guys what am i doing

Texts At 3 AM
  • Chanyeol: Guys
  • Suho: What do you want?
  • Chanyeol: So, I was thinking...
  • Xiumin: Don't hurt yourself.
  • Chanyeol: ...no, but like, if you cut off your arm, would it hurt?
  • Chen: Of course it would, dumbass.
  • Chanyeol: But where would it hurt?
  • Baekhyun: Your ar-oh my god.
  • DO: If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll help you find out.
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Jongin for Esquire Korea 2017 Feb issue

I’m slowly falling in love with Tom Holland and there is nothing I can do to stop it…

2

“is that your way of comforting me?” “maybe”

this was supposed to be some kind of zombie apocalypse/the walking dead au requested by @sigh–onara but honestly i don’t even know anymore

Tears On Our Tongues

The ride home after the woods

A SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Countdown


Simon

When we get back to the car, we both sit in an extremely awkward silence.  Neither of us seems to know what to do.  After all, that was possibly the most pivotal moment of both of our lives.  Where do we go from here.?

           Lips and tears and heat and fire.

           When I turn to nervously look at Baz, he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw set and his brow heavy.  He’s gripping the steering wheel with both hands, but doesn’t make a move to actually start the car.  Rain is beginning to dot the windshield, and I can see my own breath whisper into the air.

           Baz is so tense, like he’s only just fully realizing what has happened.

           Lips and tears and heat and fire.  His lips on mine.

           “Um,” I murmur, breaking the silence, “do you want me to drive?”

           He blinks like he’s snapped out of a daze and takes a breath.  “No,” he says without looking at me, “it’s fine.”  He turns the key in the ignition, and I notice his hands shaking.

           “Baz,” I reach out and touch his arm without thinking. “I’d really prefer if I drove.”

           He doesn’t flinch at my touch like I expect him to.  He just stares at my hand on his skin with an odd expression, like he’s trying to figure out something complicated.  Like he’s thinking how did that get there?

           It’s not looking like he’s going to move, so I open my door and walk around to the driver’s side, and only then does he actually get out of the car.  He doesn’t look at me as he passes, barely brushing me with his coat on the way.

           When we’re both in our seats, I start the car and turn us around, heading back the way we came.  I turn on the heat because it’s freezing in here, but not the music. As much as I want to break the silence, I can’t ignore the fact that this isn’t just the normal we-kissed-what-now kind of awkward.  This is the you-almost-killed-yourself-and-as-a-result-we-kissed kind of awkward, which is slightly heavier than the normal awkward.

           Lips and tears and heat and fire.  His lips on mine.  Tears on our tongues.

           I sneak a glance at him.  He gazes at the window.  Not out, just at.  

           “You okay?”  I know it’s a stupid question, of course he’s not, but I have to ask.

           He shrugs and very slightly shakes his head.

           “I know it sounds dumb,” I say quietly, “but it’ll be alright.  You’ll be okay.”

           He doesn’t look at me.  I’m starting to wonder if he ever will again.

Baz

I nearly killed us. I nearly sent us both up in flames and then had him against a tree snogging the life out of him.  And here he is asking if I’m okay.

           Point for him though, because I’m not.  Of course not.

           Lips and tears and heat and fire.  His lips on mine.  Tears on our tongues.  His mouth, so full of heat.

           I’m not okay, and now I’ve let him see in graphic detail exactly how not-okay I am.  I could not have made myself more vulnerable in front of him, and the thought makes me want to curl into a ball, erase the whole thing, make it never happen.

           Except for the kissing.  That part can stay.

           Even though I have no idea if he meant it.  It might have been a final attempt to pull me out of my suicidal funk.  Even the kisses after the fire was out were probably just pity kisses, albeit very desperate pity kisses.

           “Baz,” he says quietly, and I feel him glance at me, “how long… um, how long had you wanted… that?”

           “Forever.”  It comes out without a thought.

           “Oh.”

