but then again not a cigarette

A Million Little Pieces - A Shannon One Shot

For the anon who requested this one shot, I hope it meets your expectations!

I ran into him today. Two weeks had passed since we broke up and I still missed him. I tried like hell to avoid him. He looked so happy, smiling and laughing as if he hadn’t broken my heart into a million little pieces. Ultimately my attempts failed and we stood face to face. He smelled of coffee, caramel and cigarettes. A familiar smell, I’d somehow grown to love.

Hey. You look great. How have you been?” He asked, his voice sultrier than I remembered.

“Great.” I lied. “I called Jared and he met me at your place so I could pick up a few things I’d left. I figured it would be easier that way.” I confessed, thankful that I hadn’t seen him again until now. “I should get going. Take care.” I told him and quickly walked away before he could see me break down.

Keep reading

everything in our ashtray coming down
sifting through the wreckage with you
smoking new cigarettes, no lighters
just matches and you/we’re a serenade
made up of tired blue notes
in a hard, hard world/an unforgiving place
run to the man in the moon
but don’t expect any sort of accomplishments
rotting fruit and masquerades and different
parties all going down and through …
broken ashtrays on the carpet, busted
bottles on the floor, kitchen sink is filled with
regret but you’re coming around tonight …
we’ll talk for hours again, everything under
the sun the sun the sun … i fell in love with you
under a nonchalant moon … it didn’t care at all
but i felt so much … your soft voice,
your delicate eyes, your sun-burnt hair, your
way of talking about everything we grow to love …
like it’ll save us in the end – you know,
i’ll hold my breath for you
— 

makes me think;

a poem about hard times and soft voices/everything we grow to love

OC and Associations - Mass Effect Version

Tagged by the amazing @illusivesoul yet again~ does it mean we’re friends now?

Unfortunately I never really developed my Shepard’s character, but I hope my other OC will do

Nadya “Kestrel” Silin

(look, I even dug out one of my silly sketches of her)

ANIMAL: Kestrel, what a surprise…

COLOR(S): Neon blue, red, orange

MONTH: September

SONG: Billy Talent – Half Past Dead

NUMBER: 19

DAY OR NIGHT : Night

PLANT : Hibiscus

SMELL(S): Gunpowder, cigarettes and strong tea

GEMSTONE: Fire opal

SEASON: Summer

PLACE(S): Nightclub

FOOD: I honestly have no idea

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Virgo

ELEMENT(S): Fire

DRINK: Black tea

Now for the tagging part. The only mutuals of mine who I know have Mass Effect OCs are @noonvraith @mxttart and @thenightingalelily so I guess the job’s on you guys (unless, of course, you don’t want to)
tag yourself — tumblr pop
  • Halsey: reckless nights, driving around the illuminated city of L.A. / sneaking into old, abandoned motels with your friends that you’re probably never going to talk to again after high school, but you still say the term BFF all night / cigarette filters in tiny liquor bottles, stained with lipstick / chopping off your hair in a bathroom that isn't yours and not cleaning up afterwards / young love and genuinely believing it’s the end of the world when it ends after a week, finally believing the people who warned you / burning an american flag and throwing your more-than-half-full bottle of jack daniels into the flames
  • Melanie Martinez: alphabet blocks spelling ‘go fuck yourself’ / your stuffed animals showing up in places you don’t remember placing them / pastel nail polish that messily gets all over your fingers and hands / old photos of babydolls with a lazy eye and bashed-in faces / finally realizing the grim, origin-meanings of the nursery rhymes your parents read you as a kid / watching tom and jerry on drugs / knee-high socks with lacy tops and rip all along the fabric / getting the big-kid swing all to yourself because no one wanted to go to the park with you / tearing the heads off of your animal crackers and gummy bears
  • The Neighbourhood: standing at the beach at 5 pm, shallow waves crashing onto your feet / burning money you know you need and using it to roll blunts because you want that rich-illusion / driving through california in a white convertible, with palm trees all around you and a girl you just met sitting next to you, while holding her shawl over her head before letting it fly off into the wind / hawaiian shirts and faded, ripped jeans / leaving a small party early and coming home to your expensive suburban condo, falling asleep alone / the ghost of nicotine on your tongue after brushing your teeth
  • Twenty One Pilots: colder weather and leaves fallen off every tree / painting vent-quotes on your walls with black and red paint when you can’t sleep / sitting in the school cafeteria with your childhood best friend, jamming on a ukelele / dark thoughts at night that you turn into poetry / secret handshakes that only you and your soulmate know / scribbling out your monsters with a black pen on a three-hole-punch notebook
  • Lorde: demolishing stereotypes, the popular girls kissing the nerd girls, jocks showing up at theatre class / games of spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven / throwing on your drugstore lipstick and fishnets and catching a bus to a sketchy, glow-blog-material club that doesn't require ID / sinking under chlourine-plagued water with your best friend and yelling something, floating up and trying to guess what the other said / going to a house party on a saturday while sticking to white wine and your friend that dragged you there, but ending up actually having a really good time / not giving a shit about sports but going to a highschool football game to get out of the house
  • Lana Del Rey: marilyn-liner and fake lashes / oldies movies playing in the background / emotionlessly breaking expensive jewelry that your ex bought you / loitering at liquor stores until you're asked to leave / getting into a stranger's car solely because they're cute / getting drunk off moonshine and dancing on the pole in the center of the T even though you have no experience
  • Marina And The Diamonds: purposely popping your bubblegum as hard as you can when someone asks you to stop chewing so loud / poisoning a milkshake at a 50's style diner / the sound of pouring a handful of diamonds against a mahogany floor / pastel pink leather jackets with a number of feminism pins all over it / a beautiful bouquet of flowers from all the lovers you met with, 1-5 for each day of the week.
I first tried to kill myself when I had just turned 19 years old,
to this day I remember the feeling of the pills going down my throat,
swallowing them so effortlessly
as though it were my destiny.
As though I was built with this capacity 
to self destruct,
built with the capacity
to destroy this body that my mother pushed out into the world.
‘Ironic,’ I thought.
A month after my birthday, I try to take my life,
I end up in the psychiatric ward of the hospital I was born in.
I make a tally for every time I looked around the empty room
and wondered how I could make things final this time.
I make a tally for every time someone says I don’t look like
I’m supposed to be there.
I make a tally for every lie I’ve told:
Were you sexually abused? [x]
Did you have prior suicidal thoughts? [x]
Would you do it again? [x]
Do you use drugs or alcohol? [x]
I lie and deny it all, but how do you deny what’s in your blood?
I was built with an addictive personality,
my mother likes pretty little white lines and risky sex
and my father likes hard liquor and smoking cigarettes. 
I was built with this capacity to deceive,
built with a baby face and angel wings,
but I sink my claws and watch myself bleed whenever I can’t feel a thing.
And I’m decomposing,
hiding empty bottles in my closet, in the hamper, and under my bed.
I can’t flourish with the thoughts screaming,
‘USE ME, USE ME. DON’T HANDLE WITH CARE.’
So don’t ask me why I hate the beach,
because I can’t control anything around me
other than my food intake.
And don’t ask me why I can’t wear shorts anymore
or why I wear long sleeves in 80 degree weather.
Don’t ask why I stay in places I shouldn’t
when I’ve already accepted my fate.
To live as fire, consume all that I can, before I quickly burn out.
tsundere (m)

