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razbunz · 2 months

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Best of the worst

Toji x Fem!Reader CW: Average Toji Activities,Older Bf Toji,Brief Suggestiveness, Smoking,Shiu's there too guys.

Scumbag Toji! Who spots you working the late shift at a local dinner, He’s with Shiu ordering some food after a late mission. Where he cant help but smile and wink at you when you take their orders, Enjoying your little reactions to his suggestive jokes. He watches your ass when you walk away, The tight uniform leaving little to the imagination. Shiu shakes his head at Tojis antics.

Scumbag Toji! Giving you a wad of cash; quickly scribbling his name and number onto the receipt. His watchful eyes not missing the way your eyes light up seeing it. You hand over the change, giving him a moment to hold onto your hand a second too long. As he leaves you offer a shy smile. It's all he needs.

Scumbag Toji! Picks up his phone, Realizing it’s you he dips his hand into his boxers- Asking you about your day with little huffs of breath in between. He flirts with you throughout the call trying not to moan at your voice through his cracked burner phone. He smirks as he strikes a date with you.

Scumbag Toji! Cleaning up before his date, Shaving and trimming up his hair trying to cover up a few of his gray hairs. He puts on a black dress shirt with ash colored slacks,A silver stud earring on his left earlobe matching the silver cuffs adorning his wrists. He rolls up his sleeves showing up to your pad. Honking the horn of his 2006 Matte Grey Maserati coupe. It smells like tobacco mainly, with an ashtray on the center console. But when you smell his aftershave it makes your head swim with warmth.

Scumbag Toji! Take you to a restaurant downtown-It’s lit with candles and the walls are decorated in vintage wine bottles. A bouquet awaits you once you sit down, full of white Gardenias & Asters; Blush pink roses and baby’s breath dot the mix. It’d be a lie to say your heart doesn't flutter.

Scumbag Toji! Avoiding all personal questions, When you ask him what he does for work he takes a long sip of Cabernet wine, he responds with “Don’t worry dollface, I work hard.” When you give a look of confusion he changes the subject to how you're doing.

Scumbag Toji! Who restrains from devouring you whole when he drives you home.He holds back and opts for a kiss on your cheek.Once he arrives home it pains him that he held back.So he pulls a photo he took of your and finishes the job he should've done.

Boyfriend Toji! Surprisingly keeps taking you on dates, giving you money and little gifts. He knows you like plushies and gives you a giant teddy bear.It has a voice box in the paw and every time you press it the bear says “I love you.” But by far your favorite is a Vivienne Westwood Aleska pendant necklace, he gave you on the 9th date…The rose colored pearl shines up whenever you look at it.

Boyfriend Toji! Listening to your pleas to go for a joyride in his altered Maserati, the 3am highways raging with acceleration and tire marks. The radio turned so loud it drowns out all of your screams of joy. So when the adrenaline fades and he looks at you like you're the only one in the whole world.It's hard not to join him in the backseat.

Boyfriend Toji! Who's only been closer to you since then, (half because he got what he wanted he’s still a lil scummy) showing more affection to you. He even invites you over to his place-A nondescript house in a pretty nice neighborhood. But it’s so plain inside with one door locked under key.

Boyfriend Toji! Where you stumble into the guest room,It's an arsenal really. With sword sheaths covered in dried crimson. You're not dumb, You know it's not ‘paint’. But when he calls out your name, fear strikes your heart. Toji looks mortified and conflicted as if he should do something- But he drops his hands to his side and after a little confrontation he sits down with you and explains everything.

Boyfriend Toji! Crying in front of you for the first time, his eyes looking like he'd rather jump off the Tokyo tower than meet your gaze.His voice attempts to hold strong despite all the wavering his chest shudders when he bites back a sob.He lets you kiss a few of the tears away despite frequently claiming that, “He doesn't want pity.” It's not a pity though,It's acceptance.

Boyfriend Toji! Who's genuinely surprised you remain with him. And he takes a short break from work because of it, deciding to focus just on the two of you. Shiu is absolutely flabbergasted that he took a break, but his wallet is thankful.

Boyfriend Toji! Adores the marks on his back that you embellished him with during his break,Fawning over them and is not afraid to say it. But in your defense for making him a human scratching post…It's his fault that your eyes roll back as he hits all the right spots so that you can't think anymore. Luckily for you he coos and babies you after, giving you a nice warm bath and cuddling you to sleep as his large hands run through your hair.

(Boyfriend) Fiance Toji! Who brings to a botanical garden with you wearing a rose pink sundress that hugs your body perfectly, his choice. He sports an ivory gray outfit including the silver necklace that almost mirrors yours. So when he drops to one knee opening a red velvet box with a giant 4 Karat princess cut diamond in front of you, Incessant nodding and sobbing is what follows when your brain catches up with your eyes.

Fiance Toji! Listening to your pleas to do the little ‘couple activities’ you've been so intrigued about online. You make matching hoodies with him;a Hello Daniel patch adorning his hoodie and a matching Hello Kitty one on yours. An eyeroll is what you receive to the idea but he ends up wearing it a lot more than he intended to. Not always by your shining request.

Fiance Toji! Who is surprisingly good at making candles,Looking to decorate the new house with more personal mementos. So when the instructor gets a little to comfy with you he shoots him a glare that would send a doberman running. Giving you consistent kisses throughout the rest of the time.

Fiance Toji! Sitting down for cake testing for your wedding in the near future. The two of you try various flavors, anything from a classic vanilla to a boysenberry compote sponge cake. He agrees with your choice on the Raspberry cake with a light chocolate filling in-between each layer, which after much bickering was decided to be 4 layers. With cake toppers that you almost fought him for.

Fiance Toji! Getting hired for a huge job just weeks before the wedding. You cry and weep at the front porch holding onto him begging him not to go. He escapes your grasp easily, ordering Shiu to bring you inside while you're hysterically sobbing and screaming at Shiu to let you go. Toji pulls Shiu outside soon after your sobs are gone.

“If you make any moves, Ill fucking kill you.” and holds Shiu by the collar,it catches him off guard and he almost drops his cigarette. “Wasn't planning on it.” Shiu looks up at Tojis cold eyes whispering “Don't die.Don't do that to the girl.” and Toji leaves for the taxi.

Fiance Toji! Feeling like an asshole as he waits for the victim to appear so he can get home to you,He sighs and his eyes catch a gleam of silver before his reflexes do.

Toji. Getting stabbed in the shoulder by the assailant,He hisses in pain but quickly unlatches his handgun on his waist and quickly releases two bullets into his head.He's covered in blood as he stumbles down from the rooftop, sniper rifle in hand killing his target as he saunters down the street. At least he still gets the money.

Toji. Covering up the blade still lodged in his shoulder with the target's white blazer.Its quickly dyed red as he hops onto the last subway of the night towards home.

Toji. Hearing you wail in agony as he stumbles up the hill to the house where you sob on the balcony. Shiu tries to explain to you that his calls aren't going through. You shiver in his grasp when he runs your shoulders up and down whispering words trying to comfort you. Tojis phone is long abandoned and shattered into millions of pieces in a city that seems so far away. He takes a shaky breath as he feels your gaze rake over his injured body. He swears you've never gone downstairs that fast. You run until you clasp him into a tight hug,When he winces your worry only deepens.

Toji. Smoking a cigarette as you begin wrapping the deep bloody gash where the knife was lodged.Your no doctor and he offers some pointers along the way, Shiu berates him during the whole process but still pours him a glass of Scotch to numb the nerves.

Toji. Who gets better just in time for his suit fitting.Its tapered off at his hip and it’s an achingly beautiful shade of midnight blue, he can only hope you love it too.

Husband Toji! Standing at the altar, Fingernails digging into his skin as he silently recites his vows under his breath. Did he say too much? Too little? He doesn’t even know anymore. But as soon as the first note of a Violin plays his head clears when he faces the aisle. Facing you.

In a flowing crisp white dress, The veil is embedded with tiny Akoya pearls and bits of lace. It burns his eyes to look at you too long. And once you take place on the altar he can feel his face heat up from trying not to cry. He never thought he would be here.Let alone deserve you.

Husband Toji! Who takes all the strength in the world to start his vows,His voice shakes and quivers as he starts.But gains strength with every word he speaks. He doesn't even need to rack his memory; some words just flow out. Halfway he doubts if it's what he wrote a month ago at his bachelors party. Shiu stands as his best man, looking baffled.

He closes his vows, meeting your eyes with renowned vigor. You look at him, now filled with warmth, smile and recite your vows. At least for the majority of the time,Having to look away every now and then to not destroy your makeup. When you finish,Toji nods and discreetly wipes his eyes. It does not prevent the shimmer of tears on his thumb and index finger.

Husband Toji! Who slips the ring onto your finger,and feeling his skin brushing yours almost makes you collapse. He grins when you do the same- as the officiant gives their blessing. And as soon as the word “Kiss” leaves their mouth,He’s already on you kissing as if he might not ever again.

Toji,Who can’t imagine his life without you now.

AN/ I really appreciate the support ive gotten so far thank you! Please let me know if you liked it- AND! if you want me to write a pt 2 featuring Father Toji 💓

#toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk fluff #jjk writing #jjk #toji x you #drabbles

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apoptoses · 10 months

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Have you ever been reading Devil’s Minion and thinking to yourself, “damn, I just can’t nail down a face for Daniel”? Have you watched Interview with the Vampire and felt like neither Christian Slater nor River Phoenix hit the mark for you?

Allow me to introduce you to James fucking Spader.

