC Food and Tesco Food Magazine. Bonus points if you find recipes with cheap ingredients - chickpeas are a godsend. And please, please learn how to use a washing machine before you leave home, to avoid dying all your clothes pink.

3) People are going to steal your food.

Yes, even in the first week. This is a fact you will have to accept. Passive aggressive post-it notes left in halls kitchens may seem ridiculous to you now, but they are no myth you might even find yourself writing one out when someone eats half of your tub of Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough. The weirdest things I’ve had stolen from me include a bottle of rose wine and a tomato. One solution is to bring a padlock for your cupboard – but for the fridge, you might just have to stick to putting post-it notes on your food saying ‘may contain laxatives’.

4) Don’t feel pressurised to do everything right.

Freshers’ week can be overwhelming –adjusting to living alone in a new city, with SO MANY things going on and so many new people to meet. If you’re not careful, you can quickly find yourself in the position where you have planned to join 50 different societies and meet up with 15 different people in the same day. It’s ok to have a breather and do something relaxing! Take some time to yourself, go for a walk, and don’t put pressure on yourself to avoid missing out on everything going on. UCL actually hold a lovely Plant Sale in freshers’ which is the perfect way to take some time out from your new busy hectic social schedule. Also, you can buy a plant that doesn't need much maintenance and feel like you have your life together somewhat. Trust me, my cactus I bought back thenis still with me and THRIVING.

Life in freshers’ week, especially in halls, is chaotic. You’ll become best friends with people you’ve met for 5 minutes and then never talk to them again when the week is over. You will join the most random societies ever and never go to any of their events. Without fail, during the first week, someone will set the fire alarm off burning a pizza at 3am. And be known for it for the rest of the year. Don't let it be you.

But there is really no RIGHT way to do freshers’ week – just have a good time!

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Chapter 80

Standing in front of the full length mirror in the master suite, you slip on your new dress, run your fingers through your hair to smooth it down and examine your reflection from every angle. You really do love it. The shape is flattering and comfortable and the color is gorgeous, but you just aren’t sure about the plunging neckline. It’s not that it looks bad, it’s just different. Your small chest has always made you a bit self-conscious and wearing something that draws attention to it feels strange, rather like you’re trying to pretend to be someone or something you’re not. You tilt your head and frown slightly at the deep narrow V, still unsure.

“Babe, have you seen my… “ Dave stops in mid-sentence upon seeing you as he strides into the room. “Whoa.”

“Your what?” you ask, furrowing your brow.

“Is that what you bought today?” he asks, stepping toward you slowly and motioning at the dress.

“Yep. What do you think? I like it, but I feel strange in it.” Turning back to frown in the mirror again, you glance over your shoulders’ reflection at the still approaching Dave. He takes you by the hand and spins you around like a ballet dancer to face him. Putting both hands on your hips, he takes a small step back to look at you from head to toe.

“You look beautiful.” His voice is soft, deep and slightly lusty. He runs his index, middle and ring fingers delicately across your bare cleavage causing you to shiver a little. You smile and drop your chin. “Actually, better than that. Ali was right. You have to go shopping with her more often.” His fingers move from your chest to your chin and tilts your face up toward his.

“You like it, then?”

He grins. You melt. It never ceases to amaze you how that smile of his makes you melt.

“Alison said it would be perfect for me to wear to one of your fancier parties or events. Which freaks me out a little.”

“Why?”

“It still seems weird to assume I’ll be going to stuff like that with you. I guess in a way, this still doesn’t seem real. I don’t expect you to take me to places like that. I’m content to just wait in the wings for you. I’m not about all that stuff. This isn’t me.”

He laughs and pulls you closer. You swear you can feel his heart beating through his shirt.

“Penny, you’re my girl now. I love you. More than you seem to understand. I will be proud and honored to have you on my arm and show you off anywhere. I don’t care what you wear - shorts and a t-shirt or a fancy dress. But you look incredible in that dress.”

The butterflies in your stomach feel like they are attending a rave as he wraps you in his arms and kisses you.

“Actually,” you whisper with a coy smile, “the main reason I bought it is so that you could take it off.” He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh stop!” you giggle. “It’s your fault my mind falls into the gutter so easily. I never used to be an easy little tramp till I met you.” Sliding a hand between you, you grip the erection he’s been pressing against your groin and give it a gentle squeeze. “Filthy fucking rock star.”

“I will take full responsibility for corrupting you. Now. I want to see what that dress looks like draped over that chair,” he growls, his eyes glued to you while motioning to the lounge chaise in the corner with a nod of his head, “and how you look draped all over me.”

His calloused fingers tickle down your side as he lowers the zipper to your waist and carefully slips your arms out of the bodice. He kisses you deeply as it falls to the floor, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, collarbone and chest before hastily snatching up the dress and placing it carefully over the chair. You smile at this courtesy and wait patiently, lunging at him when he starts back over to you.

Sliding both hands under his shirt, you begin to tug it off and, as he pulls it over his head, you begin unbuckling his belt. Before you know it you’re both naked, horizontal and have become an entangled mess of sheets, flesh and hair. To Dave’s surprise, you push him flat on his back, straddle him and, pressing your breasts against his chest, begin to kiss is neck gently. A quiet sign escapes his parted lips as you slowly rock your hips front to back, feeling the delicious, wet friction between your legs. A couple of extra strategic moves guides him inside you and you sit upright, sinking him as far in as you possibly can. He grabs your hips and thrusts upward while simultaneously pulling you into him. You squeal loudly in both pleasure and surprise and he grins at you again. He laces his fingers with yours.

“I honestly think this gets better every time we do it,” he says, matter-of-fact. “But what happened to that shy, self-conscious girl from before?”

“Which one?” You raise an eyebrow at him and try not to smile. “The one that agreed to spend the night with you fifteen minutes after she met you, the one that spontaneously kissed you in the elevator on the way to soundcheck or the one who fucked you side stage in front of everyone in Zilker Park?”

You wait while he considers this. “Did you like her better?” He cracks another smile.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.” He’s smiling but sounds completely serious. “I just mean you’ve changed a little since we met. In a positive way. You’ve got more confidence. You’re more assertive. I’m proud of you. Plus, it’s very sexy.”

Smiling, you look away, turning your head enough to hide the side of your face behind your hair. You’re flattered but a little embarrassed. Prying your left hand from his right, you delicately run your index finger over the feather tattoo you love so much.

“There’s the girl I fell in love with,” he says with a little laugh. He continues to hold both of your hands, fumbling with your fingers and your grandmother’s ring while watching your face.

Sitting up tall again, you look down into his eyes and begin grinding into him again. “And there’s the girl I’m still falling in love with. Fuck me, are you wet!” He rolls his eyes before closing them, both hands letting yours go and grabbing hold of your breasts. Using your upper thighs for support, you slowly begin riding him again.

“Fuck me hard,” he orders in his usual growl. “Show me how fuckin’ much you want it. Make yourself cum. Let’s break the bed frame this time.”

--------

“Penny,” Alison whispers softly over her glass of red wine. She’s sat directly across the dinner table from you and is quietly trying to get your attention as the conversation you have been having with Pat, Dave and Nate begins to slow. Reaching for your water goblet, you make eye contact with her and take a sip. She cuts her eyes sharply to her left and quickly looks back at you. Casually, you glance in the same direction to find Chris staring directly at you. You hold his gaze for several seconds before looking back at what’s left of the piece of pepperoni and mushroom pizza on your plate. A few moments later, a casual glance to your right at Dave reveals that he is staring directly at Chris. You watch him for an uncomfortable moment and, as you peek briefly at Chris again, Dave’s hand gives your knee a squeeze and you look at him again to find him smiling at you. All of the discomfort disappears.

“How’s your slice, babe?” he asks, leaning over so that you can hear him over the crowded pizzeria noise.

You nod enthusiastically as you chew and he smiles warmly. After another sip of water, you start to ask how his pizza is and notice that he hasn’t touched it or the pint of beer he’d ordered upon arrival.

“What’s wrong?” you ask with a hint of concern.

“I’m just not hungry,” he says, shaking his head and pushing his plate away from him. “I dunno.” He looks at you again, his features soft, loving and a bit sad. “Would you be mad at me if I got out of here?”

“Yeah, we can go,” you say without hesitation as you start to get up. He presses the hand on your knee down gently.

“You don’t have to leave. I don’t mind if you stay and hang out. They’re your friends now too, you know.”

“Dave, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I just wanna get out of here, go back to the room,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You toss the cloth napkin from your lap onto the table. “I’ll go with you… unless you just don’t want me to. Do you need some alone time?”

“No, I’d love it if you come too. I just don’t want to make you leave if you aren’t ready. Alison’s here and I know how much you love all these guys…” his eyes dart around before landing on you again. You wonder if he is still watching Chris, but you don’t dare look away.

“Ali, we’re heading out,” you say loudly enough to get her attention. You notice that it’s also gotten Chris’ attention. Ali frowns and sets down her wine. “All of today’s excitement has worn him out. We’re gonna turn in early.”

You leave the room to a series of goodnight shouts, step into the chilly evening air and hail a cab. Moments later you are creeping along in traffic in the back seat with Dave’s arm around you. He gives you a gentle squeeze, a kiss on the temple and you smile at the warmth of his embrace and the tickle of his beard on your cheek.

“Thanks for coming with me.” He still sounds tired or maybe even sad. “You really didn’t have to. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d stayed. I’m really glad that you get on so well with everyone. And they really like you too. I told you you’d make some friends.” After a moment he quietly adds, “But I’m really grateful you left with me.”

You slide an arm across his belly, grabbing his side and give him the tightest hug you can muster. You aren’t sure where all of this is coming from or what’s going on, but you don’t ask again. If he wants to talk about it, he’ll do it in his own time.

“I love you,” you murmur into his coat.

“I love you more,” he retorts, his voice deep, warm and dreamy.

The hotel is cozy and welcoming and, while you enjoyed hanging out with the others, it felt good to be out of the noise and cold. Dave collapses silently on the sofa and, after hanging up both of your coats, you fall in next to him. You look at him sideways without saying anything. He seems totally spaced out and you place a hand on his thigh. He picks up your fingers, lacing them with his, lazily tilts his head to the side and gives you a small smile. He looks beautiful, his face soft and framed by his long dark hair. Your stomach does a bit of a flip flop and you carefully slip one leg across his lap and have a seat, looking at him face to face. He pushes a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Penny, can I ask you something?” He sounds worn out, exhausted from such an exciting, full first day on the set.

“Of course, sweetie. Always.”

“Do you promise you’ll tell me the truth, no matter how much you think it’s gonna hurt me, or make me angry?”

Taken aback, your heart sinks a little. Alison was right. The thing between you and Chris is obvious and Dave has picked up on it.

“What we have was built on honesty. I wouldn’t break that trust now.”

“Are you in love with Chris? Are you two seeing each other behind my back? Just tell me if you are. I need to know.”

Not especially wanting to have this conversation in this particular position, you start to get up but he grabs your hips to keep you in your provocative seat.

“Don’t run off. Just please talk to me.” He takes both of your hands in his and looks down into his lap, like he is afraid to look at you.