Originally posted by nnochu

⇢ resident advisor! yoongi x reader, college au

⇢ word count: 11.2k

⇢ summary: according to the rumours, min yoongi is a bad apple- doesn’t take grades seriously, drinks as if he has two livers, a certified bad boy™. when you get paired up with him for a project, you’d never expect that someone like him would have a thing or two to teach you about life itself- and how it should be lived. 

⇢ warnings: angst, smut

🎵 song recommendation: something just like this by coldplay x the chainsmokers

a/n: finally something that isn’t pwp????? :”) 


Panic races through your veins and fills up your airway, causing your breathing to double itself, chest heaving in an attempt to calm yourself down. No, this can’t be happening, you chant to yourself over and over. The clock on your laptop is glaringly bright in the near darkness of your room, and the numbers burn themselves into the back of your eyelids. When you close your eyes, the uncomfortable stinging of your contact lenses makes your eyes water and at this point they might as well be tears of desperation.

It’s not like you’ve never had writer’s block before, you reason with yourself. You just have to start writing and edit along the way. Your own voice of reason is drowned out by the anxiety that echoes all the possible consequences of not acing this paper. It’s nearly 4 am and the essay you have so far in front of you is not enough to get an A, you know it in your bones but you can’t come up with anything better either. You could just submit this as it is, but anything less than an A on this paper would pull you down from the cusp of that ever elusive first class honours. And you can’t afford to graduate with anything less than that. The very thought of it sends a fresh chill of panic that creeps down your spine and jolts your fingers into a typing frenzy, spilling thoughts and ideas onto your screen till you reach the end of the page.

But when you read over what you’ve written, it doesn’t make sense at all, just incoherent rambling sentences strung together into a never ending paragraph. In frustration you shove your laptop away from you and push back your chair, reaching for your keys and phone. Sneaking a peek at your roommate’s still form across the room, you let yourself out of the room silently, feeling your tensed shoulders relax immediately as the cool night air embraces you with open arms.

It’s a little chilly to be out in just a long shirt and sleep shorts, but since there’s no one awake to catch you dressed like this, it’s the least of your concerns for now. The balcony that is attached to your room affords a little privacy, and it’s one of the perks of occupying the corner room on this floor. The tranquillity of the cold, autumn night directly contrasts with the millions of theories and concepts running through your mind, and any attempts at clearing your mind are failing pathetically. The residential halls are eerily silent at this time of the night, and as you glance down over the protective railings, you consider how easy it would be to just climb over, just one leg over and then-

“Late night?” You whirl around at the interruption of a raspy, gruff voice sounding from behind you. Your eyes are met with a figure clothed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, but it’s only when you squint in the darkness to survey his face that you realise who he is.

Keep reading

An Aquarius was throwing and making a mess in his own room after he found out that she, his girlfriend, had finally moved on without him. I looked as he cuss and threw away some of the mementos of her, and finally stopped when he found an old photo of them together at a photobooth. He sat down and started to burst into tears. “If only.. If only I told her everything, and hadn’t kept it all in, maybe she would’ve stayed..” he said through the tears.

An Aries looked through his twitter and found a picture of his ex with someone else, he let out a soft chuckle. “Oh shit..” he laughed, and slowly he stood up and continued to laugh. “Look at this. Look at her.. Oh, she’s.. she’s fucking hilarious.” He slowly started to laugh so hard, and I watched as he began to shake and slowly made his way to the balconey and started to scream about her, just screamed her name and called her names and how he hated her but finally he broke down and cried.