Look at him! Is that not the face of Daniel, completely fed up with Armand feeding his cigarettes down the garbage disposal?

He’s got the naive and beautiful face but ALSO the defiant yet beseeching thing down! Also he was like 22 here, which is right around the age Daniel met Armand so he’s at peak Healthy, Pretty Molloy here. No wonder Louis decided to take him home!!

“Do you know what a zip code is, or a tax bracket? I’m the one who buys all the goddamned airline tickets. Millions. How are we going to get millions! Steal another Maserati and be done with it, for God’s sakes!”

Spader is the original 80′s pretty boy you’d assume starred as the leading man in some schmoopy romances or schlocky teen dramas and he did that for a minute. Like check him out in Pretty in Pink-

Is this not peak Night Island Daniel, in his Miami Vice looking bespoke suit ready to head out with Armand for the night?

Look at him snuggled into his blanket in Tuff Turf, like Daniel hungover and forcibly woken up to honky tonk piano tunes!

But the deliciousness doesn’t end at his looks. Because in true Molloy fashion that man said ‘you know what? I wanna make movies for freaks and weirdos only’

In Sex, Lies and Videotape he plays the sweetest pervert who loves interviewing women about their sex lives, video taping it, and then watching them back naked but not actually getting off! He’s impotent, he’s a gentle and lovely weirdo, there’s vampire!Daniel fodder for days in this one.

Crash is a horny flick that defies all explanation and really you need to go in blind if you’re gonna watch this one, but let me just say this: If Spader and his Wife in this film aren’t the most Daniel and Armand coded couple in cinema history I will eat my shoes. Also there’s tons of beautiful footage of him driving around at night with his blond hair ruffling in the breeze.

Your prefer your Daniel with glasses? Oh, perfect, because in Bad Influence he plays a sweet guy who gets into a fucked up situation with a toxic friend and a sex tape!

In Storyville he lets himself be thrown on the floor and lays there submissively before getting involved in yet another sex tape scandal!

Don’t even get me started on Dream Lover, another smut filled romp (with some filthy deleted scenes if you google the uncut version) which has the most Devil’s Minion promo photos of all time-

Like! Get the fuck out!

I could just go all day about his body of work but some of it you’ve just gotta see for yourself. In pretty much every film you’re guaranteed smut with him being deliciously submissive, extremely gentle with his hands, and down for all kinds of kink. And in most of his movies he gets bloody at least once, like-

this is a shitty picture i took of my laptop but look at the blood at the corner of his mouth! Vampire activities!

In summary, let me hit you with a photo dump:

Daniel laying in a cheap motel room during the chase years!

Daniel with delightful 70s hair!

More glasses!Daniel!

Daniel with a half-buttoned 80′s shirt looking so beautiful it’s no wonder Armand couldn’t NOT turn him!

It’s dark, he’s wet, he looks exhausted!

He’s the ideal beautiful Molloy Weirdo and I will not be accepting any other arguments, goodbye!!

#it's Molloy Monday folks #strap in and get ready for this one #because this one is gonna change ur LIFE #i've been watching his films for like two months now #and they all have DM fodder in one way or another #i just can't believe he moves and touches and kisses exactly how i pictured daniel before i watched any of his stuff #also watching crash is a fucking religious experience #i highly recommend doing so without reading any spoilers #but yeah if you're reading my fic this is the man i am picturing as daniel as i write #ur welcome ♥#vc headcanons #armand/daniel #daniel molloy #Spader Molloy Masterpost

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

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shut up and drive // lando norris ( street racing au!)

summary: headcanons i wrote after watching the fast and the furious movies . . . enough said. lando is infatuated with the woman in the pink mustang who kicks his ass in a bristol street race.

pairing: street racer!lando norris x street racer! reader

the bristol street racing scene is intense

its run by a young blonde american using daddy's money to have a little bit of extra fun

and as far as everybody is concerned, the quadrant street racing team own the circuit, they're the undisputed champions

max fewtrell, ria bish and lando norris.

lando has been the reigning champion for three years running

he’s made over a billion british pounds via street racing

until y/n y/l/n appears on the scene

beating pierre gasly in her rookie race and winning five grand

and lando is intrigued, like any man would be

her hot pink mustang meanders into the clearing, bright spot lights shining down as she stops next to max fewtrells lime green maserati

“is that her?” lando asks quietly, watching the drivers side door creep open

she steps out, wearing white cowboy boots and skin-tight blue jeans, a shirt emblazoned in an old print of a chevy corvette tied up to show off her stomach, a small diamond glittering in her navel

heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes that she pushes up on to her forehead as she pulls a wad of cash from the pocket of her leather jacket

“oi sargeant, it’s not too late to cut a girl in, is it?”

logan grins, counting the cash she handed him as entry payment. “cutoff is in ten minutes, you made it just in time.”

"good. now, which of your boys wants to get his ass kicked next?"

pierre throws his hands up in surrender when logan shoots him a joking look.

"she wiped the floor with me last week, mate. i took one for the team."

"any takers?" logan proclaims, moving to stand on the roof of his mercedes

lando and max exchange a look before ria hits them both in the back of the head

"don't be stupid. either of you. if you get far enough tonight, you'll be racing for pinks." she scolds

"its not about the cars, ria. it's about the chase." lando grins, patting the hood of his mclaren before moving into the wider, open space near where y/n was standing

"i'll do it! i'll race you. what's the pot at, sargeant?"

logan grins. "let's see, you're a seasoned veteran, and she wiped the floor with gasly. how does seven grand sound?"

y/n grins, twirling her car keys in one hand. "what do you say, norris? american muscle up against whatever the fuck that euro-car you're driving is?"

"it's a good couple hundred horsepower, sweetheart. are you sure your poor old ford can handle it?"

"bring it on, toy boy."

they get behind the wheels of their cars, revving engines and showboating as lando's mclaren and her mustang draw side by side

"enough with the women dropping their bras to start a race, it's archaic!" y/n shouts, tapping her manicured nails against her glittery gear shift. 'give me a toy boy dropping his shirt to the ground, once i see some abs, that will really get this car moving!"

"give the lady what she wants!" ria shouts, clapping her hands together as max rolls his eyes

with a laugh and a grin, george russell steps out into the middle of the interlock road, fingers deftly unbuttoning his linen shirt

"now we're talking!" y/n shouts with a laugh and a grin, shooting lando a look out the corner of her eye

there was something sexy about what they were about to do

the cat and mouse game of a street race worth as much as this one was

and lando norris would be the first to admit that he was incredibly turned on by the idea of woman who drove a car as magnificent as the one parked next to him

a woman who spoke his language

"ready!" george shouts, shirt almost fully undone as women begin to cheer and whistle

"ready to lose, princess?" lando smirks, revving his engine as he grins at the driver next to him.

"ready to kick your ass, you mean." she grins back, toeing her boot-clad foot against the accelerator

"set!" the shirt his off george's body now, his arm raised in the air as he waves the white fabric in the air, toying with the minds of the two drivers in front of them

it was just a reflex game now

"go!" george shouts, throwing his shirt to the ground

the drivers are off in a flash, their fluorescent cars flying off into the night

her wrist moves deftly with the gearshift, shifting gears as she watched the speedometer sail over 100kmph as she takes the corner, shifting gears and yanking at the handbrake

she sails around the corner a fraction of a second faster than lando, winking at him as their windows line up, eyes meeting for a fraction of a second

and that's when lando knows that he's in love

righting their cars, lando less than half a second behind her but still not fast enough

they're neck and neck approaching the finish line, right across from where they started

she's watching his every movement carefully

biding her time until it's time to open that little canister of nos

she knows lando's too smart to use it too soon, so she just needs to hope that she presses that little red button faster than he can

she presses it quickly, both hands gripping the wheel as the speed throws her head against the headrest, hair whipping around her face

there's a gap of zero point four five seconds as she sails across the chalk-drawn finish line, yanking the handbrake and swerving to a stop

sitting with her body half out of the window, her ass resting where the wound-down window his

cheering as she drums her hands against the roof

lando comes to a much slower stop next to her

he's not even mad about losing

a glow in his eyes as he steps out of the mclaren

hands in jeans pockets as he ambles towards her

"impressive drive, sweetheart."

"yeah, it earned me seven grand." she grins, clambering out of the car. "your loss."

"seven grand is nothing. all i ask for in exchange is dinner."

y/n grins, reaching to shake his hand. "and if i say no?"

"then i'll have to get a rematch next week. and the week after until you say yes."

"i wouldn't be a very good rival if i ended up in your bed."

"well, you know what they say." lando grins seductively. "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

she runs her tongue over her lips, eyebrows raised as she starts backing away towards everyone who's cheering her on,

"i'll see you next week, norris. we'll meet in the winner's bed."

and lando has never been so turned on in his life

he's also never looked forward to losing a race more.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris headcanons #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 headcanons #f1 imagine

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zillasvilla · 9 days

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Fatal Attraction: Independent (preview)

Pairings; Joseph Anoa’i x Original Character

A play on how Joseph went from football to Wrestling

A/N: As you can tell, Roman, is the top playboy I’m currently writing for. I tried writing it with the other guys I write for and well here we are. ( The bow was bigger, but the limit on tumblr made me change it 🙄😒

song inspiration: Independent Women x Destiny’s Child ; Fancy x Drake

Warnings: None

Cause I depend on me if I want it’

"What is love?"

She tapped her pencil against her notebook; not really caring to pay attention to today's lecture and the asinine questions the professor was spewing out to the overzealous and insanely naive group of students that seemed to be hooked on every single word coming from the lips of this less than qualified teacher.