“I wasn’t leaving, I was just going to change seats,” you promise, relaxing and trying to watch his face. “Chris and I are not seeing each other.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Chris and I got close in Austin and he’s one of my best friends. I love him, but I don’t know that I am inlove with him. I do know, however, that I am very much head over heels stupid crazy in love with you. What makes you ask this all of a sudden?”

He finally looks you in the eye. “You two have just been acting weird. And every time I look at him, he’s staring at you. But I haven’t seen you staring at him, so I wasn’t sure. Is there something I need to know?”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” You are very matter-of-fact in this, surprised that this doesn’t make you as uneasy as you might have expected. You haven’t cheated on Dave, and you’ve made your intentions clear with Chris. There was nothing to hide, so there was nothing to be nervous about.

“I want to know everything that you guys haven’t already told me.”

You attempt to rise again and this time he allows it, his eyes sadly following you to the other side of the coffee table to where you take a new seat on the opposite sofa.

“Okay… I’ll start at the hotel in Austin.”

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The Honda CRX Del Sol

If you’ve ever driven an Alfa Romeo, you know they’re special. It’s a cliche, but a true one. I used to own a little 146 with the 1.6 boxer engine and I absolutely loved it (until it decided to spit most of its diff and part of the gearbox onto my bosses driveway). It would buzz down the street like a mini WRX, cock it’s inner front wheel on tight corners, get me waves from other Alfa drivers (leather jackets, moustaches and all) and then I could chuck four friends in it and head up the coast for a weekend at the beach. A truly wonderful and quirky car. It seemed to achieve all this with no sign of actual performance either. Sure, the engine sounded good but it barely scraped 100bhp, and while the handling was awesome, it wouldn’t do me any good unless I was in the winding Italian countryside where this car was designed. It didn’t matter. Alfas of the 90’s were a drivers car, not a performance car.

I thought hot Hondas from the 90’s, bar a little soul, were much the same. Something fun to drive when you couldn’t afford a turbo or a V8. A co-worker of mine at a well known Wellington pizza place owned a Honda CRX Del Sol VTi-S. In Fact, he owned 2 of them! I hated both. I thought not only has this car clearly tried to deceive me by attempting to look like a RWD, mid-engined sports car, it’s also sacrificed any style or practicality in doing so! This car was designed by an idiot, for an idiot. The idiot, in this case, was Chris. Chris loved Hondas more than any other. The kind of guy who had an NSX poster on his wall since he was 4 and would aggressively dismiss any other car as “shit”. He was wrong about most things in his life, Chris. He was incredibly bossy, valued money over any relationship and by far the laziest worker in the restaurant. But since he was quite often the only other car guy on my shift and everyone else was terrified of him, we’d end up chewing the fat more often than not.

One evening, after another shift-long debate, he figured the only way to convince me was to get me into the driver’s seat of the Del Sol. So, once the lights were off and the doors were locked, I followed him down to a quiet spot, just outside of town to a long, open and empty highway for some danger-free blasting. My doubts were inflated at this point. I thought “you idiot, little cars like these are built for corners, not long Hollywood black tops into the valley”.

I parked up, he shifted over to the passenger's seat and I settled in behind the wheel. It felt good. The position was low and the controls had that 90’s, Japanese, Gran Turismo 2 feel about them. The gearbox was tight and the engine blipped freely as I dabbed at the peddle. Definitely, a car designed for the person on the inside. “Go for it” instructed Chris. I eased into first to get a feel for the clutch, then punched it once I was over 2000rpm. It was quick, but nothing crazy. I changed up into second, did the same and felt the same. It was at this time that Chris said: “Stop, stop, stop!” I eased off. “Watch the gauges for when to change gear. Watch the red line”. I gunned the engine back alive in second, this time keeping my eyes on the gauges.

This is when stuff gets freaky in a Honda. Normally you listen and recognise an engine has to change gear at around 7000 rpm and every instinct was telling me to do so. It’ll just explode otherwise, but Chris was giving me the Obi-Wan treatment; “No! Use the Revs AJ!”. So I stayed in it. We passed 7000 rpm pushing off into the great unknown. The engine screamed like nothing I’d heard before. I’d heard motorbikes and F1 cars accelerate like this but not a street car, not a Honda. I assume it’s what people feel like when they see a ghost; it doesn’t make sense and it’s breaking all your worldly rules of reality but, it’s there. The needle kept on climbing well beyond the point of logic as I could feel a black hole opening around us, bending our reality. As the car was approaching 9000 rpm, I could bear no more. Either me or this car was about to lose it and so I shifted into third. Back down to 6500 rpm.

Oh yeah. This was perverted, and I wanted more. The power delivery was smooth and it seemed to be the world’s most generous barman, with revs on tap. We were flying at about 130 km/h by now. If Chris minded, I didn’t notice. I was absolutely hypnotised by this engine. It was the child that holds its breath underwater 20 seconds longer than you thought humanly possible, then pops up with you in a panic going “what’s the problem?” No problem Damien, you’re just a goddamn freak of nature is all.

We blasted on like a banshee through the night. 7500, 8000, 8500. 140, 150, 160, fully aware that the pistons in this car must be moving faster than 99.9999% of things on this planet could possibly move. What was this like? Death? An orgasm? Heaven? Hell? I didn’t know. I didn’t need to know. The feeling was enough. Just as I thought this car was about to destroy physics and send us back to 1955 Hill Valley, I changed up into fourth and eased off. I knew if I kept on it I would be all the way to 200 and then onto hell with Julian in tow.

“Holy balls!” I exclaimed through some manic laughter and between drags of the fastest cigarette ever smoked. I thought over the previous 15 seconds of my life/death. “You see now?” asked Julian. Yes, I do see now Chris. This is no Operatic Concerto like my Alfa, beautifully guiding you through winding corners with the girl of your dreams beside you. Or it’s not the awesome guitar riff that makes you laugh and smile as you chew jerky and burn tires in a Commodore SS. No. No this was death metal. This is the music you listen to before a fight, something to make you howl at the moon. This is the kind of thing you do when you wanna be bad to feel good. This is leather, whips and chains. This is awesome.

Everything else about the Del Sol is wrong: It’s hideous, they’re always in a weird colour, they’re slower and less practical than the Civics of this era thanks to its weird folding convertible roof and they were blatantly just made to chase the success of the MR-2. But that’s where the beauty lies in this car. Yeah, you’ll look like a fool in the parking lot or in heavy traffic, but once you unleash this thing on the open road or around a track, nothing can touch you. Not the guys laughing at you, not the girls ignoring you, not the taxman, not your boss, not that idiot with the blonde wig on the news, not your ex, not your lack of a vacation this year, not that tosser in a Q7 who cut you off and best of all, without even a hope of brushing you, not even your reflection. The Del Sol is your secret weapon, and it’s quite possibly a nuke.

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 34

We spent the remainder of our summer and early fall in London living like normal people and doing normal things. I’d get up and head into work each morning, my main focus having shifted to overseeing Trudy’s progress on the app and delving into creating pages on the Prosper site for all our clients, while Tom kept his social media activity at the level we’d agreed upon, in conjunction with working out, running lines for Skull Island, meeting with BFI and UNICEF, as well as reading the rest of the Vampire Chronicles.

Each night, we’d either eat in or go out to one of Tom’s favorite spots for dinner, and each weekend he’d take me to what he considered a ‘cannot be missed’ landmark or locale. Sundays were usually cinema day, my personal favorites we viewed being The Man From U. N. C. L. E. and American Ultra. Tom was fond of Before We Go, but I pointed out that he had to like it otherwise Captain America would kick his sorry ass, because he already had it out for him over the whole Loki wearing his suit thing. Interestingly, other than a random pap here and there in the heart of the city, we were essentially left to our own devices. No one seemed to care that we were walking around Regent’s Park drinking tea and coffee, having pizza, or grocery shopping. There were fans on occasion, and Tom was always gracious, stopping for a selfie and/or a chat, with me waiting in the wings or taking pictures. I had known it was possible to maintain some degree of anonymity no matter the level of fame involved, and now I’d come to the conclusion that it had a lot to do with the behavior of the celebrity themselves and directly proportional to the size of their entourage. Which we didn’t have, nor wished to have. Granted, Tom had yet to achieve rock god status, but still…if we smiled, waved, and moved on, so did everyone else. People being people.

Two weeks after his sisters had been informed of their father’s infidelity and misdirected their anger at Tom, Emma came over to our flat and they Skyped Sarah, talking through tears and shouts for two hours before apologizing to each other and realizing that the blame lay with no one other than Diana and James themselves. It was a huge weight off his shoulders, and it allowed us to move forward, both of us having dealt with our pasts as well as we could for the time being. Healing, learning, and discovering more and more of each other with every day that passed. Mundane things, like what kind of toothpaste either of us preferred, when we’d learned out times tables…the feeling that I’d always known him becoming increasingly prevalent and so very welcome. While I’d recognized that we were not only lovers but friends as well that night when I willingly shared my Ben and Jerry’s with him at the beach house in Hawaii, I couldn’t have imagined how deep that friendship would become. We lived, we loved, we laughed, and it was astounding to me that I could feel such…peace.

In mid-September the insanity began, both of us going on the road for the promotion of not one, not two, but THREE projects, High-Rise, I Saw the Light and Crimson Peak. The San Sebastian Film Festival, Toronto International Film Festival (where we ran into Norman, there promoting Sky, whose premier he invited us to and we attended), the BFI London Film Festival…it seemed endless, the screenings, Tom doing interview after interview, photoshoots and photo calls, Q & A sessions. How he managed to keep which project he was promoting at which event was a mystery to me, and I found myself asking him ‘dude, what’s this one for again’ more than once, and I spent nearly every moment behind the lens of a camera.

Nights were when I edited what I’d gathered and emailed it to Tom, who’d then post it all across his social media accounts. Then came updating the website, followed by fast and furious fucking, then sleep. At some point in all the chaos he‘d dragged me into a coatroom and fucked me from behind, but the when and where wasn’t the slightest bit important at the time so determining its actual geographical occurrence is now impossible…but other than that, we behaved ourselves, acting like grown-up professionals with jobs. I enjoyed just fading into the background and watching him shine. His performance in all three films blew me away, but High Rise was my favorite story. The abortion scene in I Saw the Light made me cringe, especially when I considered how he must have felt filming it, so soon after what he’d been through in his personal life. As soon as it was over, he’d leaned over and kissed my cheek, his hand in mine, both of us squeezing gently.

October twelfth found us in New York City, staying at my apartment, me packing up boxes to be shipped to London that week. My books, the rest of my clothes, and my computer. The rest would remain for when we visited, and while I knew I’d never sell the place, I also knew London had, in an obscenely short period of time, become home. The New Orleans house had been completely cleaned out, the August estate sale netting upwards of one hundred thousand dollars, and Tom made good on his promise to donate a matching amount to the women’s shelter while the actual proceeds were delivered to Will’s wife anonymously. I wasn’t sure what to do about renovations, but was hoping to stop in at some point during the holiday season and think it through.