A Cancer started shaking and tries to grab his phone out of our reach. “Please, let me just call her..” we shook all our heads and told him to just stay put. He begged that it’ll be just for tonight. We told him that he has had enough, but he wouldn’t listen. He wanted to call her so bad, but the truth is.. she’s about to have her wedding in a week, and he was going to tell her he still loves her after all these years.

A Capricorn and I were out in mid-town late at night, and he had too much to drink. He sways as he walks, and suddenly one of Bryson Tiller’s songs played through one of the bars nearby and he let go of me and sang through the whole verse. He finally stopped and looked at me and said, “This shit, that’s me. I wished God would saved her for me. That’s it, and fuck.. I’m not really at my best at the moment, but I loved her.”

A Gemini breath out smoke after inhaling his cigarette and he looked at the city lights from our view. “I miss her..” was all he said, taking another inhale from his cigarette. He looked at me and gave me a small smile and back at view.

A Leo drank with me, and place an arm around my shoulders and said, “I shouldn’t drink too much. These crazy thoughts are hunting me again, and I just want to crush the world. Ha, oh she’s in my head. My ex, you know? She’s in here again and.. fuck! I hate her. I miss her. You know we’re talking again, right but just as "friends”? I want more than that..“ He gave me a small playful slap on the cheek and walked to get another drink. It’s going to be a long night.

A Libra rushed to her house, knocking at her apartment door. But it was locked. Ran back downstairs and started calling her name out her window, trying to get her attention. She finally opened the window and told him to leave. I watched from the car, as he asked for her forgiveness. She shook her head and said it was too late for him.

A Pisces admitted to me how he still thinks about his ex, and how he still calls out her name and how his mind would play memories of her every single day. He can’t stand the nights because his mind would play her, her voice, her smile, the way she would call him everyday and she was his rock. As he sits here with me, tears roll down his cheek and he said, "Now here I am still holding on to her, just waiting for a sign that maybe she’d come back, and maybe we can try again.. but also maybe she’s with someone else, who.. who treats her well than I could’ve had and.. I want her to be happy, I do, but I wish.. right now.. she could be happy with me, and I am so selfish for it..”

A Sagittarius once said that he used to think too much about the relationship and how every time he was with her he would start to overthink every scenario of how she would leave him, and he would tell her and she would shook her head and promised him she would never leave… and now that she’s gone he still can’t stop thinking about her..

A Scorpio said to me, “I’m just not too sure if I could ever ask her to come back. I really messed up, you know? I could try, but would she ever give me another chance to prove to her my real worth? Can she really do that..?” I was a little loss for words. Knowing Scoprio and how he is, he seemed to be really serious about her. I just didn’t know what to say.

A Taurus and I passed by a coffee shop and he paused and peered through and saw his ex with someone else, and she’s laughing and holding this man’s hand. He gritted his teeth and his fist clenched. I put a hand on his shoulder and told him to let it go. It’s been years since they’ve together and been a two years after their break up. He slowly looked down in defeat and sighed. He walked off ahead of me..

A Virgo and I were driving out late one night around the city, and all the songs he played were just old, sad R&B music and I would watch him from time to time as he mumbled some of the lyrics to himself and would let out a small smirk when the singer goes and says, “I love you and miss you..” and he shook his head. We pulled up to a parking lot, and he got out and looked at me and said, “I do miss her, but do you think she misses me..?”

—  Regrets..
  • but can you guys even imagine the Wild™ after party/yay-we-beat-riko’s-pathetic-ass celebration after the foxes win?? 
  • dan & matt have to go all out. they try to deck everything up in confetti & bright orange balloons. wymack’s got enough alcohol stacked up to power a vegas niterie. the only rule of thumb is to come dressed in orange.
  • but andrew’s group (with the exception of neil and nicky) still come dressed in black so it starts to look like a halloween party. 
  • neil wears his orange proudly, & even lets allison paint a glittery little fox paw on his cheek. 
  • everyone but andrew gets a fox paw. nobody is in the mood to get stabbed tonight. 
  • nicky and kevin get super drunk & start to awfully sing “WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, NO TIME FOR LOSERS ‘CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!“ with no melody whatsoever.
  • neil jokes that he’s going to leave the party deaf, but he’s all warm inside bc they did it, they actually did it, they won. and he’s home
  • matt gets extra-lovey-dovey when he’s shitfaced & goes on a drunken rant about his love for dan and this broken team & how he’d happily take a bullet for everyone in the room. and to everyone’s surprise, he says that despite his questionable methods, he has andrew to thank for his sobriety. andrew doesn’t seem to react to this, but neil gives his shoulder a gentle assuring squeeze, one andrew doesn’t dispute. 
  • matt & dan exchange promise rings. abby makes a congratulatory speech, nicky gets emotional & cries a little bit.  
  • renee & allison dance together, renee is happy bc this is the first time after seth’s death that she’s seen allison look so elated even if sloshed. "this is his win, too,” she whispers later, at renee’s ear, “of course,” renee agrees. “once a fox, always a fox." 
  • wymack makes a quick, thoughtless toast, "WE FINALLY SMOKED THOSE BITCHES!” the truth is he’s too speechless for words. this is why he does what he does, this is the pay off after years of being shunned, doubting himself & taking everyone’s shit. this is why his team, his good-for-nothing, nothing-to-lose team is going to make it to the big leagues. 
  • kevin & wymack exchange an intense glance, & wymack silently vows to be the dad he’d never gotten to be & to make sure kevin never gets hurt again - not under his watch. kevin doesn’t know what to do with this new unkempt emotion burning in his chest, but he thinks he’s willing to find out.
  • all the vixens come ofc, & neil can’t help but notice how smiley & full of life aaron looks when he’s around katelyn. like he’s a completely different person to the one they know. everyone has to make a bit of an effort to keep kaitlyn out of andrew’s line of sight (by andrew’s own demand), but it feels worth it. when aaron catches him staring & meets his eyes, his smile drops but he doesn’t scowl & in neil’s book that’s an improvement. 
  • bee comes to congratulate them all and whisks andrew to the side to talk to him in private, when andrew returns, he’s looking more at ease than neil has seen him since he got sober. that tension in his shoulders is gone, his expression is still numb but there’s a soft, fierce glow in his hazel eyes. neil thinks triumph looks good on him. 
  • renee stays sober & tucks everyone into bed once they’re all too wasted to move on their own. 
  • neil then lightly touches andrew’s arm, steering him away from all the chaos & silently thanks him for saving him from getting hit with that racquet. 
  • andrew shrugs, “it only seems appropriate since i’ve already hit you with a racquet once and the results bored me. the noise you made was pretty unattractive. i didn’t see the point in reliving that again." 
  • neil understands that this is andrew speak for "you’re welcome” & they ditch the rest of the party in favor of going up to the rooftop to smoke cigarettes and make out. 
  • the night feels different, neil feels different. the future is bright & unnerving & large & stretched out in front of him but right now, he’s just content being at home, with andrew’s breath on his tongue & the distant chorus in his head of a thousand ravens fans swallowing their tongues.