She sighs and turns her attention to the leather-bound book before her. The gold stitched lettering felt rough beneath her fingers. She flips open the cover, her gaze trailing to cursive hand-written entry. The lavender colored ink faded, but still legible.

November 20, 1992: Daddy may be a very successful man, and he may have all the money in the world to spoil you with. (god help him, cause he loves spoiling you.) It’s still his money and it can stop. You want something, you work for it. There’s pride in being able to say you got it on your own. ~ Mama loves you

She closes the book and sighs heavily, as the professor ended the lecture for the day. She knew that already. Her dad made sure she earned the allowances she got growing up and she thanked him. It only added to her drive of wanting to be an entrepreneur. She wanted it all and she was going to get it. She starts to gather her things, feeling a shadow stand over her.

"Ms. Gaspard.”

She looks up to see her professor standing before her.; packing her things away the bright pink custom Louis Vuitton bag, earning envy looks from the girls in her English literature class.

"You were distracted during my class. Care to share what's on your mind?"

"Not really, just wasn't fond of today's lecture?" Today’s lesson was on the story of Romeo and Juliet and dissecting the meaning behind the main characters' forbidden love story. It went off on a tangent; leading the professor to ask the class what they believed to be love.

"Okay, that is understandable. Let me ask you this. What is Love?" Ms. Gaspard was usually an active participant in his lectures, and he was concerned when she was quiet.

"Love is artificial. A mindless emotion that people use to get what they want from a person until it no longer benefits them.” She knew all too well what that was like.

" Love is different for all people."

She rolls her eyes, that may have been true but for her; Love only left her alone.

Independent with the demeanor of an R&B Singer, naked ring finger. M3 Bimmer

The panting breaths as he ran around the tracks with some of his teammates tired him more than usual. Spring training was no joke, and he constantly felt his body getting weaker. He sighs, stopping by one of the benches, reaching down to grab his water.

His Adam’s apple, bobbing with every long gulp of the room temperature drink. The constant catcalling, turns his attention to some of his teammates. She had walked by once again, going to the sleek black Maserati. She was always dressed to impress, but today she sported a simple pastel green babydoll dress, white sandals, that showed off the freshly pedicured feet. He couldn’t make out the color on her toes, but he knew they were painted.

The sun kissed her rich brown skin, highlighting her natural sandy brown hair. She was out of his league and he knew it. He could look right?” He doesn’t look away until she’s in the car and pulling out.

Taking another long sip of water, he notice his coaches standing in front of him.

He knew whatever it was they had to tell him, wasn't good news.

Akhara’s Patrons: If you would like to be added, please comment on the master list. I will try to frequently update it as much as I can.

@justazzi @yana3sworld @wrestlingprincess80 @abadbitchblogs @paigereeder @kill-the-artiste @destinio1 @kill-the-artiste @reci1996 @mindairy @jatriciablog @alichesmi @jstarr86 @minsheyaish @wonderingfashion @whatdoeseverybodywant @jeysbvck @jeysbaby @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @keyaho @chaneajoyyy @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @empressdede @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @pimptressss

#roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!character #original character #coquette #roman reigns #black oc

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foxes-that-run · 6 months

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2018 Haylor Timeline

Timeline Tag, or years 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 and 2024..

1 January - Harry in Palm Springs, Saturn jumper. Karlie Kloss posts swish swish basketball (Katy Perry Taylor diss track)

4 January - reports camille met Harry's family

11 January - End Game video released - Haylor references galore. Joe in Italy.

13-22 January - Harry wrote Fine line: "Fine Line" I wrote [during] a gap in the tour. It was January 2018 and I was at my friend Tom's house. Harry was seen in la in the last 2 weeks.

22 January - Harry in LA with Camille from 13th to 29th

21 January - Taylor in Italy, Harry in NYC 25th

26 January - Harry performs at Fleetwood Mac person of year, Xander there

18 February - Taylor in LA Repu-hersal, Taylor in Big Sur on 28th

18 - 24 February - Harry in on 18th and 24th London

4 March - Harry shot the Gucci Campaign with the chicken in St Albans, England

10 March - Taylor and Joe hike with Joe in dark jeans and Nikes in Malibu

11 March - Live on tour starts again in Switzerland, Anna and Medicine played live for the first time and added to the rest of the tour setlist.

10 April Harry in London

13 April - Taylor releases Earth, Wind, Fire cover with 28 September. It accompanied Delicate vertical video the original release said is ““Taylor says that she chose ‘September’ for sentimental reasons. She’s always loved the classic tune by Earth, Wind & Fire, and notes that the month of September is especially meaningful to one of her relationships.” - Spotify” the ‘one of relationships’ part is later edited out of the Spotify press release!

21 April - Taylor posts video thanking fans for responding to Babe, she wore the Evil Eye ring that appeared in Rep.

23 April - Taylor has Robbie Williams on Rep and plays Angels.

5 May - Harry played a mystery melody before Two Ghosts

7 May- Joe and Taylor post photos with a cactus, kiwi vibes.

May - Harry GQ Australia Article with "There's a good story about Winston's wife bumping into a very naked, very blonde, very famous pop star making toast downstairs one morning if you ever get a chance to ask" It starts and ends with folklore.

9 May - November Reputation tour, Joe at opening night

9 June Taylor plays Manchester the. Is not seen till the 16th, Joe and family there

15 June - Xander, his parents and Anne at Harry’s Phili show.

16 June - Harry was full of beans in Toronto and wore a pink jacket with snakes and cats with wings embroidered on. Taylor played HYGTG in Dublin, only time on Rep tour.

22 June - 2 days after a year since Robin passed Harry emotional performing Sweet Creature in New York. Taylor has Niall as guest in Wembley the same night, Niall wore a NYC shirt. Joe was this show. Harry performed Shania Twain's Still the One. Taylor referenced this suit in the Me! Video. Harry invested in the Calm App. Harry photographed with Max and Xander, he looks really sad. Rumour he was staying with Xander. Xander, Jeff, Maxwell, Tommy at show

28 June - Taylor performs Reputation secret session for AT&T in Chicago. When introducing new year day talks about 2 NYEs ago jumping into an icy pool, the version Taylor Nation had posted has only this speech cut out from the full video. (24:38) Harry unseen

30 June - Harry has a show in Chicago! Taylor unseen! This suit is one referenced in Me!

1 July - Harry energetic in St Paul, the Medicine recording and sang “running with you” not wolves in MMITH. Last Heart kiss till 2021 in Only Angel

3-4July - People reports Taylor and Joe 'frolic' in Turks and Caicos

14 July Taylor’s delicate basket malfunctioned and she played wildest dreams a cappella. Harry wore the “whos Jeff azanoff” shirt backstage, Xander there also.

18 July- live on tour ends

21 July - Taylor played Clean, first time since 2015. Rain show.

31 July - Harry and Camille break up. Harry pictured with Karlie Kloss on Yacht in Italy with Sunflowers.

1 August - Harry driving Maserati in Italy

4 August - only time CBBH played before 2023, never on red or 1989 tours, this 1 on rep and 2 Eras shows.

13 August- blind Taylor controlled joes socials

14 August - Reputation show in Tampa filmed for Miss Americana which shows Joe, he is only seen at this and the first show.

28 August - Joe looks angry walking with Taylor in London

2 September - Golden maybe recorded, Harry told rolling stone The first song written for Fine Line, on the second day of the sessions at Shangri-La Studios in Malibu. Photographed in yellow pants. At 41 mins in of the Zane interview he describes writing it as his favourite memory of making fine line.

21 September - blind that Joe was ‘picked for role of BF’ by professor

28 September - Taylor went to Favorite NYC premiere with Joe. Harry at dinner in London. Both wore red. Taylor played Wonderland as the Surprise song, one of 6 ever plays.

1 October - Harry lunch in La Xander

9 October - Harry arrived in Japan looking like jagger and japan Dec 18 - Jan 19

19 October - Taylor doesn’t go to Kk wedding

17-28 October - Harry in LA on 15 and la 26th

19 November - Taylor signs with republic records and posts about it

youtube

21 November - last rep show which is in Tokyo. Plays emotional set of surprise songs are wildest dreams (1 of 3 times she played it on the Rep tour) and So it goes (one of 8 times it has ever been played live), dancing with our hands tied and I know places. Harry writes little freak in Tokyo and leaked ophelia (I feel ya) that refers to staring at her in Tokyo missing her and fantasising. Taylor posts about finishing tour, her last big machine records commitment

11 December - Taylor goes to goes joes movie premiere then next seen back in NY with Joe. Harry in LA 12th

25 December - Taylor spent christmas in a castle in Ireland

Continue in 2019

#Youtube #haylor #haylor timeline #taylor swift #harry styles #2018

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cryopathiic-a · 4 months

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starter for @whirling-fangs

When the schoolbell heralds freedom, the yard is swarmed with fleeing children. Amidst the array of cars blocking the entryway, the pink Maserati honks a couple of times, drawing even more attention from Inosuke's classmates.

❝ Oi-oi, over here, little man! ❞ Platinum locks pop out of the driver's seat window. Dōma wears the usual, cheerful grin, holding a paper bag from the fast food chain Inosuke favored the most during that current period. The few stains of grease under the logo were a telltale sign that more of those had been squished together — Dōma had been tossing his own crispy chicken salad on the other hand.

❝ Come, come, get in! ❞ He holds out the tempura in the same way one would bait a feral cat. And some of Inosuke's peers can't seem to suppress their giggling at that — though the presence of other people always seems to fly over Dōma's head. Many would label it as the naivety of someone who grew up as sheltered as he had. Others, attributed it to the vanity that often characterizes people who can drive this sort of car into a schoolyard parking lot. It definitely stuck out. And not just for its price.

