For years, the twins fantasized about the day they could live together, far from prying eyes and watchful parents. A safe haven where they could love each other freely. They’ve lived together for a few months now and it is lacking some of the passion and glamour that Mabel expected.
Pinecest, 5,428 words, NSFW, TW incest, TW angst, TW sexual frustration, TW hella cynical realism (BUT ALSO CUTENESS)
He wasn’t even sure what the argument had been about.
All he knew was that you were gone and you… needed to come
Gabriel hadn’t realized that you’d been changing him so
much. It wasn’t a drastic change, but Gabriel knew that you’d brought things
out of him that he hadn’t even known were inside of him. You polished him up
and made him more presentable than he’d ever imagined. He’d never been a bad guy… but you turned him into the best man.
At that moment, the sound of a key in the lock hit Gabriel’s
ears. He scrambled off of the couch just in time to find you swinging the door
open, shopping bags looped over your arms.
“Oh, thank God!” Gabriel ran forward, wrapping his arms
“Whoa,” you said, trying to keep your balance. “What’s
gotten into you?”
“You were gone and I… I missed you so much. I’m so sorry for
whatever it was that I did that made you go away.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Whatever
will make you stay, I’ll do it.”
“I’m serious. Anything!”
“Could you maybe let me go? These bags are heavy and I kind
of can’t breathe.”
Gabriel sprang back as though you’d burned him. “I’m so
You sat the bags down on the floor, studying him. “I take it
you’re still feverish?” You reached forward and placed a hand on Gabriel’s
“Come on.” You led Gabriel back over to the couch, easing
him down onto it. “It’s time for more medicine.”
Gabriel watched as you grabbed the pill bottle from the
coffee table, shaking two capsules into your palm. You handed them to him,
reaching for the glass of water.
“My poor little angel man,” you whispered, brushing Gabriel’s
hair from his forehead. “You’re not used to human sickness.”
“You… you were gone…”
“I went out to get groceries and more medicine. I was only
gone an hour.”
“I thought you’d left me… it felt like you’d been gone for
“Shhh. It’s okay.” You studied him. “Why don’t you take a
nap? You’ll feel better.”
Warnings: panic attacks, implied cheating, implied sex Word count: 9759 Summery: When Dan visits his best friend Phil, they fall asleep on his sofa. Phil is rudely woken up by Dan’s phone ringing. When he picks it up, he doesn’t expect it to be Kate, Dan’s wife, with a really strange conversation. When Phil also notices that Dan’s wedding ring is missing, he confronts his best friend. They have to figure out how to do everything, and take care of Mike.
I know this is painfully stupid, but when you got the lock for the earring is there a perhaps.. a key? idk man I just randomly thought of it
//hehe don’t worry, it’s not painfully stupid. In Jimin’s original design there’s a key necklace that hangs around his neck… I just always forget to draw it, though, it’s technically supposed to be a part of the set.
I mean, it doesn’t fit in the lock anyway, as a part of the story, someone else has the key, but I wasn’t gonna mention that till later. Sorry, my fault, I didn’t make that super clear.
I recommend listening to track six on my blog to get the full effect.
Warnings: Implied character death
From the time he was been created, Papa always said that he was the special one, the greatest of his works. Perhaps that was why most of the other paintings always glared at him from the halls of the fabricated world, they were jealous. Though their glares ceased when they saw how he became favoured less after his painting was completely finished, they ignored him completely after that. He was used to being alone, but not like this. He had felt so, so hollow, like the painting of the empty nest Papa had painted not so long ago. The brief talks he had with Papa weren’t enough to keep the emptiness at bay anymore. Now, he wasn’t sure what to call the feeling. Matthew knew what some feelings were called, like happy (a bubbly thing that made you want to smile), sad (it was supposed to be a bad feeling), surprised (a little jolt in your chest), and scared (you would get goosebumps and your stomach would twist), but he didn’t know what to call that hollow aching. He flipped though the pages of the storybook that talked about feelings, picking through each paragraph for a word for that empty feeling. Finally he found it, lonely, he was lonely.
‘Is there a cure for loneliness?’ he wondered. Matthew didn’t like the feeling, he wanted it to go away as quickly as possible. Again he flipped through the pages, he found what he was looking for much easier this time. 'The cure for loneliness’ the book had read, 'is to be around friends.’ He didn’t know what to think. Friends? What were friends? He knew what parents were, and what siblings were, but he didn’t know what 'friends’ were. The term was meaningless to him. But he wanted to know what it meant.
“What are friends Spider in Blue?” he asked quietly, approaching the many-legged painting, but he wasn’t heard. He called again, this time louder.
“What are friends Spider in Blue?” the blue suited painting turned to him, distrustful, and answered quietly.
“People that you like to be around, and they like you to be around too.”