[ Tom Hiddleston - Extended imagine ]“Cigarettes and Divorce Forms”.

Based on: Imagine: Filing for divorce from Tom, and him signing the papers even though he still loves you, because he knows you aren’t happy with him and all he wants is to see you smile even if its not him who can make it happen anymore.

Written by: A.Wölf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom stared at the clock before lighting his 5th cigarette in the last 67 minutes. The ticking noise seemed to echo in the room.

The lawyer adjusted his cufflinks for the 3rd time and took a deep breath glancing at his impatient client with a worried look.

“How much longer are you going to wait, Mr.Hiddleston?”

Tom glared at him with the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“She’ll be here”, he murmured clenching his jaw.

“It’s been-”

“I’m sorry”, Tom cut him off, “Am I not paying you enough, mate? Because you sure as hell know how to charge”.

The lawyer shifted in his seat awkwardly and interlaced his fingers before him with a softer expression, understanding his client’s bad mood.

Well, what I mean is… that maybe this is a good thing. You know… maybe she doesn’t want the divorce after all. Many people avoid these things because they don’t really want to get divorced”, he stammered.

Tom narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

“Oh believe me. She wants it”, he said holding smoke in his mouth.

Keep reading

the love that broke me at 16 isn’t the love that broke me at 19… when your 16 you feel like it’s the worst pain like you are dying and you can’t breathe when in reality you are just fine but at 19 it’s dead it’s been dead for a while you just stay because your scared that you’ll start feeling 16 again when you know you won’t. At 16 you cry for a while or you talk about it too much but at 19 you don’t cry because it’s happened 5 times before in the last month and you don’t care you start saying I don’t care all the time. At 16 it’s liquor overdoses but at 19 you take two cigarettes and you don’t care. At 19 you remind yourself that at 16 you survived. At 19 you think about school and the future is so close but at 16 you can’t even think of life after high school. At 19 you forgive without a sorry or without revenge at 16 you beg for a reason why you make yourself sick over a person who didn’t deserve you. At 19 you know you will love again and love stronger and at 19 you knew he wasn’t the one but at 16 you were stupid for fake love but at 19 it was scary love it was dangerous love because there was no love just a habit that was hard to break
Just wondering

I’ve had seen a lot of posts related to chapter 27 of Killing Stalking and nobody seem to realize these little hints that Koogi might left us. 

So, the first time I read the chapter I found curious that Sangwoo was looking at his feets with a terrfied expression, just before laying down at Bum’s side.  

At first, I thought that his expression was the result of all the emotions he had been through the chapter….

But Sangwoo kept blocking the entire view of that side of the room, and we just got to see a few stuff from below.

I was about to let it pass and keep reading, but when Bum woke up..

He blocked the view, again, and said the following with astonishment..

Then, the attention focus on his cut. 

I might been overthinking, but one thing I’m sure is that Koogi wouldn’t waste time doing this. She’s the kind of author that leaves you hints without rub them in your face. A good example could be chapter 13, in which we can assume that  Seungbae took the cigarette butts from the plantplot for future investigations.

*Sorry for grammar mistakes, english is not first language.*

it’s midnight again
and i’m on my roof top
looking at the constellations
with a cigarette and cold tears running off my face

i’ve listened to the same 3 songs on repeat
hoping that they’d help me
but sadly they only get old
and i only become annoyed and weak

the nights cold breeze freezes me
but i’m okay with it
even though i don’t wanna die
it seems like a pretty good option right now

the moon shines bright
and i see our shadows running off together
but that’s just imaginative
because you never came back

so as i freeze to death on my roof
with my almost burnt out cig
and my music blasting high
maybe i’ll find comfort in the cold

or maybe not
i don’t know
i’m just stupid
and afraid

6

was valentine’s day on tuesday? yes. is it valentine’s day today? no. do i care? clearly not. i had two exams this week and all i could think about was making something cute for these two. so here it is, miles and waylon spending their first valentine’s together since after ran into each other after the events at mount massive asylum.