The fourteenth was the NYC premiere of Crimson Peak, and we’d agreed that while I’d attend, I wouldn’t walk the carpet. He’d balked, at first, but I’d convinced him that doing so would allow everyone to focus on him and his co-stars, which was exactly where the focus BELONGED. I wore the black version of the red dress I’d worn to Daniel, and spent the entire limo ride back to the apartment following the after-party with his face buried in my breasts.

We flew to Nashville on the seventeenth to prepare for the premiere of I Saw the Light…Tom’s anxiety level ratcheted up to a nine, dreading the possibility of an appearance by Claudia. I steeled myself as best as I could, but, thankfully, it was completely unnecessary. The director wanted the venue to be small and down-home, so only bare-bones cast invites had been extended. Meeting his co-star Lizzie was a blast…she was friendly, funny, dorky and gorgeous. The two of us hung out in front of the stage as Tom performed for the crowd, dancing like a couple of idiots and singing along. He was incredible, those damn hips distracting me to no end, and his SMILE, my lord. He’d tried to teach me some guitar chords while we were on the road, but, as expected, I sucked in a way that no one had probably ever sucked before and decided once and for all that being able to sing was enough musical talent for one human being.

Principal photography for Skull Island was slated to start on the nineteenth on Oahu, but Tom wasn’t needed on set until November second so we decided to take a holiday the two weeks prior on Kauai. He’d even managed to sweet talk the reservations gal into giving us the same room…the one I’d been staying in when we met, number 203. As soon as we arrived, we both changed and headed out to put our toes in the sand, which is how we spent most of our time for the next ten days. At long last, my ass was on the fucking beach and it was pure, unadulterated bliss. The nights…that’s when we made up for lost time, screwing each other senseless until we passed out from exhaustion.

Luke and Simon joined us on the twenty-ninth, a short birthday celebration jaunt for the latter. On the thirtieth we all went out to Nawiliwili Tavern to celebrate him turning thirty-eight, and I karaoked so much my throat hurt the next day. And really, it was just from singing. Really.

On the morning of my birthday, I left Tom snoring in our bed to watch the Halloween sunrise from the balcony, a knee-length tropical print satin robe wrapped around me. I’d become a fan of robes…easy to slip on, even easier to rip off. Both of us slept naked, and with all the hotels, room service and sex whenever we could squeeze it in while traveling, it was an excellent way to prevent me from answering the door in the buff. I leaned on the railing, listening to the waves crashing, watching the three joggers heading down the beach leaving sand flying in their wake. Thirty-eight. I wasn’t sure how the fuck this had happened, yet here I was, two years away from forty, the biological clock that had been silent before meeting Tom now ticking away loudly. We both baby goggled, and while we were still back in London we’d had lunch with Ben and his wife, each taking turns holding their baby. I’d caught Tom staring at me, his expression making me want toss my birth control pills in the garbage…full of adoration, love, want and so much more. And him holding such a tiny being in his huge hands…too precious for words.

Last year on this day I’d been working, giving a seminar in Chicago, and my celebration had consisted of six donuts at eleven-thirty PM in my hotel room while I watched the Matrix. This year…other than a costume party at Rob’s Good Times Grill in the evening, I had no clue what was in store for me. I reflected on how much my life had changed, and how I was so incredibly blessed, realizing that I’d be perfectly content to spend the entire day in our room, talking, laughing, dancing…all those simple things that made me genuinely happy. Me. Happy. Something I never thought I’d be, yet here I was. Standing on the balcony of the room where we’d first been intimate, on the island where we’d fallen in love. Grateful tears welled up, spilling over and running down my cheeks, and as I wiped them away I felt hands on my shoulders, followed by a kiss on my neck.

“Good morning, birthday girl.” I turned to face him, and he immediately noticed that I’d been crying. “You okay, love?”

“I’m amazing. Happy tears. Actually, grateful tears. Just thinking about how different things are from last year, and…”

He pulled me to his chest, smoothing my hair as he placed a kiss on top of my head. “I love you, my Maude.” He let me go, hands sliding around and down to grasp my forearms, grinning. “So, ready for your present?”

I poked his chest with my index finger. “Dude, you PROMISED me, NO PRESENTS. The time we’re getting to spend together here before you start filming is my present, and every day with you is a gift ANYWAY so…”

Several beats of uncharacteristic silence followed. “Well look at you, leaving me at a loss for words.”

Wrangling free of his grip, I clapped excitedly. “That’s like a whole ‘NOTHER present, man. WOO HOO!”

He laughed, a drawn out ‘ehehehehehe’, ceasing only when we thought we heard someone yell for us to shut up. We ran back inside and closed the balcony doors behind us, sat on the bed and perused the breakfast menu. I opted for scrambled eggs, pancakes and bacon, and Tom decided upon an egg and cheese omelet. After eating quickly, we showered together, and as we dried off in the main area of the room he cleared his throat nervously.

“So, um…I was wondering if maybe you’d like to take a ride out to Talk Story today? I thought perhaps you’d want to pick up some new reading material for while I’m shooting?”

The man knew the only time I had to read these days was when I was on the toilet, but I went with it because, BOOKS. And I’d wanted to go there before we moved on to Oahu anyway, even if it was just to look around. The origin of us. A huge grin spread across my face.

“That sounds fucking epic, babe. What time is it now, like eight-thirty? They open at ten, and the trip there is an hour…”

“Shall we see if Luke and Simon want to join us?”

I snorted. “Ha, if Simon’s even awake yet it would be a bona-fide fucking miracle…but sure, why not? It’d be cool for them to see where we met. God, I’m such a romantic saphead asshat. Gross.”

He laughed, wrapped his towel around his waist and grabbed his phone off the desk. I returned to the bathroom to brush my teeth, only hearing bits and pieces of the conversation. After hanging up, he joined me, eyes on my reflection, and the memory of him fucking me right there four months ago made me shiver, goosebumps pebbling my flesh.

“Believe it or not, they’re not only awake, they’ve had breakfast. Or at least Luke has. Simon appears to be on a liquid diet so far today.”

I spit a final time then spun around, brows raised, and he chuckled.

“What I MEANT was he’s too hung over for food, little miss filthy dirty mind.”

I slapped his ass as I walked out of the bathroom to get dressed. “You fucking love it.”

“Oh, I absolutely do.”

Black bra and panties, grey hiking shorts…but I figured I should ask what he was wearing before I picked out a shirt.

“Babe, what are you....” I’d turned around so my voice would carry better to the bathroom only to find him right THERE, his cock at half-mast. I coughed, then continued. “Wearing. What are you wearing? Fuck, the naked sneak up is NOT COOL, Hiddleston.”

He smirked. “My khaki shorts and a white V-neck, I think.”

“Good. Then I can wear a black one.” I finished dressing while he began, then went to stand before the mirror so I could put my hair back in a ponytail. I’d had it cut and styled before we left London, the ends brushing just below my collar bones. For some reason, even just a few inches and a tiny bit of layering made it much easier to manage. As I was strapping on my Birkenstocks, a quiet rapping on the door began. Tom opened it, and when I saw Simon was wearing giant Kardashian-style mirrored aviator sunglasses indoors, I shouted. Loudly. Even though it hurt my throat to do so.

“Good morning, Mr. Ahlberg. How are we feeling today? Looks like you may have had too much birthday, am I right?”

His voice was raspy as he pulled the Panama hat he was sporting further down his forehead. “Fuck off, bitch.” He was wearing a dark green Polo shirt, white shorts and white loafers.

I rose as he and Luke entered the room, and Luke grinned as he embraced me briefly.

“Happy Birthday, Maude.”

“Thank you, Luke. You look none the worse for wear.” He’d paired khaki shorts with a medium-blue faded T-shirt and Teva sandals, also khaki with blue stripes.

He snorted. “One of us had to behave responsibly. He was up half the night with his head in the bowl…”

Simon shoved him out of the way, wrapping his arms around me to support himself after placing a quick kiss on my cheek, whispering in my ear. “Please kill me. I know it’s your birthday, but it IS Halloween so it’s sort of apropos and I really need to die. I beg you. Put me out of my misery.”

I squeezed him tightly and whispered back. “Not a chance, asshole. I enjoy your snark entirely too much to let it slip from my grasp so easily.”

He sighed, releasing me. “Fine, fine. On with the hour long car ride then. Followed by staring at some books. Then an hour long car ride back. All during which I could have been resting up for tonight.”

We used their rental car, as I’d demanded to have a Jeep Wrangler again and thought Simon might puke if we took that instead. Much like Luke had thought he’d do when we’d gone to our Hula class. Ah, life’s fun parallels that arise from excessive alcohol consumption. Tom had gone back up to the room to retrieve his forgotten phone, and when he came back we were off. Luke and Simon sat in the back, Simon resting his head on Luke’s shoulder, moaning from time to time when Tom took a turn too fast.

He parked us a block down, and we jumped out of the vehicle, excited to be back, and he picked me up and spun me around as we waited for Simon’s slow-ass self.

I rolled my eyes as Tom set me down. “Christ, Simon…you’re like a little old man. Fucking move it along, won’t you?”

I got the bird in return, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. The ibuprofen I’d given him in the car must have started to kick in. Why he hadn’t thought of it on his own…no clue. As we reached the red doors, Tom took my hand, smiling as he opened the door for me. It was exactly the same, which wasn’t really a surprise as only four months had passed, but a feeling washed over me at the sight of it anyway, one of pure joy. His hand squeezed mine as we walked inside, and behind the counter was Roger Marshal, still bearded, same glasses, different Hawaiian shirt, this time red with green leaves. He grinned widely and came around to shake our hands.

“Aloha, Mr. Hiddleston, Ms. Gallagher. Welcome back. I see you brought friends with you on this glorious Halloween day in paradise.”

Tom introduced him to Simon and Luke while I wandered down to the stacks where we’d met. The place was relatively empty…I didn’t see anyone, but assumed customers were just quietly browsing elsewhere. Music was playing, something by 10,000 Maniacs, the name of which always escaped me. Almost instinctually, I went right for the ‘K’s, looking for my white whale…and…THERE IT FUCKING WAS. Not three feet away from me, the spine of the dust jacket unmistakable, silver-grey with a long black tower and yellow text. I stood, frozen in place, listening to footsteps approaching just as I had on that day back in June. Tom’s hand touched my shoulder gently.

“You okay? You didn’t move a muscle while we walked down here.”

I pointed. “It’s there. Do you see it? Tell me you see it.”

He looked. “See what?”

“THE BOOK. THE GUNSLINGER. Yellow text. Black tower. TELL ME YOU SEE IT.”

“Oh, okay…yes…I see it. Wait, isn’t that…”

I nodded, still using my indoor voice but enunciating so strongly they sounded out in all caps. “YES. MY WHITE WHALE. THAT IS A FIRST EDITION COPY OF THE GUNSLINGER.”

He laughed, squeezing my shoulder. “And you’re not over there pulling it off the shelf and holding on to it for dear life, why, exactly?”

Reaching up, I patted his hand gently as I whispered. “Because I’m afraid that if I move or even if I blink it will disappear, having only been the cruelest of mirages.”

“If I can see, it, it MUST be real, yes?” His other hand patted my ass. “Best grab it before someone else does, don’t you think?”