The door swings open and Dōma comes out, followed with a waft of his oppressive perfume blending into the sandalwood flavored car freshener. He tosses the bag in the backseat, before proceeding to pull that door open, too ( after careful consideration and some worrying incidents, he had child locks installed, as Naraku had wisely advised ) And there he lingers, against the car, jubilantly awaiting for Inosuke to yield to his stomach — which he knows must be growling, as that bento box was hardly enough to sustain a hyper-active child in development!

❝ I'm sorry, 'sweetheart', the... 'purple man' — ❞ A nickname reiterated almost affectionately under an amused smile. ❝ Had to go run some other errands today. So, I'm here to pick you up instead. Here, I brought you all your favorites for lunch — ❞ Not the healthiest options, but he had to bribe this unruly child into the car somehow. The last thing they needed was for Inosuke to get upset over Naraku's absence and make a scene. As much as Dōma had adapted to playing the victim ( oh, the poor benevolent man had adopted this ungrateful child out of kindness and tried his best to raise him all alone! )

❝ — and we can grab bubble tea later, too! Do you need a cable for your switch game thingy? I brought a spare so you can charge it in the car~ ❞

#( modern tag pending )#whirling fangs #𝚅 𝟷𝟶. ⟅ an earlier heaven ⟆

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ae-neon · 1 year

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The House of Mirrors.

This was supposed to be a NxR "meet cute" submission but it's not cute and it's not even romance or NxR💀you'll see. Modern AU obv

Chapter 1.

Nesta Archeron sat in her car, scrolling through the online catalogue of clothes she'd ordered - eager to be free of her black mourning garments. The year she'd spent pretending to be a grieving widow was finally coming to a close. It was more than her late husband had deserved.

It was the start of Autumn and the leaves of the trees that dotted the streets of Velaris' Northside suburbs had just begun to turn. She would need new jackets and a scarf or two.

She was parked in a Maserati outside of her mother's house, her family home, waiting for her sister. Not Feyre, who was already inside helping prepare the three course meal their mother had set her mind on. But for Elain, who always knew how to ease the tension between Nesta and their mother. Nesta wasn't willing to step foot inside without her, not today.

It hadn't always been this way between them. She wasn't sure they'd been better, but they'd been different once. Before.

Her phone buzzed as a notification popped up, one of her favourite accounts having uploaded a fresh set of custom clothing. The designs weren't overly unique but there was something about their simplicity that drew Nesta in. The page only offered that they were organic material made with traditional Illyrian methods.

Emerie had been the one to introduce her to the online boutique, years ago, when Nesta had very suddenly announced her mother had introduced her to someone and that they'd be married soon. The clothes and books and wine had been a mix of condolences and congratulations.

Gwyn had been horrified, she thought arranged marriage was the same thing as forced marriage. In most cases, it wasn't.

Nesta liked a fur lined coat, commented a tree emoji, and knew the creator would know to put in an order for her.

A knock at her window almost made her jump. Her sister's husband, Graysen, smiled and jerked his chin to the driveway to where Elain stood in a soft pink sweater and jeans. She would've waved if she hadn't been weighed down with bags full of groceries.

Nesta hadn't noticed the couple pull up and into the driveway of the large two story house. She wondered if her tendency to disconnect might ease up once she got back to living her life, to being herself - if that was even possible.

Inside, the house already smelt of traditional Scythian food. Undoubtedly, three meat pies already sat baking in their mother's giant oven despite it being hours before dinner.

Nesta followed Graysen to the living room while Elain delivered the bags of groceries into the kitchen.

Her father was sitting in his recliner, reading the biography of an ancient prince. It was something they'd always shared, less a love of and more a hunger for knowledge and escapism. Her father temporarily escaping from the pain of his injuries and Nesta temporarily escaping from being Nesta Archeron.

She greeted him with a kiss to his grey hair, the familiar scent of pine soap easing her nerves a little, "Baba."

His brown eyes, Elain's brown eyes, greeted her from over the rim of his glasses, "My girl, you know your mother has been up since dawn? I told her you girls can take care of these things by now." He sighed, "But you know how she is."

The ease evaporated.

Nesta wondered if her father expected her to agree, to share in his exasperation, like it would bring them together after everything that had happened. Yes I know, but better than me, you know. You always knew. So why have children with someone so uniquely unfit to do so?

She left her father to recount his thoughts on the book to Graysen. He'd been shocked, the poor boy, the first time he'd come over to find himself sat among men and boys while the women fluttered about taking care of everything.

Graysen did not come from a Scythian or Illyrian or Raskian or Bharati family - was not constrained by his parents' need to preserve and enforce culture in an alien world. He'd been born and bred in the Southlands, and it sometimes showed itself in unexpected ways. Ways Elain seemed to like.

For that reason Nesta had not interfered in her mother's plot to ensnare him and his father's private security empire through Elain. It had been the best she could hope for, far better than Nesta had gotten.

But now it was Feyre's turn. And Nesta knew that if she didn't do her absolute best to oversee her sister's engagement, if she so much as breathed wrong, it would destroy whatever was left between her and her mother.

The kitchen was a separate but huge space, made of stone and wood and metal. Four pots already sat on the stove and, as predicted, the oven glowed with heat. A homey, steel-legged table stood in the centre in place of a kitchen isle.

It healed something in Nesta to see the table and its plastic, floral tablecloth. Tugged on memories of food and laughter, of homework and housework, of growing up in Scythia.

She moved to place a hand on her mother's back in greeting.

The older woman, the physical blueprint for Nesta and Feyre, only turned her grey head to say, "It's good you're here, Sisi, your sister is so slow. I've spoiled her and now she can barely cook."

Estanna Archeron turned and pointed with her knife to where Feyre leaned against the opposite counter, "What will you do when you're married, hm? You will have them think I raised a donkey instead of a daughter." She clicked her tongue and turned back to Nesta, "See to this, Sisi."

Nesta moved towards Feyre, reaching for and squeezing her hand, "See to the food or my sister?" Then added in Scythian, an old proverb, "Choose wisely as I only have one miracle."

She rolled up the sleeves of her modest black dress and motioned to Feyre to share from the bag of chilled baby carrots she was munching on.

It was almost sickeningly familiar. Almost.

And yet none of it was the same.

Her mother would not hug her and the only reason Nesta had been let in the house was because of the role she would have to play in the process they were about to embark on.

The setting sun cast golden glow over the city, reflecting off windows and soaking the little heat it gave into every stone.

The Northside was a pleasant enough neighborhood; made up of Southland business owners, landlords and little caches of immigrants rich enough to see that their children lead good lives.

Rhys had never been there. Well maybe once, years ago and drunk, when a Raskian girl snuck him into her bedroom. He'd almost broken a rib falling out of her window the next morning but he was certain it had been a scratch compared to what her father had intended.

And now he was back, to ask a shipping tycoon for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Business with a side of pleasure, Helion had said.

Rhys pulled into the driveway behind an Audi with flower stickers on the bumper. Behind him his cousin parallel parked his pickup in front of the black Maserati.

Rhys' uncle stepped out with his son not far behind. Cassian whistled, eyeing the car in front of him, "5 bucks this guy tries to swing his dick around and 10 bucks you punch him in the throat before your honeymoon."

Rhys checked his reflection in his own window, "You could add a couple zeros to that and it wouldn't matter, the man who owns that car is dead."

Cassian's father, Devlon, slapped a hand on his son's shoulder and guided him towards the house, "Say anything stupid like that to these people and I'll put you on a plane back to Illyria before noon tomorrow."

Rhys grinned at Cassian's frown, at the memory of that threat being met before.

They took a few steps to the door and rang the bell once, then again after a minute. Cassian reached forward undoubtedly about to push the button until it broke when the door suddenly swung open.

A tall woman in a long black dress answered. Her steely gaze hit Rhys head on before it slid past him to the men beside him. For almost a second it looked like she might frown but it passed so quickly he wasn't sure he hadn't made it up.

She stepped aside and opened the door wider, "Please, come in."

Rhys motioned for his relatives to go first, watched her press back as their massive frames filled the small hallway.

All three were almost caricatures of Illyrians, built like warriors. Though, considering Nesta was only a head or so shorter - she too held to the stereotype of tall, well-built Scythians.

She seemed a little startled when she turned to find them still standing there after she finished locking the door. It showed again – that little flash of what might have been displeasure or irritation, but she just as quickly recovered.

"Hi." Rhys said, catching her off guard before she could speak.

She blinked, stared at him, "Hello...?"

"It's customary to greet, at least for us, before inviting guests into your home."

Her mouth parted, "Oh I'm so sorry, of course, it's the same for us, I just-" she caught herself and straightened. She cast her gaze past his shoulder, to Cassian and Devlon, "Hello, welcome. I’m Nesta… the eldest.”

“Rhysand. That is my Uncle Devlon and his son Cassian,” Rhys said. It was also their custom, to have the intended groom lead the proceedings – a chance to show both enthusiasm and a sense of responsibility.

“My father and brother-in-law are in the living room, it is just to the right. Please make yourselves at home, dinner will be served soon."

She seemed to wait until they had begun to move then slid that steel gaze to meet his once again. Her face and voice were a little less sweet when she said to him, "You'll forgive me? I'm sure you've heard what happened, it's been a difficult year."

It was his turn to be made uncomfortable, "Of course. My condolences."