BONUS!!

that feeling when you’re so busy making out with your boyfriend that you don’t see the snakes in your own home.

Abstract

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER | TAEHYUNG VERSION 

WORD COUNT: 9K

In your household nothing was truly what it seemed; your mother was having an affair with her business partner, leaving your stepfather to work himself into a pit of denial. The only person who had real feelings under that roof was you. You felt disgust when your mother would blatantly lie to her husband, you felt overwhelmed and stressed because of university, and you felt the euphoria of your late night rendezvous with Taehyung.

Your stepbrother.

warnings: graphic smut, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!taehyung + sub!reader, degrading, humiliation, spanking + strong language

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

masterlist | ask | song

Keep reading

random harry concept™

You’re at a party talking to some of your shared friends.

And Harry is next to you, his hand around your hips softly but lowkey protectively.

And he has a drink in the other hand, his ring-clad fingers wrapped around the round class, leaving smudges in the condensation, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the glass. He smells like Dolce Gabana, wine and smoke bc he took a swig from Ben’s cig.

And you’re talking about school and life and stuff and he leans in and his hair tickles the back of your jaw and ears. It’s starting to grow back out, little curls struggling to wrap around his ears.

His breath is cold from the ice in his drink as he talks. “I’m gonna go talk to Alexa for a bit, yeah? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

And you murmur a quick “okay,” feeling the warmth of his body slide away from you but you don’t worry bc you know he’ll be fine.

After a while you glance around the flat to see where he is, spotting him at the bar surrounded by a couple of people and tipping back tequila shots with someone like a pro.

It’s a race, apparently, as you see a row of shots laid out before him and he tosses them back as fast as possible, his jaw clenching and face scrunching up at the sour taste, but he shakes it off with a shudder of his broad shoulders. He flips the tiny glass upside down on the marble counter, reaching for a blue snowman cup filled with orange juice.

He’s going at it hard– it’s evident even from far away. Sweat has matted his hairline and beads his forehead, his lips a cherry pinkish red, his cheeks flushed lightly and his pupils are blown out of proportion.

The people around him cheer him on, one of his family buddies filling up more glasses and sliding them towards him. The guy opposite him is tipping them back hella hard, too, being ahead of Harry by three hits.

Alexa is standing behind him, massaging his shoulders and giving him a rough pep talk. You see Harry nod his head hazily, smiling all watery and drunk off his ass as his fingers go up to his shirt, popping the first three buttons air out some heat.

He then downs two shots, making an audible grunt as he slams them down on the tabletop, the cheering around him swelling. You smile softly because it’s good to see him so happy and carefree. He deserves some hardcore fun after all his hard work on the movie.

Some more time passes as you talk Christmas plans with Gemma, who had arrived right after Harry had won the tequila contest.

You turn your head to check up on him again and your words lodge in your throat.

He’s gripping a booze bottle by the neck, a sparkler shoved into the top. Alexa is next to him, smoking a cig, and to your horror, you see him stick his tongue all the way out, making a beeline for the end of the lit cigarette. When Alexa backs up, laughing, shaking her head at him, he veers off course, his sights set on the crackling sparkler instead.

“Harry!” You call over the thumping music, scrambling up from the couch with a quick apology to Gemma and pacing towards him.

You get there just in time to snatch the popping firework off the bottle, putting it out and setting it on the nearest table.

“Have you gone mental?” You screech quietly, prying the booze from his big, clumsy hand as he pouts his ruby lips and puts on his puppy dog eyes.

“Y/NNNNNN,” he slurs, stomping one of his feet and coughing thickly, “s'just some fun, sweetheart. Liven up, would ya?”

“Swallowing a goddamn firecracker and licking a lit cigar is your idea of fun?” You snort in disbelief, grabbing at his arm as he teeters on his feet.

“Ooooh,” Alexa hums dangerously, chuckling as you scold him. “Someone’s in big trouble.”

You roll your eyes at her playfully. “You have no idea.”

You tug Harry away from the bar, heading towards the first bathroom you see. He stumbles over his feet behind you, whining half-heartedly. At one point you pass Sandy, who whistles over at you both.

“You gon’ get a spankin’, Styles? Been a bad boy?”

Harry gives him a toothy grin, throwing the man a lazy wink. “You know it, mate.”

He then proceeds to slap his rear several times, releasing a high-pitched moan. “Oh, baby, just like that! I’ve been such a bad baby boy! Whip me into shape, please. I’m begging you!”

His friends burst into a roar, causing your cheeks flush.

“Come on, you bugger.” You tug him harshly, continuing your journey to the loo.

The door swings open and you shove him through it, locking it behind you. He wobbles over to lean on the marble counter, knuckling at his wide eyes as he giggles messily.

The bathroom is spotless, much to your surprise. Alexa had really gone all out for this party. You grab a linen towel from a big basket near the jacuzzi bathtub, wetting it under the faucet and drifting towards Harry, who is distracted childishly with his dog tag, tugging and twisting at it.

You dab the warm cloth onto his forehead, wiping the dried sweat and sliding it down his jaw and around his mouth to rid of the residue of liquor.

He behaves obediently, reaching up to play with the ends of your hair, tugging at it every now and then, his eyes quickly flitting up to yours to see your reaction. You wipe down his neck and the exposed bit of his chest until he’s fairly clean. You toss the towel in the dirty hamper, buttoning up his shirt once again and finger combing his floppy mop of semi-curls, then massaging his ears in small, long, circular motions.

He hums appreciatively, blinking sluggishly down at you and grinning like a fool. “S'good. You’re good, I mean. With your hands. You’re good with tour hands.”