I turned to him briefly, eyes wide. “YES. Excellent idea.”

One step, two steps, both very slow, and I noticed that the song had changed. Tilting my head to make sure I wasn’t hearing things in addition to possibly seeing things, I listened closely, turning back around to face Tom.

“Is it me or…is that Tigerlily by La Roux?”

His own head tilted, and he nodded, smiling. “You’re right, it is. What a fantastic coincidence!”

I nodded again, then turned back to my prey. Another two steps and I was there, reaching out my hand to touch the spine gingerly, then quickly pulling back as if I’d been burned.

“Oh my god it’s REAL. And not only is it REAL I think it’s in, like, MINT FUCKING CONDITION this is…I just…” I carefully slid it off the shelf, turning it over in my hands, then back again, opening the cover ever so gently. Much to my horror, there was something written on the flyleaf. I was about to stomp my foot when I noticed my name.

Happy Birthday, Maude.

You hold in your hands not only a first edition, but one from my personal collection…and out of the first box the publisher sent to me. The God of Mischief asked me to do him a solid, and I figured it might be a good idea to go the extra mile. Thanks for being a Constant Reader all these years, and may the wheel of Ka always move forward for you.

With love,

Steve

PS - CONGRATULATIONS!

Tigerlily was still playing, and I re-read the text again, realizing that Tom had planned all of this, for ME, for MY birthday, and I nearly burst into tears but the last bit of what Steve…STEPHEN FUCKING KING… had written confused me and I focused on that in an attempt to keep my shit together. I began speaking, still staring at the word as I turned around.

“Tom, why did he write congra…” I looked up from my precious treasure but didn’t see him, just Luke and Simon, their phones held up and pointing at me. “…ulations?” My gaze moved lower, and there he was. Tom. Down on one knee. Right arm extended. And in his hand was a small black box.

I’d like to say the world around me grew silent and time stopped and the angels began to sing, but that would be lying and, if nothing else, I’m an honest woman.

What really happened is that I blurted out “Ohmygodthefuckareyoudoing?” followed by my right hand flying up to cover my mouth, trying to shove what had just come out back in.

His eyes met mine, peering up from under his brows, lashes so long and soft and glistening with tears, his smile shy and kind and beautiful and I could see his hand shaking just the tiniest bit and my knees got weak and I had to uncover my mouth so I could breathe otherwise my big ass was going to hit the fucking floor.

He cleared his throat, then began to speak. “One hundred and twenty-five days. That’s how long it’s been since I walked through those red doors, down these stacks and saw you, my light in the mist. All of those days that came and went before…they all appear in shades of grey in my mind now, as if I never truly saw the world around me in color until the moment my eyes met yours for the first time. And however many more days we’re blessed with on this earth, I want to spend each and every one of them with you. I know I’ve said this bit already, when we first arrived in New York, but…I’m going to say it again, because it’s the truth, the only truth I know, the only truth that matters. I will love you all of this life, and in each and every one that follows. I will love you as the world turns to ash around us. I will love you as the universe collapses into itself, and in the blackness of the eternity that awaits, I will remain, with you, at your side, holding your hand, never to let go. This love…it knows no bounds. It is forever. Two souls made one, together unto infinity. Maude Gallagher, will you do me the honor…the most extraordinary honor that could ever be bestowed upon me…of becoming my wife?”

I’d stopped breathing at some point, inhaling with an audible gasp at his conclusion, then answering.

“Absofuckingloutely. Yes. Yes yes yes yes YES!”

I threw myself at him, and he rose to catch me just in time, both of us laughing and crying, his forehead resting against mine, Simon and Luke whistling and shouting as we kissed, murmuring ‘I love you’ over and over when we came up for air. Tom pulled back, grinning holding up the black box and shaking it back and forth.

“Aren’t you curious to see your ring?”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “I guess so. Whip it out.”

He opened the lid, and what I saw nested inside the black velvet made me feel faint for the second time in mere minutes. The ring was sterling silver, with an oval cut and polished black stone set in raised parenthesis shaped sterling silver bars, one to each side, perfectly mimicking of the style of the necklace given to me by my father. My voice eluded me, and he mistook my silence for displeasure.

“It’s not traditional, I know, and if you’d rather have a diamond we can…”

My head shook back and forth as I reached out and touched it with my right index finger in disbelief, then met his gaze.

“That’s black tourmaline.” He nodded, and I recalled the conspiratorial glance Luke’s mother and Tom’s sister had shared after I’d tried on a ring back at the Cube gallery. “Phaedra made this.”

He nodded again, eyes questioning. I bit my lip, then inhaled sharply before speaking again. “Will you put it on me please?”

His voice was timid, soft. “You like it, then?”

“No, Tom. I love it. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Everything’s perfect. Put. It. On. Me.” I grinned. “Please.”

As Simon sidled over and took the Gunslinger away from me, Tom slipped the ring out of its slot, put the box in his pocket, then took my left hand in his right and slid the first tangible symbol of our commitment to one another home with the other, a huge, beautiful smile spreading across his face as I brought both our hands up to stare at my latest jewelry acquisition. He watched me, silently, and all the other moments that I’d pushed aside over the past four months formed a slideshow in my mind’s eye. Ben smirking at us as we looked through his wedding album, nudging his wife in the ribs as she giggled…what I’d overheard at Diana’s house, that he wanted something to be ‘perfect’…and, finally, the afternoon at Greenwood Cemetery back in New Orleans when I’d said goodbye to my father. Tom had gone to the crypt, introduced himself and told my father how much he loved me, then asked him a question, cupping his hand to his mouth and whispering against the stone, waiting for an answer, then nodding as he said ‘thank you, sir’. When I’d asked what his question had been he’d refused to tell me, though when I inquired as to whether my father had answered, he’d replied ‘I’d like to think he did.’

Gasping, my hand again flew to my mouth as my breath hitched and the tears flowed. “Tom…my god…how long…when did you decide…was it back in…Tom, that day in the cemetery…my dad…is that what you…”

He nodded, weeping as well. “Yes. I asked him for your hand in marriage.”

Choking back sobs, I reached out and placed my right hand on his shoulder. “But…when did you…when…”

His fingers grazed my temple, then my cheek, coming to rest on my jaw. “When did I know that I wanted to marry you?” I nodded. “That moment in the hotel in New Orleans when you said that if you really, truly love someone you accept them just as they are…and that you accepted me, all of me, every bit. As I took you in my arms, it hit me…I wasn’t just holding the woman I’d fallen in love with any longer. I was holding my wife.”

My sobs broke free, and I wrapped myself around him and buried my face in his chest. He rocked me, smoothing my hair, his chin on the top of my head. “I’m sorry it took me so long to ask. I just…I wanted it to be…perfect.”

Pulling away, I snorted. “Mission accomplished, you glorious bastard. This was over the top, ridiculously romantic, Clint Eastwood and Rob Reiner co-directing a love story PERFECT.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, I almost forgot. The ring…there’s an inscription…”

I yanked it off and held it up to my face. Around the solid portion of the band, flanked on either side by two tiny books was written in a teeny, tiny font, two lines, one on top of the other:

Talk Story - 6/29/15 - Our Story

My Light in the Mist

“Thomas William Hiddleston, I hope you realize that now we have to get MARRIED here. Like, right here. In this very spot. Bridezilla has come ashore and she won’t have it any other way.” I turned my attention from the ring to his face. “I’m serious. Can we? Is that cool with you? Getting married here? I mean, I guess we need to ask…” His smirk resulted in an epic eye roll and heavy sigh from me as I slipped the ring back on my finger. “Aaaaand…you already asked, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Roger’s fine with it. We just need to let him know a few weeks in advance so he can arrange to close the shop.”

For some reason, that solidified what had just occurred. Tom had asked me to marry him. I’d said yes. I was now his fiancé, the future Mrs. Thomas Hiddleston. And there was now a wedding to plan. Which was exciting and amazing but I had no idea what to do next so I just stood, like a deer caught in headlights. He leaned in, nose touching mine.

“You okay?”

I nodded hard, attempting to clear my head, letting the euphoria take over. “My god, we’re getting MARRIED. Maude Hiddleston. I’m going to need to start practicing that. Gotta say, it sounds pretty fucking great. Nice ring to it. Maude Hiddleston. Yep. Sold.”

His jaw had dropped open, then closed again, eyes full of surprise. “I…you…you want to change your name?”

“Uhhh…yeah. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, if you don’t want…”

He took my hands in his. “Oh, no, no…I…I’d love for you to take my name. See, that sounds awful. Archaic. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to or that I expected you to because, I mean, you’re known a certain way professionally and…”

My lips found his, tongue pushing into his mouth, silencing him the best way I knew how. And, other than pushing his head down between my thighs, my favorite way. As we broke the kiss, he grinned, and so did I.

“Tom. I know some women are very much against changing their names or like to hyphenate, and that’s totally cool, but I’m not one of them. To me, it’s part of joining with someone. Being a family. If that makes me old-fashioned, too fucking bad. Plus, what happens when your kid with the hyphenated name marries another kid with a hyphenated name? Chaos, I say. Chaos.”

His expression was so earnest, so thankful that it caused me to take pause, during which I become cognizant of all I had to be thankful for as well. And that I hadn’t even said thank you, for anything he’d done, which resulted in waterworks yet again as I let go of his hands to place mine on the sides of his beautifully chiseled countenance.

“I’m so sorry…I didn’t say thank you, for any of this…but I’m telling you now. Thank you, Tom. Thank you. I’m going to remember this forever and tell it over and over and our kids and grandkids will be like SHUT UP WE HEARD THAT STORY A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY and it’s just…I love you, so much, and I’m so blessed to have you in my life and my god, I can’t believe you want to MARRY me because I mean I’m ME and…”

It was his turn to cut things off with a kiss, and as he pulled back I heard Simon’s voice, realizing I had completely forgotten that we weren’t alone and wondering exactly how much they’d filmed.

“Yay, yay, you’re engaged, that’s super, who isn’t though, you know? Anyway. I’m going to create a diversion because if Maude cries again I’m going to lose all respect for her and, frankly, I don’t have that much left TO lose so…” He wrenched me from Tom’s grasp and turned me to face him. “SO, I assume that I’ll be your maid of honor? Because honey, you are REALLY going to need my help…”

I rolled my eyes. “Actually, you’ll wind up being my MATRON of honor because you’ll probably be MARRIED by then, you big fucking dumbass. And…and…” I started to sniffle, tears welling up again.

He covered his eyes with his right hand, having taken the shades off to film, and groaned. “Oh. My. God. Are you going to cry from now until whenever it is you get hitched? Because if that’s the case feel free to go before Luke and I do.”

When I didn’t reply, he uncovered his eyes, saw the look on my face and placed both hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, gorgeous…talk to me.”

Taking a deep breath, I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of one hand, then attempted to speak. “Will you…I…my…I don’t have a…my dad…isn’t…will…will you walk me down the aisle?”