He’d heard rumours about Tomas Mandray; his bloody fortune, his pretty little trophy wife and his violent demise. Most of them had seemed ridiculous if not down right malicious…until now.

Something in those haunted grey eyes told Rhys he had no idea what he’d just walked into.

#the house of mirrors #au fic #acotar modern au #nesta archeron #my writing #rhysta #nesrhys #nessand #the no no ship

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everyonezgirlfriend · 24 days

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REDAMANCY - four

BLAIR'S POV - September 18th, 2007

I lay in my bed, planning on doing nothing all day when I got a text from Bill. I rolled my eyes upon seeing his message.

iChat

Bill: Come over in an hour?

Blair: 4 what?

Bill: Tutoring, idiot

Bill: Unless u plan on failing?

Blair: Fine, but I'm only staying for 2 hours

Bill: Trust me, I don't want u staying any longer

I scoffed and put my phone down, beginning to get ready. I got ready quickly, obviously not putting in much of an effort, not wanting to waste my time and expensive makeup on Bill Kaulitz of all people.

I got into my car and drove to Bill's house, which I already knew the address of after the party the other week. I got out and knocked on his door, him immediately answering.

"That your car?" He asked, pointing at my pink Maserati Ghibli.

"Obviously," I said, "You gonna insult my car now, too?"

"No," he said, "It's actually nice."

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused at the fact Bill had just given me a compliment. But I wouldn't let myself accept it. Even if he started being nice to me, he'd still done something completely gross, even if it was two years ago, drugging girls isn't just something you grow out of.

"Can we just get this over with?" I asked, walking into his house. He led we to his dining area where we sat at the table. He sat down next to me. "Why can't you sit opposite me?" I asked.

"Because then I can't see what I'm teaching you. I can't read upside down. I know you hate me, Blair, but I'm not fucking diseased, the world isn't gonna explode just because we sit next to each other."

"Kind of wish it would."

｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

BILL'S POV - September 18th, 2007

My friends had suggested that since I was gonna be tutoring Blair for a while, I could at least try to be a little nicer to her, to avoid any big arguments between us.

So, when I let her into my house, I offered her a drink, I offered her a snack. She said no to both. I told her we could work on the couch if my dining chairs were uncomfy, but she said no, in fact, she'd said a little more than no.

"You have no table there," she said.

"So?" I asked.

"So the book will be on my legs. I'm not sitting on the couch so you have an excuse to look at my thighs."

"Ew. You're the last person whose thighs I wanna look at."

Maybe that was a little mean, but I want gonna take her practically calling me a pervert in my own home. Instead, we sat at the dining table, and I sat next to her, which she still wasn't happy about, but we wouldn't be able to get stuff done as quickly if I kept having to read upside down.

As I sat next to her, I caught a whiff of her body spray, a sweet vanilla smell, with a hint of strawberry, like cupcakes. I tried not to pay any attention to it, but it was all I could focus on, she smelt so good.

I cleared my throat and began talking about the work. There was nothing wrong with liking the way she smelt. After all, it wasn't even her, it was the perfume. Still, I cursed myself, not wanting to like anything about her, not even something so small.

Miss Adamski had given Blair a piece of work to do after I'd tutored her a bit, to see if she was actually making progress.

"I'll go and sit on the couch while you do that," I said, handing her the pen. I'd noticed that she didn't only hate sitting next to me, but it also seemed to make her actually, genuinely uncomfortable.

Considering that, and the fact she'd called me a creep the other day, I began to wonder whether I'd actually done something wrong to rub her the wrong way.

I didn't wanna ask. I'd asked her a few times when she started being mean to me, but always got a similar answer of her telling me I knew exactly what I did. That's why I started being mean back.

After a while of her working, I heard a loud sigh from the dining table.

"Bill," she said, "I need help."

I was surprised she'd actually chosen to ask me for help considering her stubbornness towards me. I stood up and walked over, leaning over her as I looked down at the question on the work sheet. It was a question on calculating vapour pressure. I felt her shift uncomfortably below me, realising I was a little close. I backed up and gave her the equation, allowing her to put the numbers in herself.

"Did I do it right?" She asked, showing me the answer.

I nodded. "Well done."

She said nothing, just nodding once before getting back to the last few questions in the sheet. That first tutoring session made me question everything, maybe she wasn't the complete ass I thought she was, maybe she really did have a real reason to dislike me, and I had to figure it out.

PREVIOUS PART HERE

NEXT PART HERE

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hourglass-full-of-stars · 4 months

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this was fun, so i'm gonna do something similar. shuffled playlist, pick out of the first line (ish) of 10 songs. congrats if you know the song (no repeats)

#my stuff #polls #taylor swift #olivia rodrigo #the bleachers #lorde

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anzu-kaiba · 2 years

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Azure Week 2022, Sims Style (Part 2)

Remember @sharksmirk's amazing art for #azureweek2020? I sure do! It inspired the above artwork for this year's theme "Car Ride." While I couldn't QUITE replicate Anzu's style of sunglasses or pose, I did my best with a cute pose and a CAR (!!!!) in The Sims 4.

Funny story: initially I was trying to do all this posing inside an empty room I'd made in a starter home in San Myshuno. It... did not go well. I ended up moving to an empty lot in Sulani for this shot, though you probably can't tell! 😂

I'm quite new at this Sims screenshot thing, so forgive the not-so-great lighting. I'm also on a Mac, so I don't have access to the ReShaders and other tools that some folks use. Suggestions for up-to-date, must-have mods welcomed and appreciated!

I wanted to try and recreate that in the Sims 4 for Azure Week 2022, so here's my attempt at that.

We have:

Maserati Gran Cabrio Sport by @lorysims

"New Stage" pose pack by @beto-ae0

Andrew's Pose Player & Teleporter (the latter originally by Scumbumbo) by @sims4studioofficial

Anzu's sunglasses on head by @aroundthesims

Anzu's hair from Get Together

Anzu's top from Backyard Stuff

Anzu's shorts from Seasons (again, not that you can see them, but whatevs; they're cute blue jean shorts with scalloped hems)

Anzu's sandals from base game (raffia-looking wedges with pink stripes)

Anzu's bracelets and necklace from base game

Seto's hair from base game

Seto's top from Get to Work

Seto's shorts from Cats & Dogs

Seto's shoes from Cats & Dogs

Seto's watch from Get Famous

I originally did make something of an effort to have a sunset background with palm trees like in Sharksmirk's art, but then I edited it out because of the style of Sims 4 box art that I'm going for! 😂 Oops/Sorry?!

I have to check a bunch of my mods/cc now though, because something I've introduced recently is preventing me from doing detail edit in CAS. If anyone knows of any specific type of mod/CC that tends to do this (or simply having too many subfolders in the Mods folder?!) please let me know!

This is three images down, four to go... or possibly 11, if I do a different piece of art for each "dual" theme! 😱 We'll see what happens.

What do you think?

#azure week 2022 #ts4 mods #ts4 cc #the sims 4 #sims 4 cc #azureshipping #anzu mazaki #seto kaiba #seto kaiba x anzu mazaki #yu-gi-oh #téa gardner #seto kaiba x téa gardner #azure week #anzu mazaki x seto kaiba #fanart #theme 4: car ride/walkabout

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gureishi · 2 years

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come on, baby, take me there

✧ — Summary: They talk about friendship. They talk about love. There’s one thing they never say, though—and it’s starting to drive her insane.

✧ — Pairing: Saeyoung x Eunji (CMC)

✧ — Rating: E (m/f sex, bjs, fingering, facefucking, biting)

✧ — A/N: I hadn’t written smut in eleven months, and then suddenly, in May, I felt like trying again. This is my first ever CMC smut, which feels really vulnerable (probably why I only shared it with a couple of close friends until now). But it also ended up one of the bits of fanfiction i’m proudest of, so (after all) here it is!

Eunji counts the things in her life: people she’s loved and the ones she’s lost; stars and clouds and raindrops; steps and eyelashes; boards in the floor and cracks in the sidewalk.

Her mother’s office had black and white tiles, and Eunji would jump from one to the next, careful to always land within the lines. She had good balance, but no child is perfect: when the tips of her toes crossed two differently-colored tiles, she’d cry so hard her mother would send her home.

Her old apartment had a shape on the ceiling that looked like little islands: three hundred and seventy-two of them.

When things are bad, she counts her own movements: two taps with alternating right and left fingers; eighteen blinks as she makes her coffee; eight hundred breaths till she falls asleep.

It took her thirty-eight steps to walk from one end of Rika’s apartment to the next.

She’s never been any good at math—gave it up after high school, still uses a calculator for basic subtraction—but she knows exactly how many cars they’ve driven past today.

That count wasn’t a hard one. The road’s almost empty: they’ve seen just twelve other cars, and he’s driven a little faster each time they’ve passed one.

Now, it’s late enough for the stars to come out, and she tucks her knees to her chest, pulling her sweatshirt down over them: not cute, but almost like a blanket. Saeyoung glances at her, smiling when he sees the way she’s made herself comfortable. He’s got one hand on the wheel, his pretty fingertips tapping along with the music. The corners of his eyes are pink, the only sign he ever shows that he’s getting tired.

“Better?” he asks, using his free hand to pull her hoodie all the way down to her ankles. “You can sleep if you want to.”

She knows this routine. You’re tired, he’ll say, and you’re the one keeping us alive, she’ll remind him. He’ll ask her to sleep and she’ll ignore him—he’ll smile indulgently and turn the music down and she’ll wake up an hour or so later, disoriented and stiff, when he pulls the car into another of his inexplicably undetectable hideouts.