“Oh, am I really?” You cock an eyebrow, amused at the suggestiveness of his words, even though he didn’t mean them in such way.

He nods his head quickly a few times, not catching on immediately, but the idea eventually dawns on him, eyes going even bigger. “Oh, wait! No, I didn’t– I, like…Not like that or anything! I meant it as in you’re good at massaging my ears, not my dick.”

“So I’m not good at handies, is what you’re saying?” You pout with fake hurt, looking down at your feet.

“What? No! No, you’re amazing, darling! You’re amazing at getting me off! It’s just that, at this moment, I didn’t mean it like that. But you aren’t bad, I swear. You’re real good at massaging everything– anything– I just–” He babbles aimlessly, seeming like a deer caught in headlights.

It makes you smile. “I know, dumbass. I know what you mean.”

“Okay, good,” he sighs in relief, looking down as you sift your fingers with his. “You’re good.”

You nod slowly, kissing his forehead with care. He squeezes your hands gently, melting into your body as you kiss all over his face.

“You’re…so good to me.” He glubs, his tongue suddenly losing feeling inside his mouth. His eyes slowly trail up to yours, his teeth worrying the inside of his bottom lip. “You’re…” Harry takes one of your hands, setting it over his belt buckle. “Incredible.”

You get the memo right away, your fingers toying with the metal bit of the accessory. “Yeah? How incredible?”

His breathing is hitching in his throat, his stomach making faint churning noises as the alcohol settles into his system. A hiccup jolts his shoulders, his eyebrows scrunching at the spontaneous motion. Your hand is already worked into his pants, fingers cupping him over his briefs. He’s hot and heavy over the fabric, twitching with excitement.

You grope him roughly, repeating your question. “How incredible, H?”

His eyes flick up and down between your actions below and your eyes up top, dopily picking at the nails on his long fingers. “Really incredible. Don’t–” he swallows heavily, chipping off a large piece of the black nail polish you had helped him coat on a couple days back. “Don’t deserve you sometimes.”

You’re movements stop and an objecting whimper strings out from him immediately.

“What d'you mean you don’t deserve me?” You question quietly, reaching your free hand up to cup his jaw, your heart melting when he cradles it into your palm.

“S'like…” He trails off, sniffling faintly and you remember how sentimental he can get when he gets drunk.

“It’s like what, baby?” You nudge gently, smiling up at him with soft encouragement.

Harry’s breathing becomes more controlled as he switches hands now, all of the nail lacquer chipped clean off his right hand. “Can you…can you keep going?”

“Hm?”

“Can you…” He clenches his thighs, bringing your attention down to his swollen prick. You hadn’t realized how badly it had started to throb. He looks away shyly, cheeks and neck strawberry red as he asks you to keep jerking him off.

“Sure, Har. Feels nice? Helps you think a little better?” You dip inside his underwear, tugging his wet shaft out of its confinements and pumping it slowly.

“Y-Yeah,” He sighs shakily, hands trembling. He throws his head back against the light, lavender wall, the muscle inside his jaw ticking. “Oh, fuck yeah…”

“Now what’s this whole–” You give him a small squeeze just below the head, thumbing a couple of times over his leaking hole, just how he likes it, “thing about not deserving me?”

“S'just…after I got off on break, I said I had done it to spend more time with youuu-oh!” His hips give a tight buck into your cupped hand and he’s obviously trying to control himself.

“Yeah?”

“And then I took up the m-movie deal. And you…you weren’t even angry at me? I did it out of no where and you were nothing but happy, even though I broke the promise…” He’s sniffling again, wiping his nose along his shoulder with the shirt sleeve. “You did nothing but support me when I just left you hanging like that and I don’t deserve your patience. I leave you all by yourself to go on tour, get off of tour and then leave you again to do a movie and you haven’t said one bad thing and I just…And then now, having to deal with me drunk off my ass and trying to eat a fucking cig, for Christ’s sake! I don’t–”

“Bullshit.” You state, your tone so strict to the point where he jumps slightly. “I knew that dating you would come with this and I did it anyways because I love you. You never have to worry about this stuff with me, H. If I ever get sad about it, I’ll tell you, but don’t beat yourself up, alright? You live an exhausting enough life as it is, so don’t worry about me, okay? I’m always gonna be here for you because you more than deserve me– you’re a good man with a huge heart and you’re doing all you can to get a good, solid career. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Harry smiles all watery, kissing your nose. “I love you– fuck, I–so much. You’re just…can’t even put it into words.”

You kiss at the pulse in his neck, murmuring comfort. “Love you, too, my sparkler-eating dumbass.”

He chokes out a laugh, which is cut off by a hearty moan as you give his dick a twist.

“Can I finish you off now without any more tears being shed?” You tease, biting along the skin of his jaw.

“Hell yeah.”

NEW DIRECTION

How Louis Tomlinson survived the break-up of the world’s biggest boy band and became his own man

The Observer Magazine 25 Jun 2017

Photographs ALEX BRAMALL Fashion editor HELEN SEAMONS

Coming out of a dissolving boy band must be a bit like being an entrant in one of those dystopian jungle fights –a Hunger Games- style event in which bandmates are scattered across an unknown terrain and challenged to slog their lonely route back to fame. Justin Timberlake, after NSync, enjoyed the unsporting edge of natural talent and crushed his former colleagues. Robbie Williams looked supreme in the Take That scrimmage, at least until Gary Barlow circled back, gathered up the other three, and made the fight a more compelling four- on- one. By the time One Direction announced they were to go on indefinite hiatus in 2015, many of us were familiar enough with the conventions of boy-band bloodsport to start picking favourites for the coming melee.