He, Tom and Luke burst into tears at that, Simon’s hand over his mouth as he nodded repeatedly and pulled me to his chest. His voice was deep but soft in my ear when he was able to talk again. “Of course I will, honey. Of course I will. I’m so sorry your father won’t be there. And you know I’m, like, SO not religious so I’m not going to give you the watching over you nonsense, though I guess who the fuck really knows, but in a way he WILL be there, because he’s part of you. And we need to talk about something else now because crying is making my headache IN-FUCKING-TOLERABLE…”

He released me and Luke took his place immediately, warmly embracing me for the second time that day. His quiet authority was what I saw most of…it wasn’t until we were off the clock that he became himself, and even at that we were only moderately affectionate. Drunk Luke, though…that was an entirely different story. After a few pats to the back, we let each other go, and I pointed at Tom.

“This is some stunt you pulled here, young man. I hope you realize that.”

He grinned from ear to ear, tongue peeking out from between his teeth. “Oh, I do.” His brows rose. “Were you truly surprised?”

“Um, YEAH. No clue. Well, not exactly NO clue. I mean, I picked up on a few things along the way that I seemed odd but I just pushed them aside because…” My eyes turned skyward as I thought of the best way to phrase what came next. “Because as much as I wanted it to be what I thought it was, I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t want to be disappointed if it never happened, I guess. But. Yeah. So, do we need to fill anyone in on the news or am I totally the last one to know?”

“If it never happened. You’re a silly, silly girl.” His lips grazed my cheek. “And yes, there are still plenty of people to tell. Anyone who was privy to my plan was purely essential.”

My left eyebrow shot up. “Oh, how did Ben and Sophie factor in? Do tell.”

He blushed adorably. “I may have tattled to Chris and Elsa too. But…Anne’s still in the dark, so maybe start there?”

Simon had set the Gunslinger on the nearest table, and I started at it and sighed happily. “I cannot BELIEVE you not only managed to find me a first edition copy of the Gunslinger, but you got Stephen King to sign it, and it’s ONE FROM HIS PERSONAL COLLECTION. You are such a complete dork, and I am the luckiest woman alive, Thomas William Hiddleston.”

He walked to my side and slipped an arm around my waist. “So, should we take a photo to post online? Or would you rather do something more formal?”

I snorted. “Fuck formal. Picture, please.”

I held up my left hand at face level between us, the back of it towards Tom’s phone, which Luke was holding, then pointed at the ring with my right and posed with my mouth stretched wide open in a gleeful grin. Tom pointed at it as well, and three clicks later we were good to go.

Taking the phone back from Luke, he typed, then stopped. “Do you want to call Anne before I post this?”

“Nah. I’ll wait for her to call. It’s more fun this way…and honestly, I have no idea how to tell people without sounding like an asshole, so…yeah. Post it.”

He clicked, then turned the screen so I could see it. There we were, his expression mimicking mine, his Twitter message short and sweet.

She said YES!!!!!!!!!! #thefuturemrshiddleston, #iamsoveryblessed, #luckiestmanintheuniverse

Chuckling, I passed the phone back to him. “Um, actually what I said was ‘absofuckingloutely’. Shit. That’s like, filmed and recorded as my official reaction to being proposed to in the most beautiful and perfect way possible. Nice one, me.”

Luke cleared his throat. “So, not to be a killjoy…” Simon snorted. “Do we have a date in mind for the blessed event? Tom’s schedule is…”

I raised my hand. “Oh, oh…I know what Tom’s schedule is…it’s an insane MESS. Gee, wish there was an app for that or something. HA! Anyhow, you’ll have to double check, but I’m pretty sure that there is zero room for it to happen until late April or early May.”

Scrolling through his phone, Luke nodded. “You’re right. After the I Saw the Light press tour and premiere he’s got Night Manager promo until it airs in the states on April nineteenth. Really, the best month seems to be June.”

Tom spread his hands wide. “Well, that makes it simple. Let’s do it on the first anniversary of the day we met. June twenty-ninth. I think I can even squeeze in time for a honeymoon before heading to Australia to start in on Ragnarock.” He turned to me, brows raised, questioning. “Okay with you?”

My eyes met his, then roamed up and down over his form. This breathtakingly beautiful, kind, compassionate, intelligent, gifted, hilarious being…he was going to be my husband. I felt the tears creeping up on me again, but shook them off, breaking myself of the habit lest I, as Simon feared, kept crying every time I thought about marrying the man for the next eight months.

“Oh yeah. Totally okay with me. And shall I assume you had that planned all along as well?”

He laughed, throwing his head back, one hand on his abdomen, smirking adorably when he’d managed to compose himself. “No, actually…that one was totally off the cuff.”

“Sure it was.”

Laughing again, he grabbed my shoulders. “It was. I swear it.”

I sighed. “Well, if you swear it, I guess I should believe you. So…I know this will come as a shock, but …I’m STARVING. Birthday girl needs lunch. Feed birthday girl NOW.”

Tom pulled me close and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “How’s Kauai Pasta sound?”

“It sounds like you made reservations for four is how it sounds.” He smiled, licking his lips. “Which is awesome, because I am such a slut for Alfredo…”

Simon’s face appeared over Tom’s shoulder. “Oh, oh…can we please go over the list of things you’re a slut for? THERE ARE SO MANY…”

I flipped him off. “Please. Your list is so long it wouldn’t fit on my 32 gig USB drive.”

His eyes widened in mock horror. “My, my. She becomes some hot guy’s fiancé and her rudeness trebles. Unacceptable.”

Grinning, I turned my gaze back to Tom. “So, are we, like, done with surprises for the day? Because I’m not sure my heart can take another one. Though I do have a surprise of my own for YOU…”

“You do, do you? And what would that be?”

I patted his chest. “That would be my Halloween costume, babe. I fear you may not survive.”

He placed his hand over mine, leaning in so his face was inches from mine. “You do realize that you have not the slightest inkling as to what I’m wearing, don’t you?”

I didn’t. I’d been so focused on keeping mine under wraps I hadn’t considered HIS. And I was afraid to imagine, because the party now seemed an eternity away and if I let my mind wander…my mouth dropped open, then closed, opened, then closed again. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I am so, so fucked.”

A whisper in my ear. “Oh, you are indeed, my darling. You are indeed.”

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college athlete!bts

notes: i’ve made minor edits and revisions to these, but they’re still true to the originals. still in the process of reposting from my old blog, bear with me, loves.

disclaimer: blanket disclaimers

KIM SEOKJIN ◦ [cr.]

“I’m going to side with Jungkookie next time you chew him out for being too hard on himself.”

Your voice pulls Seokjin above the waters that engulf his body. He hears you in waves of clarity, every other word drowned beneath the pool water as he completes his butterfly lap. He swims to the edge of the pool where you’re crouched down, a paper bag in one hand, a towel in the other.

He shakes his hair gently and laughs as you flinch away. He’s beautiful like this; in this pool, surrounded by the water he claims saves him, and you argue will swallow him up one day. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he doesn’t care, as long as you keep coming around to warn him.

He sweeps his wet hair back and away from his forehead. “That for me?” He points at the towel.

“No, it’s for the other guy in the pool,” you sit down, criss cross.

“I’m jealous of him then. He’s got a real pretty girl taking care of him.”

He hoists himself out of the water and stands next to you. You were never quite sure whether Jin was made and born to be a swimmer or whether being a swimmer sculpted the body he has. Something like an Adonis; well proportioned limbs beneath layers of muscle and the perfect amount of squish, lovely all the same. He always gives himself credit for that face of his—as he should, you think, it’s a pretty one—but that body.

That body that towers above you as he dries his hair and torso, wraps the towel around his waist and extends an arm.

“No way, this lo mein is mine,” you tell him, moving the brown bag behind your back.

Jin only laughs softly and shakes his head, “No, give me your hand, love. I think it would fit in mine swimmingly, don’t you agree?”

“Seokjin,” you blink, “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, come on that was a good one!”

MIN YOONGI◦ [cr.]

“Kind of unfair that your boyfriend’s short as a stump, but better than half the team,” a sweaty, unhappy Seungcheol sits next to you.

You only chuckle and watch as Yoongi makes another perfect swish. “He’s persistent.”

“He’s crazy,” Seungcheol counters.

“That too,” you hum, “But you sealed your fate when you voted him captain.”

You lean back into the bleachers and watch as Yoongi instructs the rest of the team to run play seventeen again in preparation for their upcoming championship. Seungcheol is mid-sip of his water bottle when Yoongi calls out for him and you see his body visibly choke up.

“Choi, get off your ass, back on the court, and away from my girl.”

You snicker as you watch Seungcheol scurry back onto the court, mumbling something about how Yoongi has it out for him. His presence is soon replaced by that of your blonde haired boyfriend; and he places his hands on either side of you, looks down with little beads of sweat on the side of his face, and a slight smirk on his lips.

“Hi,” he sings after a minute of silence. You can’t help but laugh, sweeping his bangs out of eyes before returning the hello.

“You should give Coups a break, he’s tired,” you pout. “Besides, I thought you wanted me to be friends with your friends.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “When I said you should make friends, I meant with Seokjin and Namjoon, not these idiots.”

“Then why’d you invite me to sit in on your practice? Jin and Namjoon are on the swim team.”

“I figured you see me all hot and sweaty, get turned on, and then we’d go back to yours and have great sex.”

He chuckles as you hit his bicep and leans over slightly to kiss your forehead, while you mumble about how greasy he is. “Alright, fine, since you care about them so much, how about I end practice early, then you and me can go grab some food?”

“What, no great sex afterwards?”

Yoongi laughs, breathy yet full. “Shutup and get your stuff ready,” he tells you before walking back to center court.“We’ll see about that later.”

JUNG HOSEOK◦ [cr.]

“Come on, babe, one more round!”

Of course he’s still jumping off the walls. Only Hoseok could manage to attempt to teach someone how to play tennis in the blazing hot sun for two hours and still have enough energy to run a marathon.

“I have a confession to make,” you huff, holding the ridiculously bright tennis ball in your hand, “I only asked you to teach me to play tennis for the aesthetic of the whole thing and because you look good in your uniform. Now can we please go back to your dorm and take a nap?”

Your words paint a heart shaped smile on his lips. He throws his head back with laughter—and suddenly it’s hard to tell whether you’re suffering because of the heat or his beautiful jawline. Probably both.

“You think I look good in my uniform?” He sniggers.

You roll your eyes, “The whole school thinks you look good in your uniform.”

He does though. He manages to not look ridiculous in his neon yellow shirt and matching tennis shoes. His calves are incredible and hidden behind his white shorts are the strongest pair of thighs you’ve ever seen. And somehow he’s pulling off his green, opaque visor.

“I didn’t ask about the whole school, I asked about you, sunshine.”

“Yes, Hobi, I just said that, stop being greasy,” you pout, “Now can we please get out of this heat?”

He laughs at your pain and if he weren’t so angelic you’d probably have already kneed him in the balls.

It’s too hot for touching but when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders you don’t push him away. “Alright, let’s go,” he kisses the top of your head and leads you off of the courts.

“For the record, you look really good in your uniform too,” he winks, “That skirt does wonders for your legs, babe.”

You take the racket out his hand and hit him atop his head, “Jung Hoseok, I told you to stop being greasy!”

KIM NAMJOON◦ [cr.]