“Thank you Spider in Blue!” the other painting nodded and crept away quickly. Matthew skipped along and chatted with the other paintings (or rather, tried to). He tried to make 'friends’ with them, tried to get them to like him. It was all in vain. They didn’t want to talk to him, they just wanted to avoid him altogether. That hurt, it had hurt a lot. So he went to Papa instead, shouting out from the inside of the painting as loud as he could, hoping he would notice him. He did, and Matthew couldn’t describe, only memorize, the way he had looked at him with his graying hair falling out of its ponytail.
“Can you paint me a friend father?”
His Papa smiled softly and nodded, he smiled too, then settled back into the thorny rose backdrop of his painting. He waited patiently.
He waited for such a long time, and then waited some more. His Papa had gone missing, all his art materials were just lingering around the room collecting dust. He wasn’t there to talk anymore, neither were the other paintings, and Matthew’s loneliness grew. His promised friend was nowhere to be found, and the other paintings never seemed to be even aware of him. He had been forgotten completely. Time passed so slowly now, and so painfully too. He still felt lonely, terribly lonely, but now there was a sharp pain in his chest. Liquid seeped out of his eyes at times, and he felt a lump in his throat grow when it did. So much time passed, and everything seemed darker and darker.
There was no sound anymore, he couldn’t even hear the buzz of silence that usually filled the fabricated room of the painting. He couldn’t hear anything outside the painting either, everything just had no sound at all. Naturally, his ears shattered when he heard the rustle of clothing outside the painting and his heart leapt to his throat. His Papa had finally returned! His friend was finished! He wasn’t going to be alone anymore!
The sound of a key scraping in the lock scratched the inside of his ears roughly, but he relished in it. The more sound there was the less loneliness there would be and the closer he would be to having a friend and getting his Papa back with him. The lock clicked and the door creaked loudly as it swung open. He stared out eagerly from his position, grinning widely with his eyes shining.
His grin dropped from his face instantly. This was not his Papa, and he wasn’t carrying his friend with him.
The man that had entered looked nothing like his kind father. His face was fixed in what looked to be like a permanent scowl and his stare was harsh and stern. The man’s eyes weren’t soft like the purple watercolours that his Papa’s eyes were, they were like chipped off pieces of emerald. Though his hair was blond, it hadn’t neither the small streaks of grey nor the soft look his father’s hair had. And his eyebrows, they were more akin to caterpillars than eyebrows, though one couldn’t say they looked bad on the man. Finished observing, Matthew shrunk back as quietly as he could into his painting. He wasn’t supposed to be moving when someone other than Papa was here. The blond man’s eyes flashed over to him.
“Hn, I guess that bloody old artist did paint something other than scenery and creatures. Good, he followed my suggestion.” Matthew stayed stock still while the man paced over to him, the name-tag clipped to his shirt read 'Arthur Kirkland’. He bent down, keeping eye level with Matthew while he inspected him. He ran a thin finger along the wooden frame, looking closely at the him. The painting had never felt so frightened in his life. Papa had said that people would do terrible things, unspeakable things, if they found out that he and the other paintings could move and talk and walk.
“Because people do terrible things to what they’re afraid of.”
'Arthur’ stepped back from his painting, and Matthew’s heart started beating man smiled crookedly at him, his eyes softening slightly. “It’s a wonder how we even found you, Bonnefoy hid you well. I had to go though so many passageways, it’s a wonder how I didn’t get lost…” the man tapped his chin, “Though I’m not sure why he hid you, he never hid any of his other paintings before he-”
Hid? Papa hid him? Maybe that was the reason Papa wasn’t here, he couldn’t find him and he was still looking for him. Yes, that was definitely it, after all, Papa wouldn’t forget about him, would he-?
His ears perked up, 'died’? What was 'died’? It had a certain finality about it, an end of the line feeling. Maybe he would search for that word in the 'dictionary’ later, after this Arthur man was gone, or maybe he should- Before he could even finish his thought a slow lifting sensation, almost as if he was being thrown into the air, over came him. It was odd though, he was still laying in the thorny backdrop of the painting, he wasn’t moving at all-
This Arthur person was just picking up his picture like it was nothing, didn’t his painting weigh quite a bit? Papa had told him it did, and that no one would ever be able to take him away from here. And yet, here this man was picking him up like it was nothing. Had Papa…lied to him? It was unthinkable, Papa never lied…Right?
“Might as well bring you to the gallery…” Matthew’s heart was beating unbearably fast, gallery? He was being taken to a 'gallery’? Where was that? What was that? The man wasn’t looking at him any more and Matthew took the chance to check behind his wall of thorns and check if the hallway that led to the fabricated world was still there. Maybe he could escape the painting and stay here! He grabbed a strong vine sprinkled with thorns and ripped it to the side, tearing it a bit. Oh well, it would heal. Nothing really destroyed anything in the gallery really, except for those great beasts of flame. Her ripped another blue rose vine to the side, and another, and another, until-
Nothing was there but a purple wall.