Harry Styles – charming, a grinner – was best placed to succeed on his own. Big-lunged Zayn Malik was already out of the band by that time and had used his head start to good effect, preparing a solo album that went to No 1. Liam Payne and Niall Horan – always second-tier members – were given middling chances. And ranked last in any serious analysis, the most fitfully appreciated member of One Direction, was Louis Tomlinson. Here was a combatant you might expect to find curled up in a fox hole on the battlefield, pale and chain-smoking.

It is in roughly this position I find the 25-yearold, one afternoon earlier this summer. Slender, tracksuited, a little wan under his manicured facial hair, Tomlinson sits on a garden bench outside the photographer’s studio and rewards himself with an entire pack of cigarettes. “I know, I know,” he says of the smoking. “It’s not great. But there’s so much hurry-up-and-wait in this job. It helps me get ready to go again.”

I’ve often wondered why the fringe members of boy bands do this to themselves. Why they gather themselves to “go again”. As Tomlinson acknowledges, in One Direction he was seen by some as “forgettable, to a certain degree”. “The others have always been… Like Niall, for example. He’s the most lovely guy in the world. Happy-go-lucky Irish, no sense of arrogance. And he’s fearless. There are times I’ve thought: ‘I’d have a bit of that.’ Zayn, back in the day. He could relate to me on a nerves level. In the first year we were both the least confident. But Zayn has a fantastic voice and for him it was always about owning that. Liam always had a good stage presence, same as Harry, they’ve both got that ownership. Harry comes across very cool. Liam’s all about getting the crowd going, doing a bit of dancing…” And then there’s you. “And then there’s me.” Tracks from Tomlinson’s solo record have been playing inside the studio. They’re modest, rather lovely pop songs that in their quiet way seem to acknowledge his underdog status. Tomlinson lights another cig. “You know I didn’t sing a single solo on the X Factor,” he says, recalling the time back in 2010, when One Direction were first put together as a band on the ITV reality show. “A lot of people can take the piss out of that. But when you actually think about how that feels, standing on stage every single week, thinking: ‘What have I really done to contribute here? Sing a lower harmony that you can’t really hear in the mix?” He guesses, smiling wryly, that in those months he was best known as “The kid wearing espadrilles, stood in’t back.”

Not the best singer, not the high-energy guy, not the dude, Tomlinson discovered he was the one in the band who was most tuned into backstage logistics – the one who paid attention when “the 20th approval form” was passed around for a signature. “And if there was any bad news that needed giving to the label I’d always be designated to have the argument.” Later this would lead to Tomlinson founding a small record label of his own, Triple String, and to starting a side project managing a girl band. In his day job with One Direction, meanwhile, he toured the world, released five albums and amassed a large, equal-parts fortune like the rest of the boys. Somewhere en route, Tomlinson says, he found his feet as a performer. “In the last year of One Direction I was probably the most confident I ever was. And then it was: ‘OK, hiatus!’”

Tomlinson argued against it, he says, when the band first sat down to discuss separation. “It wasn’t necessarily a nice conversation. I could see where it was going.” Tomlinson remembers his instinctive assumption being simple. He would step away – try writing for other people, keep his label going, wait the “two years, five years, whatever it be” until One Direction reformed. “If you’d asked me a year or 18 months ago: ‘Are you going to do anything as a solo artist?’ I’d have said absolutely not.”

What changed? If the management stuff made you happy, I say, why not sit back and focus on that? “But then I’d be conceding,” he says. Conceding to who? To what? He waves his hand in the air. He could mean anything:

Niall is the most lovely guy, Zayn has the voice, Harry is very cool, Liam gets the crowd going… And then there’s me

I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans. They are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable

history, bandmates, doubters, the press. Tomlinson is quiet for a while and eventually says: “I’m trying to work out why it is that I’m [doing this], now that you’ve asked that question.” He fidgets and trials a few answers that run out of steam. “It’s frustrating, because I know what I want to say and I can’t articulate it.” He pats for his lighter. The odds are against this tilt, Tomlinson seems to understand. But as we start to talk through his reasons for at least trying, I find myself hoping that this Last Directioner makes an unlikely go of it after all.

pop industry has an ineREASON ONE . TH E luctable momentum, and the star who begins something ( like a skier inching off a hilltop) can quickly find themselves bound to ride out whatever thrills and trials comes next. Tomlinson gives the example of how he first became famous. Born in Doncaster in 1991 he was raised by his mother, Johannah Deakin, and later also by her new partner Mark Tomlinson. He was 16 when he went to his first X

Factor audition. Prompt rebuff. A year later he made it into the audition process, but still nowhere near the part where ambitious young singers are briskly embraced or condemned by that great gatekeeper of celebrity, Simon Cowell. In 2010 Tomlinson, twice unlucky, gave the auditions a final try.

“I told myself I’ve just got to get to Simon, get his opinion, that’s all my ambition was. Then all of a sudden everything changed. To my friends in Doncaster I would always say [getting into the band] was the most incredible thing that happened to me. And it was. But it happened when I was already having the best year of my life. I was 17, 18, just started driving, didn’t need fake ID any more, going to house parties. That’s the time. That’s the age. And to a certain degree… ‘Having it taken away’ is the wrong phrase. But there was a price to pay.”