You make your way around the couch and settle down next to your boyfriend who’s watch the taping of his last swim meet for the tenth time today, at least.

“Only you could set the record for fastest backstroke and still be upset, Joonie.”

Namjoon works harder than anyone you know, whether it be at his school work or training. He’s constantly on the grind to improve himself, push himself to be a little better than he was yesterday. It’s admirable, but he’s also the most self-critical person on the planet.

“He was tailing me, ______. If I had been one stroke slower, I would have lost.”

“But you weren’t one stroke slower, Joon. You won.”

“But I could have—”

“You could shutup and pay attention to your girlfriend,” you interrupt with a smile. “I made popcorn.”

Namjoon’s eyes soften and a gentle smile graces his lips. You’re an angel in his eyes; why you choose to stick with him and his self-criticism and hectic practice schedules is beyond him. He only knows he’s grateful for it.

“You know I’m not supposed to eat that,” he sighs.

“Popcorn is healthy for you! Jin told me so.”

“Pretty sure you mean pizza, not popcorn.”

“Alright, then let’s go get pizza.”

“Baby, I can’t—”

“Can’t? That doesn’t sound like the attitude of a winner to me,” you pout, and his eyes grow at your use of his own words against him.

When he doesn’t say anything, only looks down at your lap and sighs, you reach your free hand to cup his face, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Kim Namjoon, you just broke a regional record that hasn’t been broken in thirty years and you’re telling me you can’t let your girlfriend treat you to a slice of pizza?”

He kisses you with his soft lips and smiles back. “I love you, you know that?”

You peck his lips again and run your hands through his hair, “I know, Joon. But you should love yourself just as much.”

PARK JIMIN◦ [cr.]

“You know, you kind of look like Elsa,” you hum.

“Like, the Disney princess?” he asks, “Why’s that?”

He takes your mitten-clad hands in his and leading you onto the ice. You stumble, but he’s there to catch you. “You know, with the blonde hair and the ice and everything.”

Jimin only smiles and emits a breathy laugh, “Whatever you say, love.”

You’re about to remark on his resemblance to the ice princess again, but Jimin soon starts skating backwards, dragging you along with him by the extension of your hands.

“Wah—Jimin, you said we’d go slow!” You yell and he makes circles around the rink, giggles flying at your distress.

“Going slow is no fun!” He quips, suddenly changing directions. The speed makes his bangs fly over his forehead and cover his eyes—and he really does look like Elsa, you think—or at least you try to think when you’re not thinking about how you’re going to die if he doesn’t stop.

“Jiminie!” you screech, as he comes to a sudden halt, holding you close to his chest. His eye smile is the only thing saving him from a serious beating right now. That and the fact that if he skated away, you couldn’t catch him in your wildest dreams.

“If you’re gonna wear my jersey, you’ve gotta go faster than two inches an hour, babe. I don’t want people thinking I’m in love with a wimp.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, then I’ll just wear Seokmin’s jersey.”

“Not a chance,” he rolls his eyes back at you.

You take in his wind brushed hair and flushed face. He scrunches his nose slightly, flashing a smile that reaches his eyes. You almost tilt your head wondering if this Park Jimin is the same boy who bodychecked a guy so hard he knocked his tooth out last Tuesday.

“Your nose is red.”

Jimin wraps his arms around your waist and shrugs, “It’s okay. The cold never bothered me anyway.”

KIM TAEHYUNG◦ [cr.]

“Gross, Tae, get off of me, you’re all sweaty and grassy!” You shove your indeed sweaty and grass-stain infected boyfriend away from you to no avail.

Taehyung only giggles into your ears and hugs you closer, ���I thought you said I look hot when I’m sweaty.”

“You look hot, but you smell gross. Tae, come on, this shirt is new.”

“That shirt is mine.”

You feel the heat rise to your face and shove him again. “You can’t even be here it’s a thirty second time out!”

He finally retreats and looks at you with messy hair and a rectangular smile.

“Kim! Get back here!” His coach yells on cue. Taehyung gives him a thumbs up, and you a quick kiss to cheek before running back to his team’s side, yelling about how you jinxed it. Only your Taehyung would think it’s appropriate to run to the sidelines to hug his girlfriend mid-time out.

“You two are gross,” Yoongi comments. Jungkook agrees with him.

“They’re cute, hyung,” Namjoon beams.

The whistle is blown and Taehyung is back in action, weaving the soccer ball between his feet and past the other team. He winks at you when he scores; Yoongi is seconds from barfing up his lunch. You only shake your head and watch ahead.

Tae’s team is quick to jump on him when he scores the winning goal. They carry him off to the sidelines as the game ends and players and spectators alike begin to pack up their belongings. Tae looks at you from across the field, gloriously sweaty and grass-stained, and mouths “now?” to you.

You can only giggle and nod your head. He runs and engulfs you in a warm (and overdramatic, according to Jungkook) hug. He’s spinning you around, his giggles swirling with yours and you feel like you’re floating—all of his sweat and stains forgotten. When you stop, he doesn’t give you time to congratulate him or scold you for messing up your—his—shirt; he kisses you, happily and deeply, grime and all.

Yoongi and Jungkook pretend to vomit in the background, but he doesn’t care. “I love you,” he beams, before kissing you again.

JEON JUNGKOOK◦ [cr.]

There are pros and cons to dating a varsity athlete.

The pros include laying underneath your boyfriend as you “help” him do pushups and receiving a kiss each time he leans down; resting your head on said boyfriend’s toned chest; the feeling of his calloused hands ghosting along your sides while you cuddle on his futon; wearing his alternate jersey at games, despite it being too many sizes too big for your smaller frame; and cute picnic dates in the middle of an empty baseball field.

The cons include waking up at five in the morning to attend said picnic date.

“Come on, this is cute!” he exclaims as you take another bite into your breakfast sandwich. He hadn’t even opted for you two to sit in the bleachers—instead, setting up picnic over the pitcher’s mound.

You only stare back at him, thinking about what you wanna do more: kiss him or smack him. It is cute, you reason, so you won’t smack him. It’d be cuter if you didn’t have to wake up at five to do it, so you won’t kiss him either.

In lieu, you give him a soft smile. He sure is precious with that his two-row bunny smile he’s got.

Jungkook breaks your train of thought with a sudden squeal, “Ooh, come here, it’s starting.” He motions for you come over to his side of the small bump. You shuffle over, having given up on keeping your leggings clean, and sit next to him. He takes the blanket he’d kept in his lap and spreads it over your shoulders as he wraps his arms around you. (That’s another pro—those damn arms).

Jungkook points just over the edge of the top of the stadium where the sun can be seen poking out. The sky is a gorgeous yellow-orange hue as the ball of light makes it way high into the sky. You look up at him, smile as warm as the sunlight being cast on the two of you lean slightly to kiss his cheek.

“I guess this is cute,” you lean on his shoulder afterwards (pro number twenty-seven), and wrap your hands around his waist.

“Told you so,” he hums. You smile into his neck, because who would have thought star pitcher of the varsity baseball team, Jeon Jungkook would be into cheesy picnic dates and watching the sunrise?

“You’re cute,” you quip afterwards.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Jungkook, you’re my boyfriend.”

“How embarrassing.”

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Say my name and everything just stops

A sound so sweet, of you and me - 11 - First name

Oookay, here we are. It’s been such a stressful day (don’t start world wars, people!) and as a result, I can’t focus on anything so I can’t promise this chapter will be as closely proofread as the others... anyways, this contains guarenteed more fluff than this week’s episodes ^^

Story: In a world where you only know who your soulmate is by calling them their first name, Matteo soon finds that the smallest words can be the hardest to say.

Word count: 3.3k

Ever since his couch had found it’s place in Matteo’s room, he loved it. But he never loved it quite as much as now, with Luna laying on top of him like a big kitten – a kitten that smiled into his chest and curled up closer instead of purring.

“You know, you make a really good pillow”, she mumbled as he gently let his hand wander over her back. “Maybe I should take you home.”

He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Maybe I’d let you.”

Luna tilted her head, her eyes finding his, full of happiness and joy and maybe, just maybe, she’d start purring for real any second.

Leaning forward, he stole a kiss from her nose.

She flinched. As he moved, her hands suddenly laid on his stomach, supporting her and by the look on her face, his abs didn’t go unnoticed. (The extra exercises definitely paid off.)

“If I took you home, you’d have to meet my parents. For real.”

Matteo’s hand kept wandering over her skin. She was already so close – he was literally covered by her – yet he wanted, needed, to feel more. Like a junkie always searching for a bigger hit.

“I know”, he replied.

“You seemed pretty nervous about it the other day”, she teased. “And my parents are actually nice, they won’t eat you or something. The only Italian they eat is pizza. Sometimes pasta, but not on weekends.”

Matteo hummed in agreement, a joke on his lips but then she shifted, her hips jolting against his and all his thoughts fell silent while his stomach lit up in flames.

Luna smiled at him. Her hand stroke his abs, moving along to the sides and it left trails of fire behind. He loved everything about this. Her smile. Them being wrapped up in each other, how she had to stretch to kiss him. How she made him happy, happy, happy.

“You realize that I’m falling in love with you, my little moon, right?”

Maybe it was selfish of him.

Luna deserved her name to be said, she deserved it coming out of his mouth. She deserved everything he could give her and so much more than that.

Yet, it never came across his lips.

Sometimes he imagined saying it. When they skated, and he felt like floating in the air. When she snuggled him, her curls tickling the skin on his arms and the touch of her body warming the coldest bits of his soul. The word would form in his throat every time, only to get exchanged for a nickname in the end.

Again, and again, and again.

Sometimes he caught her wrinkling her forehead now. Other times she only smiled like no cloud ever appeared on her very own, very blue sky. It bugged him, the feeling he disappointed her, but at the same time he just didn’t want this irrevocable proof, this shattered dream and the hauling demons lingering in the broken pieces of it.

So, he never said it.

It must have been selfish for sure. Luna gave and gave, she was like his personal Santa Clause all year long, and slowly he reached a point where he unpacked her gifts with the itching sensation that he got much more than he earned, deserved.

But she did it with a smile – he loved that smile, so much – so he spilled out how happy he felt around her and how he admired her until she replied by smiling even brighter.

In these moments, Luna’s aura burned the slightest shade of darkness in the world, burned the shadows until he only saw light.

In these moments, he slowly realized it would be okay.

He’d taken her out for ice creams. Just like that, for no other reason than to surprise her. Or that’s what he told her.

She loved those casual dates. Whether in school or at the rink, their friends lurked by closely, always in plain sight or hearing distance. So, getting Matteo all for herself was something special, like a weekend trip, and Luna enjoyed it just as much.

“Does it really bother you?”, he inquired in the middle of her second strawberry scoop.

A tiny pink dot landed on his cheek as she spoon-fed him, and when she laughed, he frowned.

Luna held in. “What does?”

“That I haven’t said your name yet.”

Her spoon clinked against the cup, with the ice cream falling right back into it. She had expected him to avoid this topic the same way he tip-toed around Gastón’s (inevitable) puns. Even now, with his question hanging in the air, she expected him to look away or fidget with the menu or stare on the menu – any sign of impatient anxiety, really.