“How long?” she asks. He checks his GPS—not the one on his phone but a funny little contraption of his own invention, which she’s tried (and failed) to understand.

“Forty-four minutes,” he tells her. “I know a place.”

He always does.

Eunji starts counting down, though she doesn’t mean to. She’s actually happiest here, in this neat little car with its soft leather seats, where she can feel the heat from his body and hear the sound of his breathing. She’s never loved driving, but she’s beginning to feel like she could spend the rest of her life in his red Maserati.

She counts minutes and seconds, days and weeks, months and years.

She spent six days in hell, alone—four days in hell, beside him.

And there have been seven days of endless road—seven nights in strange, cramped spaces. One week of holding his hand while he steers with the other, smiling at the sunlit look in his eyes and wishing—for the first time—to be nowhere but here.

They talk. Then they’re quiet. Then they talk some more.

Eunji has always feared silences, which are akin to death. She fills them with meaningless chatter, shatters them with laughter she doesn’t always mean. She asks people questions they don’t want to answer—agrees with the stupidest things just so somebody’s speaking.

And he is the same: scared of death (though he says he isn’t); afraid of quiet (though he was always alone). On the phone, they sometimes talked over each other. It gave her butterflies.

Silence with him is starting to make sense.

Sometimes, they sit in silence for hours: music on, but they’re not really listening; eyes on the road, the rhythm of their breaths making a melody. Other times they talk: about the things they want and the things that frighten them; about where they’ve been and—most tentatively—where they’re going.

He’s told her how it felt to come home to a quiet house, heart racing as he wondered what might have happened while he was away.

She’s told him about everyone she’s ever loved, and all the ways she found to leave those people behind.

He’s told her about the times he’s hurt people—and how he’d hide himself away afterwards, half-hoping no one would find him.

She’s told him how she hates living in her own head. He knows the feeling.

He’s told her about his dreams, too: the long-forgotten wishes he buried a million years ago; the family he’d given up on finding till he heard her voice over the phone.

He’s never said any of this out loud before, and she loves him all the more because she understands what it means for him to be honest.

They talk about friendship. They talk about love.

There’s one thing they never say, though—and it’s starting to drive her insane.

Eunji has liked Saeyoung since the first time they spoke—loved him ever since she saw his lonely, laughing eyes. She’s never fallen in love like this before: so hard and fast she forgot to count the seconds. She’s known him for seventeen days—liked him, loved him, wanted him.

It’s the longest she’s ever gone without getting what she wants.

“Hey,” he says now. “Look down.”

She opens her eyes, not having realized she’d closed them. They’re driving over a bridge, a dark river sparkling beneath them, shimmering with the reflection of the stars.

“Pretty.” She looks from the river to the road—from the road to his hand, from his hand to his shoulder. He’s intuitive and perceptive and brilliant, but he’s got no idea, she thinks—no sense of what happens to her when he shifts in his seat, muscles flexing under her t-shirt as he adjusts his grip on the wheel.

He says something else, taking a right at the end of the bridge, lifting his hips to reach for the phone that’s tucked into the center console. Her stomach flips.

“You’ve got a very cute look on your face,” he says, grinning the way that stirs her up like the center of a storm. “What’s on your mind?”

She sits back so her hair falls over her eyes, pretending she’s sleepy. It’s easier than saying touch me soon, or I’ll die.

He giggles, knowing she’s faking it (not knowing why). With her eyes closed, she really does feel tired—and the rhythm of his car is familiar, the engine beneath her humming a lullaby, and he inhales—exhales—one, two, three, four, five…

“Wake up, princess,” he whispers. “They’ll look at me funny if I carry you inside.”

Her head’s heavy, but skin vibrates as his fingers brush her arm. She never remembers her half-asleep-late-night-engine-purring-car dreams, but she has a strong feeling those hands played a starring role.

She’s not sure how she’s going to survive another night like the last few.

“You’re the princess,” she tells him, tucking her hair into her hood. She pouts till he smiles.

“Good thing you know who you’re dealing with.” He’s parked at the edge of a large, tree-lined lot: unlit, without another car in sight. “Let’s be quick,” he says, “just in case.”

Eunji knows this by now: never linger in a stopped car; never step outside if there’s anyone near. She pulls his backpack from its spot at her feet and he fills it with the same things as always: four phones (three are his); five IDs (none are real); the gun from the glove compartment, which she wishes weren’t here, though she knows why it has to be.

“There’s someone inside?” she asks. Saeyoung nods, handing her a neat roll of bills.

“They know better than to ask anything here,” he says, stepping out into the night. “Still.”

She follows him, the wind stinging her eyes and making her shiver. It’s getting colder every day, and the nights out here are brutal. She pulls her hood tighter: no one who’d want to find them knows her features, but her hair would give them away.

“Be good,” he says, coming around the front of the car to give her a fleeting kiss. “See you soon.”

She knows he means be safe, but her legs still shake. It’s not from fear.

Sometimes they spend the night in abandoned houses—cabins—hideaways. Other times they sleep in mysterious little motels she can’t seem to find on a map. This is the latter.

Eunji relishes the sound of gravel crunching beneath her feet as she walks to the entrance alone. It’s the third time she’s done this, and she’s starting to feel sure of herself. He never said being with him was easy, but she finds she doesn’t much mind.

She locates the short, balding man at the tiny desk in the dark, ramshackle lobby—says “hello” and “goodbye” as she gives him the cash Saeyoung’s already counted—suppresses the deeply-ingrained instinct to smile politely as he hands over the keys.

Saeyoung’s already waiting for her in the hall.

“You’re too quiet,” she mutters, shaking her head as she counts the doors (seven—eight—nine). “Some day, when we’re safe, I’ll teach you how to make noise.”

He chokes, eyes wide in the darkness. Her face burns. That’s not what she meant.

(It sort of is, though.)

She avoids his eyes for the moment, throwing open the door to their room: small and dingy, with shades on the windows and shadows on the walls. The bed takes up most of the space. She wonders how he’ll handle that.

He is already busy, checking the locks on the door and the one on the windows—scanning the corners and floor boards for cameras. She knows this routine by now, though she’s not sure how much is habit rather than necessity.

He checks inside the lamp before turning it on: its light casts a golden glow over the tiny room, doing a dance with the shadows.

Eunji locates the tiny bathroom. She’s carrying everything she needs in one backpack by now, though she hasn’t managed to organize: it takes several minutes to find her face soap and even longer to dig out a hair tie.

She feels more alive once the warm water touches her skin.

When she returns to the bedroom, Saeyoung’s leaning against the window. There’s a little more space there than before.

“I moved the bed,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I’ll sleep over here.”

He’s done it again.

Night after night, he finds a space for himself that’s separate from hers—divides up tiny rooms into sections so he can sleep on the floor.

All the things left unsaid are driving her mad.

“Will you sit with me, at least?” She doesn’t mean to sound sharp, and her chest aches when he lowers his gaze. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

She sinks into the bed, wondering—as she often does in the early hours of the morning—whether she’s only still here because it’s too late to leave her. He said he’d bring her in the first place so he could keep her safe, but he’s sworn since then that he wants her by his side.

It’s hard to believe—harder still when he won’t come close.

One, two, three, four, five floor boards to the door.

The bed springs creak as he sits. Her heart squirms like a too-big fish in a manmade pond.

“How are you holding up, starshine?” His fingers find her face and the familiar calluses and scars make her stomach do somersaults. She twists so she can see him, torn between laughter and tears at the way he perches on the edge of the bed: he’s hardly putting any weight on it, like he’s ready to run away at a moment’s notice.

In the car, everything’s easy, with the console between them and the stars in their eyes.

Here, in this tiny room, on this creaky bed, she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m good,” she tells him. “I’m tired. I need to stretch my legs. I like the musty smell of this room. I want to kiss you.”

“Oh,” he says. His cheeks are a familiar shade of pink, the tips of his ears bright as his hair, and she smiles. It makes her feel better when he blushes. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Is that your final answer?” She reaches for a strand of his hair, which sticks up in all directions because he runs his fingers through it while he drives. He shifts nervously and the bed squeaks beneath him.

“Kiss me,” he says, his voice hoarse and strange. “Please?”

Please is better than okay. He makes no attempt to move closer so she crawls to him, sighing with longing and lust and days of pent-up frustration when his hand lands on her waist. His lids are lowered and his eyelashes make pretty patterns against his pink cheeks. She takes his face in both hands and lingers for a moment, looking at him.

He’s beautiful.

Gently, she thinks. So he knows he’s loved. So he knows he’s safe.

Her lips brush his (one) and he breathes in deep (two) and his chest is warm (three) and her stomach flips (four) and she forgets the promise she made herself to be patient.

(Five, six, seven.)

Her lips crash into his and she’s got two hands curled in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, wishing he was naked, wishing he was inside her, wishing she could stop time and fall into him forever. For a moment, he goes still—then he makes a sound that’s almost a growl, rough hands gripping her hips, then her waist—roving up her sides, grasping her hair so hard it hurts.

She’s a second from falling apart.

She kisses him harder, gripping his thighs—wandering, wondering—and he shudders, his perfect fingers shivering against her scalp, his breath so short she’s sure he’s dizzy.

One, two—

And he’s gone.

Saeyoung stands up so suddenly she almost falls backwards, a wild look in his eyes as he walks back and back till he’s touching the wall.

“Eunji,” he hisses, looking everywhere but into her eyes. “God.”

It’s not the first time he’s done this, nor the second or third. He kisses her like he’s falling then runs like he’s remembered he doesn’t know how to fly.