           “Since fifth year.”  Both are true.

           Simon thinks for a moment.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

           “You had enough reason to hate me.”

           “I don’t hate you.”

           “You did.”

           “I always thought you hated me.”

           “I did,” I nod, “until I loved you.”  His head whips to face me and I scrunch my eyes shut.  I can’t believe I just said that.  “Until I didn’t hate you anymore,” I try to fix it, but I know it’s too late.  It’s out, it’s in the air between us, and it’s going to stay there forever, taunting me with how he’ll never say it back.

           “Baz -”

           “Please,” I grit through my teeth, a tear squeezing out of my eye, “I can’t.”  The tear makes its way down my cheek until it drips into my mouth, and the taste is like Simon.  I will probably forever associate the taste of tears with kissing Simon.

           “Okay,” he whispers, and we’re quiet for the rest of the drive.  I try to keep my sobs silent, but I’m sure he’s hearing them,

           I could have killed him.  If he’d died, it would have been my fault.

           Tears on our tongues.

           When we finally pull into my driveway, I climb out of the car as soon as we’ve stopped.  I hear him call after me, but I don’t pause.  I slam the car door and start stalking towards the house.  It’s so over for me.  I thought I was ready to die in the woods?  I hadn’t been kissed by the boy I love who will never love me. How am I supposed to live with that?

           His footsteps on the driveway are quick like he’s running after me.  I keep moving, tears blurring my vision.

           He catches up to me at the doorstep, throwing himself between me and the door, blocking my entry.

           “Get out of the way, Snow,” I mutter, looking down. We’re under the porch light now, he’ll be able to see what a mess I am, and I can’t look at his expression.

           “Baz, please.”

           “Please what?” I snap.  “What do you want?”

           I make the mistake of glancing at his face and I find tears running down his cheeks.

           “I want you to know that you’ll be okay,” he sobs, “and that I want you to be okay.”

           “I nearly killed you, Snow,” I say, shuddering, “how can you possibly want me to be okay?”

           Lips and tears and heat and fire.  His lips on mine.  Tears on our tongues.  His mouth, so full of heat.  Flames licking at my vision.

           “You wouldn’t have,” he shakes his head, “you were going to spell me away, and for some reason, that’s more upsetting than if you’d tried to kill both of us.”

           “What makes you think I would have saved you?”

           “It was in your eyes.”

           Right now his eyes are full of something I don’t recognize.

           He takes my hand tentatively.  “I need you to know something,” he tells me through his sobs, “because you probably think that it was a sympathy kiss.”

           That’s exactly what I’m thinking.

           “Please never think that.  Never think that the first kiss, or any kisses after that were out of sympathy.  I kissed you because I wanted to, a lot more than I realized.”  He sniffles, his eyes pleading.  “I’d kiss you again right now, and tomorrow morning, and every day after that and none of it would be out of sympathy, and I need you to understand that.”

           I’m shaking like a leaf.  Because I’m tense, because I’m cold, because I’m in some kind of shock, because of Simon’s words.

           “You’d kiss me again?” I choke, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

           He goes pink and he’s smiling and crying and laughing all at once, and I finally recognize what’s in his eyes because it’s exactly the same thing as what’s in mine.

           He doesn’t answer with words.  He stands on tiptoe and takes me by the lapels of my ruined suit, pressing his mouth into mine and it fits like we’ve been doing this forever, like it’s second nature.  His lips taste like tears again and I’m certain that the taste of tears will always be bittersweet to me now, a reminder that no matter how bad it gets, Simon Snow kissed me because he wanted to.

           And he would again.  He is right now.

           And he would tomorrow morning, and every day after that.

I feel extra guilty for completely outvoting the Overwatch AU on starco week and I want to celebrate for 4,444 followers… so Mercy Star! 

I tried but I missed the number Lovee you guys <3

someone: oh my god were you CRYING???

me, not even 4 minutes after a full on breakdown: 

someone save us from this carpeted bathroom

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