She was wrong.

Instead of avoiding any eye contact, his eyes took her in, scanned her, studied her detail by detail. No anxiety, no fear, at least not for her to see.

“Look”, she rested her hand on top of his. “I don’t understand it. But it’s okay, it’s your decision and I will accept whatever you want to do. I’ll be fine either way.”

(Maybe she was wrong about something else too. Maybe he cared more about soulmates than she believed.)

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

Finally, Matteo smiled too. His gaze wandered to their hands while he played with her fingers. “Oh, just one more thing”, Luna added after she finished her ice cream.

“What?”

“Can I have one more scoop? Please? Just one!”

Matteo shook his head only to break out in laughter. “You’re insatiable.”

“Matteo, can I borrow your notes from physics class?”

“Why? You sat right next to me”, Matteo answered while he waited for Gastón to finally change from his PE clothes into his school uniform.

“I wasn’t paying much attention, besides that woman writes too fast to keep track. And you were writing the entire time, I thought I could just ask you.”

How incredibly unfortunate. “I wasn’t taking notes.”

Gastón completely did not approve of this. Matteo knew that before his best friend paused mid-changing his shirt to send him a distasteful click of his tongue.

“You can’t judge me, you said yourself you weren’t listening”, Matteo defended himself. “And hurry up, I don’t want to be late for lunch again only because of your slow ass.”

“Nina likes my slow ass.”

He rolled his eyes. One more minute and he’d take care of Gastón’s stupid tie himself. This laid-back fumbling made him nervous. “Yeah, because she’s your soulmate.”

“You’re my soulmate too.”

“Touché. Still, hurry up.”

Finally, Gastón grabbed his bag and walked towards the door. “I’m going to ask Ramiro for his notes. Dude copies faster than a printer. But what were you writing?”

They stepped outside into the air that felt even warmer compared to the air condition in the locker rooms. A few students relaxed on the grass, the younger ones chased each other around. Above them all, right in the middle of the sky, Matteo found the moon, lost in between the bright blue of the day. He smiled.

“I started writing a new song.”

“Uh, what’s it called? Ode to the moon? Moonstruck?”

“I can’t tell you often enough, you aren’t even half as funny as you think you are.”

Gastón crossed his arms in front of his chest, huffing, “Duh, I’m punny.”

“Not even that.”

It took Luna a good moment to pin-point the difference in Matteo’s room.

“You changed the sheets.” Dark blue and cotton replaced the satin. Very soft cotton, she found out when she let her hand wander over the fabric.

“Well, drunk you didn’t like them, so yes, I changed them.”

Drunk you. To her own surprise, she remembered that evening pretty well, though cuddling him turned out to be the most vivid memory. (It had felt as if he put a flame in her chest, but that flame was also what made her feel more alive than skating or singing or anything else she’d ever done.)

“I’d rather we not speak of drunk me again.”

Matteo let himself fall on the couch and pouted at her but waved her over at the same time. “I liked drunk you. Sober you doesn’t compliment me half as much.”

Luna climbed on his lap. “Sober me has to protect the world from your ego, that’s why.”

In the end, she had to kiss his pout away. Not that she minded.

Luna sat on his lap. His shirt had magically found its way on the ground and her hand cradled his hair. At first, her other hand gently rested on his cheek, but soon she caused goosebumps all over his skin. Featherlight kisses on his jawline, on his mouth, on his neck deleted any coherent thoughts, and he tried to get a hold of whatever was closest to his own mouth. Her nose brushed against his jawline before she went for this little spot behind his ears that just felt so good.

Matteo almost giggled when her knees pressed into his sides at her attempt to get closer but there were her lips on his and he could only pull her in.

“I really like that you have the whole house to yourself”, she whispered in between slow kisses.

He slightly nodded as to not disturb her in her mission to kiss as many spots of his face as possible. “I really like that your parents let you stay over.”

As she left more pecks on his cheek, he felt her grin. Her fingers painted the lines of his body in glorious colors, like an artist created a masterpiece, leaving behind a trail of her love wherever she touched him.

“The only reason they let me is because you finally had dinner with us and convinced them you don’t just want to seduce me.”

Matteo chuckled. Even in case he planned to seduce her – one look from her and he’d do anything she wanted.

“I even had to have this embarrassing ‘We hope you are staying safe’ talk”, she went on. A blush slipped on her face.

By the stars, he’d take in the sight of her for the rest of time without getting tired.

“And?”, he asked, pretending they hadn’t had this conversation yet. “Are you? Staying safe?” His hands ran along her spine. She arched into him, resting her head on his shoulder. At the sensation of his lips on her hair, she sighed.

“Let’s see – I’m alone with my boyfriend in a huge house. His shirt is off and we’re making out on his couch…”

“So?”

Luna grinned into his shoulder. “I think I’m good.”

He began to draw circles on her back, sometimes sneaking down to the hem of her top. “They’re probably happy to hear that.” Luna wrapped her arms around his neck. “And your parents?”

A huff escaped before he got the chance to hold it in. “They’re not too invested in my life and this time, I’m actually glad about it.”

Within a moment, she sat up enough to meet his eyes. She opened her mouth, perhaps to say she felt sorry for him – either way, he didn’t let her and kissed her instead.

More kisses. Calm and steady, like rain drops against his window on a summer night. His legs eventually lost all feeling, which didn’t matter. Luna made him feel so many things, so many more things than he’d ever imagined, that numb legs wouldn’t stop him from tasting her lips.

Luna simply was intoxicating.

And tired. She broke away to yawn loudly, then rubbed her eyes.

“I think we should go to bed”, Matteo said, caressing her cheek. A smile, sluggish yet warm. “Only if you keep your shirt off.”

Darkness. His blanket. And Luna in his arms, peacefully breathing into his chest.

Matteo knew he should feel happy.

He did. Mostly. Because this one thought, this one crippling fear of his, grew louder and stronger the more time he spent with Luna.

First, it only hovered in the back of his mind, kept in check by all the light she radiated. The darkness now lured it out of that corner, until he felt like he’d explode if he didn’t ask her.

“Are you awake?” he whispered into the silence.

Luna shifted, a soft groan on her lips. “Hm? You okay?” Her voice reminded him of her drunk version. Perhaps – hopefully – she’d be just as honest.

“Would you leave me? If you find your soulmate?”

“What?”

Surprise, even shock filled her tone. “No! I’d never leave you.” As if to prove it, she wrapped her arm around him and robbed closer.

His doubt remained, and he hated himself for it. “What if… what if you only think that now?”

She caught his lips, but he was certain he left a bitter taste, and she pulled away soon. “Listen”, her finger poked his chest, tapping it with each word she spoke. “I’m not waiting to meet someone who might not even exist for all I know.”

Matteo breathed in deeply. The nausea slowly faded from his stomach pit, the oxygen flew into his lungs more easily.

“I don’t even know if that person is real or if I have seen them before or even know them already, and I don’t care”, Luna continued. “I don’t care, because I don’t want someone else and you are not a puffer until I meet my soulmate. You’re not second best. This is my choice, and I choose you. Got it?”

In loss for words, he hugged her. (If you could hug a person you laid in bed with and they already were in your arms.) “I choose you too. Thank you.”

This time, when they kissed, she didn’t pull away. He did, but only to worship the soft skin of her neck.

“What are you doing?”, Luna asked, her voice hoarse now, an indistinct moan hidden in it.

“Nothing. But you might wanna use your scarf tomorrow.”

“Matteo!”

Of course, meeting Gastón by the rink the next day ended up in an awkward situation. For Luna, anyway. Her idiot boyfriend grinned so hard his mouth almost formed a circle.

“I see you’re wearing my scarf.” A satisfied smirk and wiggling eyebrows, always the wiggling eyebrows. “Nice.”

His closet was gigantic. Literally, and ridiculously gigantic, both Luna and all her clothes would fit into this monstrosity ten times. She never even imagined the possibility of someone owning a closet like that, except for Ámbar, of course.

How was she supposed to find a blanket in here?

“It’s somewhere in the lower drawers”, Matteo told her while he put his shirt back on.

When she opened the first drawer, she found no blanket.

She found something much better.

“I can’t believe you own hoodies”, she gasped, her mouth even formed this little ‘o’ but then, she snickered, “Or wear them.”

He muttered something that she failed to understand. Maybe some Italian curses? At least he showed no intention of stopping her, so she dug further. Between two dark blue hoodies, one piece of cotton looked weirdly familiar.

“Hey, I think I know this one! You wore it before, no?”

No answer.

Her brain sorted through her memory, in eager search for the right moment. It must’ve been months ago… Only after a few seconds passed did she remember. “Oh, I know, when you were skating with Gastón in the park and I ended up watching you!”

Matteo groaned. Although the first three buttons of his shirt weren’t closed yet, he shot forward to get the hoodie away from her.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so”, Luna laughed, the hoodie tightly pressed to her chest. “You can have it back when you answer me one question.”

“What question?” “You were so cranky that day, and I always wondered what was wrong.”

A pout unfolded on his face. “It’s embarrassing.”

When she simply waved the hoodie in front of him, he sighed. “I didn’t expect you to be there, and I hadn’t put any effort whatsoever into how I looked.”

For a second, she believed he was joking. Matteo always cared about how he looked, regardless of where or who he was with. Always. That was just a part of him, end of it.

But a soft – the softest pink – spread over his cheeks, and it blew away her doubt. She stood on her toes to press a kiss on his blush. “Aww, that’s really adorable.”

“Can I get my hoodie back now? And can you get this blanket, so we can go and pretend this never happened? Please?”

“No.” With a grin, Luna pulled the hoodie over her head. The cotton felt soft on her skin – whoever took care of the laundry surely used fabric softener – and when she buried her nose in it, it still gave off the scent of his perfume. (Or deo, Luna wasn’t sure.)

“I don’t need a blanket, I’ll just wear this.” It fit her like a blanket anyway. “Oh, and don’t forget these open buttons”, she added, chuckling. “No one wants to see you half-naked.”

Finally, this sparked a smirk on Matteo’s lips. “Didn’t seem like that earlier.”

Every word failed to grasp the color of the sunset in front of him. Not really pink, not really orange, only these vibrant last rays of the sun against the baby blue sky leaking through the clouds.

A beautiful sight, truly, still his gaze ended up stuck on Luna.

“Sure you don’t want a blanket?” he snickered as yet another shiver ran over her spine.

“I can use you as one”, she replied, robbing closer until her head rested on his chest and her hands sneaked between their bodies. He felt the coldness coming from her skin through his clothes. When he slightly shook his head at her, she only snuggled closer.

“But now you can’t see the stars.”

“I can look at you instead”, she whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

“Not as much as you are.”

In her eyes, he found a reflection of himself. The fondness in them rendered him speechless, it warmed his bones better than any tea or blanket ever could and it was all he could focus on in this moment.

A part of him continued to struggle, struggled to believe he deserved so much happiness. That he got to lay here, with her in his arms, and that things were perfectly fine, that they fit like a puzzle he’d been trying to solve his whole life. Luna’s words rang in his ears, resonating in his heart as well – I choose you.