“Fuck,” she says, because it’s the only thing she can think to say. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t look at him. She knows the drill by now.

He will collect himself, making a joke about nothing and breathing till he sounds steady again. He’ll find work that probably doesn’t need to be done and apologize for ignoring her, waiting till she’s in bed to turn off the lights.

Three, four, five—

He stays where he is.

Eunji throws herself back onto the pillows. It’s the memory of his hands in her hair that breaks her resolve.

“Saeyoung,” she says to the ceiling. “Why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

There’s a silence: too many seconds for her to count.

“You,” he says at last. His voice sounds strange, and for a moment she thinks it’s all he’s going to say. “You think I don’t…”

She hears his ragged breathing, then another groan from the bed as he sits. She can feel his body heat from here.

“Is that what you…” The bed rocks them both as he scoots back to sit against the headboard.

She peeks at him. He looks pitiful.

“Sorry I said it like that,” she mutters. She’s already apologized so many times tonight.

“You don’t need to…”

“Is it a God thing?” She sits up, reaching for the silver chain around his neck (he shivers a little but doesn’t stop her). She untucks the cross from his shirt and runs her fingers over the polished silver. She’s never touched it before.

“No,” Saeyoung says seriously, waiting patiently for her to lay the cross back against his skin. “It’s not a God thing.” He looks into her eyes and gives her a very small smile. “You sure found a cute way to ask that, though.”

“Even if you don’t want to fuck me,” she says, “at least I’m adorable.” She means to tease rather than antagonize, but he’s got a hopeless, miserable look in his eyes.

“Please,” he stammers. “Stop saying I don’t…”

“Do you?”

She’s not an idiot, though she feels like one: she knows he’s got a million more important things on his mind, and she wishes she knew how to be soft and sweet and all the things he probably wants from her.

But she’s neither of those things.

She’s got sharp edges, haphazardly pieced together like a poorly-mended storefront after a burglary, and she needs an answer even though she probably shouldn’t even have asked in the first place.

“My god,” he sighs, shutting his eyes, laying a hand on his heart like he’s praying for patience. “How am I going to explain this to you?”

“If it helps,” she says. “I’ll be fine either way. I don’t need you to rip all my clothes off and totally wreck me. I just wish that you would.”

His eyes fly open and he makes a sound that’s neither a laugh nor a squeak, but somewhere closer to a groan. He takes a long, ragged breath and drops his face into his hands.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he mutters, voice muffled, tips of his ears redder than before. She almost feels bad for him—almost—but the way his hands shake makes her triumphant.

“You’re pretty smart,” she says, laying a hand on his knee (he almost jumps out of his skin). “Why don’t you try telling me how you feel?”

This time, she waits. She listens to him breathing—quickly at first, then slower. She counts to ten—twenty—twenty-five—thirty. He spreads his fingers and peeks at her between them.

He is the one who’s adorable.

“Okay,” he says at last, hands falling into his lap, eyes a tiny bit clearer. “You know how I like…um, chips?”

She should’ve known he’d find an analogy rather than telling her outright. She really loves him a lot.

“Yes, baby. I know how you like chips.”

“So the thing about the chips…” He gestures vaguely and she bites back a smile: an onlooker would never guess that he’s probably the smartest person in the world. “Did you know that it’s actually not so good to eat chips for every meal?”

She giggles and pokes his stomach. He half-heartedly swats her away.

“I knew that,” she tells him. He nods sagely.

“There’s a lot of reasons I’ve never eaten normally,” he says, quieter now. “One is that I’m not used to it. Another is that I really can’t cook. But the other reason is, like…”

She scoots closer so she’s facing him, gently prying his fingers apart to hold both of his hands. She loves the long scar on his right palm and the callouses covering the tips of his fingers—the sharp angle of his thumb and the way he traces the curve of her knuckles.

“It’s just that it always felt like a waste,” he says. “Why make myself eat proper meals when I was never meant to last very long, anyway?”

Whenever she thinks he’s done ripping her heart apart, he breaks it a little bit more.

She squeezes his hands too tight. He doesn’t stop her.

“Know what I thought the first time I saw you sleeping on the apartment floor?” she asks him, searching his face for some sign he thinks differently now.

He gives nothing away.

“What?”

She remembers too well: his head on his balled-up hoodie, his laptop humming loudly beside him, her poor restless heart screaming something she’d never felt about anyone before.

“I thought you were the strongest person I’d ever seen,” she says. “I thought you were beautiful. And I decided I was gonna care of you for the next hundred years.”

Saeyoung looks at her for a second that lasts a minute that lasts forever.

“That’s a really long time.” She lays both hands on her chest, and he leaves them there.

“Luckily,” she says, “I am determined, impossible to sway, and annoyingly in love with you.”

He narrows his eyes, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Before she can say another word, he kisses her swiftly, all hot skin and short breath and shaky hands.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “And I know you are. And it’s a metaphor.”

He’s making it incredibly hard to think straight with his lips so close and his hands on her hips. He smells the way it feels when you lay your bare skin on hot sand: burning and blindingly bright.

“Am I the chips,” she says, “or the food?”

Saeyoung laughs the bright, melodic laugh that made her fall for him in the first place.

“Are you gonna make me say it?” He looks flushed and dizzy and she wants to kiss every inch of his skin.

(She’s starting to think he might let her.)

“Tell me,” she says.

She counts his breaths and his fingers tapping her skin.

“Having sex with you scares me,” he says, “because I was never supposed to feel satisfied. People like me aren’t meant to have the things they want most.”

She knew, though she still needed him to say so.

Eunji thinks of the people she’s left behind because it was easier not to be loved—of the jobs she’s lost, the friends who won’t speak to her, the lies she told so no one would see she was scared of being alone. She thinks of her mother’s office with its black-and-white tile floor.

“It’s too late,” she tells him. “You’ve got me.”

And she kisses him, running her hands up his thighs, pressing his body back into the headboard. He growls, heady and low, and she decides she’d do anything to hear him make that sound over and over again.

His legs shake. She traces the seam of his jeans, grinning against his lips when she finds an obvious bulge straining against the inflexible fabric.

“You do want me, don’t you?” She opens her eyes to find him looking thoroughly wrecked already, pupils huge as he struggles to focus on her face.

“You have no idea,” he hisses. “I’m…all the time…”

She thinks of him in the car. His strangeness seems different now.

All those times she teased him—tickling his side, kissing his fingers, running her hands through his hair—the times he shifted in his seat and turned up the music and drove a little bit faster—

“You poor boy,” she says. “You’ve been falling apart, haven’t you?”

He starts to answer but she palms him again and he utters a string of syllables she can’t understand, hands—usually so clever—grasping helplessly at her clothes.

“I bet you’re uncomfortable,” she purrs, feeling powerful all of a sudden, fingers finding the button of his jeans. “Can I help you?”

He tries again to speak but only swallows, and she waits for an answer. She’ll wait all night if she has to—all year—the rest of her life.

“Help,” he says.

She’s really pleased she doesn’t have to wait forever.

In a matter of seconds, his jeans are undone and pulled over his hips. He groans as his cock springs free, bound only by his underwear. She wants to see it—touch it—taste it. She kisses his tip through the fabric and he makes an inhuman sound, burying his hands in her hair.

“Can I take these off?” She has never in her life been so cautious. His fingers dig into her scalp, hurting her the perfect amount.

“If you do,” he says hoarsely, “I can’t promise I’ll be coherent enough to say a whole lot afterwards.”

She runs a hand along his length, through his underwear—it’s hot to the touch, which makes her want to feel it on her skin.

“And you’re okay with that?”

She presses her lips to his base and he groans, hips twitching erratically beneath her.

“God,” he hisses. “Make me stop talking.”

She’s wanted to for ages.

He releases her hair and grasps at the sheets, knuckles going white as she tugs his pants all the way off, then lifts his underwear over his cock with quick, gentle fingers.

She giggles.

“What,” he hisses, “Don’t��why…”

She brushes his tip with her thumb and he loses the rest of his words.

“I’m sorry,” she says, stroking him gently, grinning as his hips start to shake. “I haven’t seen one of these in a while.” She feathers tiny kisses across his hipbone and his hips jerk upward, questing toward her mouth. “I like it,” she whispers. “Really, really, really.”

He mumbles something incomprehensible and she takes his cock in both hands, smiling at the sight of her colorful fingernails against his skin. He feels almost feverish, or maybe it’s her—there’s hot, desperate desire in the pit of her stomach, and she grinds against the bed, seeking out seams in her underwear for some sort of relief. His eyes are half-closed, but he makes a sort of guttural sound, so she’s pretty sure he sees.

She bends her head, tasting him with the very tip of her tongue. He squirms, gripping the sheets so tight she thinks he’s going to tear them.

She wouldn’t mind being held just like that.

She wants him in and on and around her. She wants him lucid and commanding—long-lost and desperate. She looks into his eyes and says his name and his head falls back, hips already shaking so hard she has to use both hands to hold him down.

“Do you want me to?” She’s afraid her breath against his skin will destroy him, but he’s stronger than he seems. His hands tug helplessly at her hoodie and she sits up to pull it over her head, almost yelling in frustration when it gets caught in her hair. She’s still wearing a tank top and jeans, but she doesn’t think she can make him wait any longer—his eyes are wide and wild and his chest moves with the rapid rhythm of his breath.

The sight of him makes her ache. She straddles one of his legs, rubbing against his thigh, sparks bursting behind her eyes from the friction of her panties and the look on his beautiful face.

She forgets to count the seconds.

“I want you,” he whispers.

It’s enough.