He says his current efforts as a soloist came about in similar fashion. In 2016, Tomlinson had become a father. (His son, Freddie, “who I love so much”, was born after a brief relationship with a Californian stylist called Briana Jungwirth.) He had some other personal matters to work through and in the summer he went on holiday to Las Vegas to blow off steam. At a club the American DJ Steve Aoiki was playing. Tomlinson, giddy with delight from Aoiki’s set, suggested to the DJ they try writing something together. In career terms, he had inched off the hill again, without necessarily considering the gradient of the slope.

A few months later, Tomlinson says, a single he’d written with Aoiki was being rolled out for release through One Direction’s old record label, Syco. Tomlinson was booked in to perform it on live TV. “And I was, like: ‘Did I really think this through?’”

Which leads Tomlinson to reason two. He’s well aware he was fast-tracked into his music career. That, as a part of One Direction, he was only a piece of a “heavy machine”. And as a self-aware northerner, from a proudly working class family, this has left Tomlinson with residual guilt to answer about wealth and status that do not feel to him fully earned. “And I know, I know it sounds ungrateful. But I think about a man, on a nine-to-five, working his arse off for six months so he can go to his family and say: ‘Guys, I’m taking you to Disneyland.’ That moment… I’ll never have that in my family life. And I’ve worked hard. But I’ve never worked hard, not like that.”

Tomlinson says he has already sweated more for this record than any before. When you’re putting together material as a soloist, he says, you quickly learn that those hot-shot collaborators who once dribbled to work with One Direction no longer pick up the phone

so readily. “I couldn’t say to you now that I could definitely get a superstar writer in a session with me. And I understand that.” Tomlinson adds, with no real vinegar: “Harry won’t struggle with any of that.”

In their One Direction days, no question, Styles got the most attention. But all the boys had their devotees and Tomlinson wants to prove to his own fans – reason three – that he’s been worth the backing all these years. “I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans,” Tomlinson says. “Because they are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable.”

Tomlinson cannot talk about it with me, not without getting into muddy legal waters, but there was recently a difficult episode involving a small crowd of fans at an airport in LA. He was travelling with his partner, Eleanor Calder, who is viewed with some distrust by the fiercest corps of Louis fans. Video footage seems to show Calder being surrounded and attacked by a group of girls. Tomlinson, unable to discuss the matter, says to me more generally that he hopes his new music will reveal to fans a more complete version of himself than before. “Honestly, it’s crazy. It’s hard for a lot of people who are fanatical to believe that you are a real entity and a person.”

Which brings us to reason four. Reason four Tomlinson discusses with caution. Reason four he enshrouds with disclaimers: that it is not his intention to tell “a sob story”, that “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me”. Reason four concerns his mum.

Johannah Deakin was diagnosed with leukaemia in early 2016. Tomlinson had been worried his luck would run out; that having been “dealt that amazing hand” to squeak into the last berth in One Direction, he was due some sort of equalising blow. And he gives a bleak little laugh when he recalls where he was when the terrible phone call came. “At Jamie Vardy’s wedding of all places. Talk about your places, for something super-traumatic. My mum told me, uh, yeah, that she was definitely terminal.”

They were unusually close. He recalls how she was often one step ahead “because she had the password to my email”. It was an intimacy he attributes to them being close in age. “I remember the day I lost my virginity. I hadn’t even told any of my mates and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is really weird. But I’ve got to tell you…’ I remember thinking this is a bizarre conversation to be having with your mother. But it’s testament to how comfortable she made me.”

When Deakin died, in December 2016, Tomlinson was only days away from the live gig he’d agreed to do on the X Factor. “I remember saying to her: ‘Mum, how the fuck do you expect me to do this now?’ And she didn’t swear much, my mum. She’d always tell me off for swearing. And this time she was like: ‘You’ve got to fucking do it, it’s as simple as that.’ It was football manager, team talk stuff.’” The footage of Tomlinson’s performance that weekend is hard to watch. When he first appears on the X Factor stage he looks rigid, almost plastic, with grief. He’s clearly able to lose himself in the three-minute drama of a pop song. And after that the colour drains right back out of his face.

Tomlinson smokes for a bit. He says: “I’m not gonna claim this is all for me mum. But it was definitely… It was…”

He thinks. Throughout his life, he says, his mum always had greater belief in him than he did. “Sometimes my reservation, or my confidence, might have prevented me from doing something. And I’ve needed a mum in the past to kick me up the arse and go: ‘You’re doing it.’”

The boy bander has his reasons, then. “I’ve enjoyed this,” he says. “An opportunity to talk super openly. Not, y’know, answer questions about who my favourite superhero is. I don’t feel I get that many chances.”

The pile of cigarette butts in front of him has mounted to quite a height. Tomlinson, seeming to notice it for the first time, mutters: “Sorry. I’ve been chaining.” His mum hated smoking, he says. Then he smiles. “Though I remember she had the occasional cigarette herself.”

He taps his lighter on the table and asks what I make of everything he’s said. “Do you think your readers are still gonna wonder: ‘Why doesn’t he just not do it?’”

I’m not sure, I tell him, trying to be honest. But let’s see.

The day I lost my virginity, I hadn’t even told any of my mates, and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is weird but I’ve got to tell you…’

Louis’s new single ‘Back To You’ featuring Bebe Rexha and Digital Farm Animals is coming soon

the “dear evan hansen 10 things i hate about you au” that literally nobody asked for

I thought I was alone but @arimarris apparently loves this au as much as I do so here we go

v long sorry it’s under the cut

Keep reading