They weren’t soulmates, but for the first time, the thought didn’t bother him. It didn’t awake any fears or doubts, it was nothing but a thought. And, compared to all the other beautiful ones she evoked, it crumbled into a minor, unimportant one.

“Don’t fall asleep, you hear me?” He let his hand run over her arm, carefully so he wouldn’t disturb her in case she already drifted away behind her closing eyes.

“Mh-hm”, she mumbled. Eventually, the movement of his chest bothered her enough to lift her head. “What?”

Another smile on his lips. She looked so adorable, and his heart calmly beat in his ribcage and he felt at home, like he belonged right here, like every other place he’d ever seen only existed to lead him to this moment, to her.

“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking.”

“You can do that?” She laughed and flipped his nose. He snorted, glad she couldn’t see the grin his mouth formed. “And what were you thinking?”, she wanted to know but before she gave him the chance to reply, she kissed him. Her hand cupped his cheek and when she pulled away, her eyes outshone the brightest of stars sparkling above their heads.

He knew with every fiber of his being that this was the perfect moment. The one golden opportunity.

“I’m in love with you, Luna.”

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One Stroll Of Many During COVID-19 (03/22/20)

I went out for a walk this weekend. Because of the virus, the roadways weren’t crowded with its usual hustle & bustle. You could cross every corner with ease, and the whooshing noise of tires against asphalt was strangely minimal and sporadic. The occasional passerby came near, and quickly diverted to their mandated six-feet-away distance. Don’t really know how affective the six-foot rule is when applied to a passerby, but the elderly and middle aged are terrified and I feel for them. No one really smiled in my direction, or acknowledged me, with the exception of two people: a some-odd 80 year old with a walker and a middle aged man who was singing a rock tune aloud for the residents on Summit Avenue to hear.

The season is transitioning into spring, and the smell in the air washed over a feeling of nostalgia. As it does with every change, as the last days of a season slowly dissipate, you can feel the impending linger of the one to follow approaching; the familiar smells of emerging plants, a light breeze floating throughout the air, the sight of new blooming and budding florals and the warmth from sunlight. These things, they tend to cause me to recollect the times I’ve experienced this environment before. It’s been quite a few springtimes since I thought about my previous years during this season as a child. I think it was the emptiness of the roads that led me to remember. And as soon as my memory began its regaling, just as abruptly, I could feel a trace of sadness etching itself throughout my body, magically slaloming its way. I felt like I was remembering something I loved, and deeply realizing that I would never be able to relive that love again. And yeah--no shit. I never will, in the sense that I’m no longer a child and can't time travel back a couple decades. But I wasn’t exactly wishing I could be a child again, or have my youth suddenly reappear.

In the 90′s, and early 2000′s, quality of life was different. My parents moved to the suburbs of New Jersey as it was what they could afford that was in relatively close distance to New York. They were musicians; my dad, a pianist and composer, and my mom, an opera singer. They wanted to do the family thing too, so they also acquired full-time jobs that granted them a steady earning. At the time, New Jersey made sense. It was a reprieve from city life. Life was of a slower pace in this region. We lived in a two-family on one of our town’s main roads that had a large backyard with a small gathering of woods. Stray cats were always making their way through the holes in our fence. We had a patio, complete with a barbecue grill and yellow metal furniture, which sounds heinous, but was surprisingly adorable. There was ample room all along the sides of the yard for my mom to pursue one of her hobbies--gardening--and still, there was leftover space for a swing-set and for my neighbors and I to run around and play a game of kickball.

As a kid, I did things. I rode my scooter to the park to play basketball, and we’d wait for the ice cream truck to sound it’s irritating yet welcoming melody. We’d go to the concession stand near the baseball diamond and get slushies and cheese fries. I would try to learn how to skateboard. The park was always crowded. Everyone from athletic kids to swarms of third and fourth grade girls obsessing over nail polishes and Lip Smackers chapsticks would rally around this place. I could see everyone from babies learning the concept of sand castles, to kids my age from school that I undoubtedly had no desire to run into. I loved walking into the neighboring town and going to the comic book store, or the game zone, where I’d collect pogs and crazy bones and pokemon cards and beanie babies--whatever I happened to be into hoarding at the moment. I’d go to book stores and pick up random young adult novels. I’d go to the movies. I’d go rent movies. There was a roller rink ten minutes away, and every weekend it was the cool place to go and whiz around (or in my instance, hold onto the railing and wall while everyone sped by me) while the edited version of Mase’s current single blasted from the DJ’s speakers. I’d go bowling. I’d visit arcades that weren’t Dave & Buster’s. I loved just being outside, meeting up with friends, walking to go get pizza. Flipping through magazines at the local convenient store. Having slumber parties and shutting the lights off while everyone took a turn at singing karaoke. Everything was an adventure and an all-senses-engaged experience. Even if it was just standing in a store parking lot and talking. Even if it was stealing someone’s aunt’s cigarettes and sneakily trying them behind a building in a schoolyard. Not just because I was young and new to the world, but because everyone was presently living, truly experiencing and sharing one another’s company. Communicating. Discovering commonalities. Making jokes about ideas or things happening in that very moment. Even when I was alone as a kid, I MADE things. I wrote stories, I would film movies on our camcorder and write scripts. I would try to do arts and crafts like things, like make tye-dye shirts or fiddle around with play-dough. I would be immersed in one thing at a time. If my friends and I were stuck hanging out indoors, we would prank call people. We would make up dumb card games or come up with something creative to unpack and figure out together as a team.

Everything has just always felt more loose in the past. Even during high school and college years. House parties were incredible. Yes, nowadays, I do get invited to a house for a“party” but its not the same. It feels more like we’re elitists corresponding over dinner and bottles of wine. There’s no more house parties where you’re meeting a bunch of strangers. There’s no more hosting house parties where you’re wondering,“who the fuck is that in my house playing beer pong?” (I held a couple of those in the mid 2000′s.) The best parties are ones that were an extended invite where you barely know anyone that’s there. I remember how my parents held parties in their 40′s and 50′s and it was so much more lively and energetic. The need to take a photo to put on Facebook has altered that.

Block parties were a thing. Not only throughout my town for children, but in other towns for teenagers and adults. I remember going to one in Mahwah where an entire town house community threw a block party and everyone was running in and out of everyone’s houses. People were dancing in the streets. Liquor and pot were flowing and stinking up everything. And everyone was friendly and receiving--you didn’t have to live in that community to be invited to that event. Where are block parties like that now? We would go play billiards--there was such a thing as a pool hall then. We would go on walks just to get away from our homes and have in-depth conversations about life. We’d find dead-ended roads to smoke pot on. I used to love driving around when the weather would start to make its way towards a warmer climate, and play an upbeat song from my stereo, with the windows rolled down. I didn’t need a place to go. I could just enjoy being, and driving, with the wind knotting my stringy hair and the sun smoldering my legs.

It trickles down to this inescapable feeling that over the last few years, we were not, and are not, really living. Everything is all about social media posting, taking selfies, being a celebrity and voice of the generation in some capacity, or any capacity that any individual can grab ahold of. Physical appearance and beauty has taken things to an insane measure with eyelash extensions, wigs, botox, heavy makeup and more things I’m probably unaware of becoming the norm. None of these statements are new streams of consciousness. I don’t deserve a high five for stating the obvious. I just can’t shake this feeling that as the human race, we are failing to enjoy being alive, in a tremendous amount of aspects. Besides lacking basic communication and abilities to live and experience each other wholly, we also do not experience anything else singularly and in entirety.

There was a time you had to work for things. You made mixed CDs or mixed tapes for people you cared about. Discovering new music and performers was an art form. You’d have to catch a song on the radio, or a music video on television, or scope out and take a chance on an artist by purchasing an album at a record store. The thrill of the hunt is gone with resources like Spotify and Apple music, and with so much accessibility to so many artists, it in someways makes it more daunting to find the diamonds in the rough or those with innovative sounds. People watched movies or television shows without simultaneously being on their phone. (Most people couldn’t wait for their favorite show to air!) People went on vacation and stared at a sunset without feeling the need to snap a photo for an immediate publication. People went out on actual dates instead of meeting their date with all their friends at a club or only getting coffee for 45 minutes. People used to walk around a mall instead of ordering everything online. Shopping was an actual activity that involved your whole body as oppose to just your finger clicking a mouse, or your thumb hitting your phone. People would physically hold books, and turn pages, and smell that “book smell” instead of staring at a screen. People used to go over a friend’s house and not be on their phone. People used to go anywhere and not be on their phone. What the fuck is going to happen to our retinas in the coming years?

Now, in the town I was raised in, the roadways are crowded.

I remember as a kid, staring out the window and watching local residents hop off the bus and walk down our road. Men carrying briefcases and sauntering off as if they were on a mission. There was a guy we called“army man” as he always was fully suited in a camouflage uniform, and marched back and forth daily on our block. Cars would drive by, but it wouldn’t be an endless supply of them. Now, it’s endless. There can be bumper-to bumper traffic on the road in that one-square mile town during certain hours. It’s rare to see people gallivanting the sidewalk today, unless it’s 3 am and they’re a townie staggering home annihilated from the local bar. Or they’re walking their dog, I suppose.

What I’m trying to say is this: I miss the simplicity of being in the moment. I don’t think we all need to mediate and take on yoga to understand how to do that. We just need to hold respect for all the incredible activities, people, experiences and memories we are gifted in this lifetime, and when you respect something, you pay attention to it. We need to pay attention to each other, and ourselves. The need to be alone and completely still became so abundantly clear on this stroll. I walked for an hour and a half. I looked at the houses. I noticed the trees that now had flowers sprouting with undeniable joy. I didn’t let anything cloud my mind except what wanted to swim to the surface. It was the best moment of my day, and given the absurd craziness we’re engulfed with now, quite possibly the best time of my week.

This virus outbreak--it’s terrifying. It’s plaguing not just our country, but the entire world. I cannot speak for how other countries live their day to day, but I can speak from my perspective, and it seems to me that we have run this world tired. It’s depleted, and can no longer rise from it’s crippling plunge. We take our offerings from Earth for granted. We take our gifts from God for granted. We take each other for granted. We now deem everything as urgent, and need everything to be so nonsensically fast. The deaths of those we love come across as a consequence of our actions. It is a wakeup call, and a call to action at that. And by action, I don’t mean make a post to create awareness--take action by literally changing and reverting ourselves back to a more minimalistic and simple way of life. Happiness shouldn’t stem from items, the ego or entrepreneurship--happiness derives from that indescribable satisfaction of doing nothing. Of being. Of taking risks and reveling in the company of those whom you wish to keep.

I can’t visit my parents or my family dog, and I miss them. We are waiting to hear if a family friend has passed away from this virus. It is scary and sad to think it hit him so rapidly, and that he arrived at the hospital alone, and potentially died alone with no visitors and no one surrounding him. This is a horrible catastrophe and I can’t understand the reasoning behind it. But I so want to believe that something beautiful will be built from this gloomy and discouraging time. I so want to believe that as people we have the power to take these ruins and make life more graceful and resplendent than it was before.

Despite my wanting, it’s evident that we all need to.

Please stay safe. Prayers up. xo

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