She grips his thigh with her legs and takes him into her mouth, gasping as he shifts beneath her, hips stuttering, thrusting himself deeper without any idea he’s doing it. She uses one hand to guide him and the other to hold his hips, white hot heat building inside her as she suctions her lips around him, increasing the pressure till she’s sure he can’t stand it anymore.

It’s like nothing else in the world.

She has been in love, and she’s fucked, and she’s fucked people she’s loved.

She’s been desperate before, but she’s never needed anything the way she needs to see him undone.

She takes him deeper, releasing his hips—and he’s half-fucking her mouth without meaning to, losing his sanity the way he once promised her he would. Her eyes fill with tears, but they’re wonderful ones—and she gives into the feeling, tumbling headfirst into a soft spot somewhere deep in her spirit, gasping as she realizes she’s got him at last.

He comes hard, and suddenly. It takes every thread of her fractured consciousness to open her throat so she can swallow. She takes short, frantic breaths, fingernails digging into his hips, blinding heat bursting behind her eyes.

It takes a moment—two, three—before he falls back to earth again.

She sits back, wiping her mouth, gazing hungrily down at him: he’s still got a shirt on for some reason, so she tugs at it with fingers that are almost numb from holding her breath. He mutters something, wiggles his hips, then struggles to a sitting position, lifting his arms obediently.

She wonders whether she’s stolen his words from him permanently. He blinks a few times, struggling to focus on her, beautiful eyes blown out and blurry and dark.

Then: “Not fair,” he whispers.

She can’t think of one single thing that could possibly be unfair. She brushes his hair off his forehead and tries to memorize the wasted look in his eyes.

“What isn’t, baby?”

He breathes deep, which is code for wait for me, I’ll catch up soon.

Her blood runs hot and cold. She shifts her hips against the sheets again, hopelessly tingly. He runs a trembling hand across his eyes then drops it—and when he looks at her, something has changed: his cheeks are still pink and his lips are still swollen, but his eyes are hard and hot as the very core of the earth.

“Eunji,” he says. He’s not moaning now: he speaks steadily, voice so serious she thinks she might give him the world. “Take off your clothes.”

Whatever’s come over him, it’s stealing the last of her senses. She tugs her tank top off and throws it aside.

“Wait,” he breathes. “Sorry. Was that too—you don’t have to…”

He is everything all at once: firm and strong and steady—sweet and soft and full of wonder.

“I’m getting naked either way,” she says. “But I like it better if you tell me to.”

She’s never loved anything the way she loves him now.

“I’m gonna lose my mind,” he proclaims. “This is the end for me.”

Eunji giggles. She means to put on a show but she’s overeager and uncharacteristically clumsy, stumbling as she scrambles out of her jeans, laughing as he lifts one hand to trace the shape of her bra.

“Are you gonna take this off too?” He sounds irreverent.

“If you say I should.”

Saeyoung swallows, fingertips skimming across her stomach.

“Take it off,” he whispers.

She does, unhooking it and letting it fall to the bed, grinning when his eyes grow comically wide.

“Oh,” he says. “Um, wow.”

She’s gotten pretty good responses from partners over the years, but this is by far her favorite.

“Touch them,” she says.

His warm, rough hands make her feel less jagged than usual—now, she’s dreamy and blurry, growing somehow smaller and silkier as he runs his scarred hands over her soft skin.

“How do I make you melt for me?” he asks, tracing the edges of her body with a fingertip. “Show me what to do.”

She’s only waited seventeen days for him to ask.

For weeks, she’s fallen asleep to the sound of his fingers tap-tap-tapping his well-worn keys. She’d happily swap out her beating heart and warm skin for screens and wires—anything to get him touching her.

“Here,” she says. “Feel.”

She takes his hand in both of hers, guiding him between her legs, pressing his fingers to her panties—sticky and soaked already from the way she’s rubbed against them. He swallows, huge eyes following the curve of her body down, down, down to gaze at his hand against her wet panties.

“Did I make you…” His voice is hoarse and there’s a look on his face she can’t quite read.

“It’s all you, baby.” She wiggles, feeling hot and helpless again. He hasn’t done anything yet, but the way he’s watching her is almost enough to drive her mad.

He meets her eyes and she recognizes, in a flash of delight, the expression on his face.

It’s pride.

“Where should I…how do I…”

“Touch me,” she says. “You’ll know when you get it right.”

“How will I know?” He shifts so he’s got a better angle, crooking his pointer finger and flicking it upwards. Sparks fly like soldering metal and she gasps, squirming beneath him.

“Oh,” he breathes. “That’s how.”

She’s watched him work for days on end but she’s never seen him focused the way he is now: he zeroes in on her, eyes dark and hungry—exploring her underwear, feeling for heat, listening for the subtle differences in sounds.

“Can these come off?” His clever fingers hook over the lacy band of her panties and she lifts her hips, mouthing a yes, lost in the way he’s looking at her.

She’s so raw she’s sure she’ll lose her head before he even touches her skin.

He parts her tenderly, dutifully, and then his finger finds the spot that’s already swollen, white hot and hopelessly impatient, and all of a sudden there’s no more minutes or seconds—no cracks in the sidewalk, no clouds or cars or airplanes, no wishes or dreams or fears.

“Like this,” she pants, making the motion with her own finger against his hip, and he copies her perfectly, the precision she’s seen wreck impenetrable security systems dissolving the very fabric of her existence.

She crooks her finger, brushing the skin of his leg so soft, so fast, and he mirrors her motions till she doesn’t have to guide him anymore, and time has no meaning, and she’s known him for days and weeks and years—an eternity—and she’s never wanted anything more, never lost track of the seconds, never forgotten how many miles she is from home or how many steps it would take to sprint out the door.

She can’t see straight anymore. Her vision’s clouded over and she hears the sounds she’s making like distant music in someone else’s dream, and there are no more numbers or words or rhythms, only the absolute certainty that she is alive.

“Saeyoung,” she says, unsure she’s even making sense, searching for his face through the blinding heat behind her eyes. She wants to say fuck me or you were always supposed to be mine, but the words don’t come and her hands scrabble helplessly at his hips.

Words don’t matter as much as they used to.

“Now?” She feels him shifting, sitting, and his finger’s still moving but he shakes as she grasps at his hands.

“Stay there.”

She scrambles to a sitting position, throwing her arms around his neck, giggling as the air clears and his heart hums and his breath grows shallow. He’s already hard again and his whole body shakes when she runs a hand along his length, gasping as she climbs into his lap.

She looks in his eyes—eternal like the sound of the sea, bright as the summer sun the day she ran away from home—and he nods.

He lived, he lives, he’ll live.

And then he’s inside her, hips twitching as she guides him deeper, his body rigid as he struggles valiantly to stay still. She rocks once, twice, and his fingernails dig into her waist, making her moan.

She wishes he’d cover her with marks the shape of his perfect fingers, dissolve her, devour her.

“I can’t,” he hisses, hips shivering helplessly as he tries in vain to let her set the pace. She grins into his dark, dizzy eyes.

“So don’t.”

All he needs is permission to lose control.

He lifts her off him and she lands hard on the pillows, vision narrowing to a single point as he finds his way back to her, hips bucking erratically at first and then steadier, stronger. His lips graze her collarbone—neck—ear, and when she whines he bites down, teeth sharp and solid—her favorite kind of pain.

“Do it again,” she says.

He bites her earlobe so hard the room swims before her, and she throws her legs around his waist and murmurs a million words that are something or nothing, numbers or letters or the precious sound of his secret name. She doesn’t know if her eyes are open or closed but everything’s bright stars in an endless night sky, pleasure so hot it burns her skin as he fucks her harder, faster, letting go of a lifetime of loathing and waiting and longing and hating.

There’s no need to remember someone who’s been where you’ve been—who’ll go where you’re going.

His hips stutter and she squeezes her legs and they fall together, bodies one single mass of energy hurtling through the sky at the speed of light.

He’s shaking.

Then he’s still.

She says his name once, twice, and his hands are in her hair, his body disentangling from hers, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and holding her tight.

“Fucking love you,” she mutters, lips pressed against his chest, head heavy, limbs like molten lava. He laughs and she thinks it’s the song of the stars.

“Your ears are really red,” he says. His voice is husky so she kisses his throat.

“No, your ears are red, ‘cause I make you nervous.”

She blinks till she can see his face again. He’s grinning.

“Maybe,” he says. “Yours are red because I bit them a lot. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“You can bite my ears all day long.” She smushes her face into his neck and his hands lift her hair, which was stuck to her skin with sweat.

“Right now?” He nibbles her earlobe and she squirms, still tingly all over, desperate and happy and particularly in love.

“You’re not gonna sleep on the floor anymore, are you?”

“God.” He exhales heavily, squeezing her tighter. “How’d I ever sleep before?”

“You didn’t.” She peeks at his sleepy, sweet, satisfied face, grinning at the silly look he gives her.

When she holds him, she imagines a million things.

She thinks of the good dreams she hopes he’ll have now that he’s hers—the happy ending they’re heading toward, because she’ll stop at nothing till he has everything. She thinks of the pleasure of living and the certainty of never being alone. She thinks of a hundred more years of him falling asleep in her arms.

She doesn’t count anything else tonight: not the steady sound of his breaths nor the seconds till she falls asleep—not the shapes on the ceiling nor the shadows on the floor.

Loving him isn’t numbers or patterns, rhythms or music.

It’s quiet. It’s shimmering.

It’s the sound the earth makes when your feet touch solid ground.

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #cmc eunji #saeyoung x eunji #spicy spaceship #fics from my tumblr absence <3

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