He banged on it, his eyes wide as plates, screaming. No, no, NO. He couldn’t be trapped, he had to escape. Papa wouldn’t find him otherwise! He kicked the solid surface in rage, his foot smarting with flicks of pain. Something hit him on the top of the head. A book. He bit his lip and rubbed the lump on his skull, then fumbled around on the floor in an attempt to find the hardcover that had spiked him on the head. His hand touched the worn leather cover and moved it back to the top of the shelf.
He shouldn’t be back here. What if that man noticed he was missing from his painting? It would be disastrous, he would probably burn his painting and then…He would go to the elsewhere that Papa had told him about. His train of thought stopped, the moving sensation had stopped. Matthew peeked out from behind the curtain of rose thorns. The man’s huge emerald eyes stared back at him. But they weren’t surprised, they just had the sad and knowing quality that Papa’s eyes always had. He looked back, his eyes still watering. The man shook his head, frowning.
“Bloody git should’ve listened when I told him not to animate human paintings.” he looked back up at Matthew, his frown deepening.
Matthew parted his lips slightly, shrinking back against the foliage of the backdrop. The man crouched back a little, murmuring apologies under his breath. “Ah, sorry. You don’t even know me, and here I am, just picking you right up without an explanation. I must have scared you quite a bit.” he smiled slightly, “My name is Arthur, and you are?”
The boy furrowed his eyebrows a bit, then spoke quietly. “…thew”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat-”
The man smiled again, “That’s a wonderful name.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“What is that?”
Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise, “You don’t know what an art gallery is?”
The blond man coughed and scratched that back of his choppy head of hair. He clucked his tongue and picked up the painting again, much to Matthew’s indignation. “I’ll explain to you once we’re there. ” he sighed.
His explanation made only a small amount of sense, to say the least.
Matthew’s time spent at the gallery became longer and longer as the days passed, though he never asked to leave (Why? that was a question even he couldn’t answer), and the book was pushed to the very back of his mind. He saw the fabricated world again, all of his father’s paintings had been moved here. There were even a few new paintings. The other paintings seemed to be more talkative around him, perhaps even a little more friendly. The fabricated world was more open-seeming, not so closed-in. He couldn’t really explain it, it was just a feeling. He couldn’t really say anything looked different, but things just felt different.
Days in the gallery were peaceful, but boring and slightly uncomfortable. It was a horrible feeling to have eyes on you for hours on end, but they didn’t do anything, just look (something Matthew was grateful for). The staring didn’t last forever, when the bell rang everyone left and Matthew was free to go and talk with the other paintings and stretch his stiff muscles. The people he saw come to stare weren’t particularly interesting either, which just added to the dull atmosphere. They always had the same looks, same clothes, same everything. This was coming from him, whose hobby was watching and observing things and people. In all of his time there, he had only seen one interesting person, and she had passed him right by with her red neck scarf and skirt flowing, so he couldn’t watch or observe. There were exciting days, but they came rarely and too far in-between.
Today was one of the common boring days, and Matthew was leaning in the same exact position he always had. His eyes wide open and staring outwards while his mouth curled in a half-frown and his pale fingers fisted the blue roses in his grip. His pastel violet eyes observed the three girls standing in front of the frame. Two of them, quite obviously twins, cooed over him while the third girl, a mousy brunette, stood to the side and smiled up at him. The twins turned away after a couple moments and tugged away the brunette to look at another painting. He blinked at the sudden movement, then went back to staring. No one else came to look at his painting for a while, only glancing to it as they passed by. Everything was mostly quiet, only the slight chatter of schoolgirls and small children could be heard, he felt himself relax and sink into the woven bed of roses. His eyelids began to droop. He was really tired from last night, having participated in tag from dusk to dawn and then resting for only a few short hours. He closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be best if he took a short nap-
“I said no!”
“Ve~, but fratello-”
Matthew cracked one eye open, looking over at the sudden disturbance. A tanned boy with his back turned to him argued with another boy, presumably his brother, loudly from across the room.
“But you promised~”
“In the car when I was driving.”
Matthew thought he saw his skin turn a shade paler. “Ach, fine. We’ll go.”
“Tch.” The boy turns around and he swears that he can feel his painted heart stop for just a second. His cheeks feel warm and his stomach flip-flops like a suspended bridge in a hurricane. The boy is beautiful, quite like the humid summer rain that Arthur once showed to him through the steamed-up glass windows of the gallery. But it’s more that that. Something about him just seems wild, exotic, untamed, and yet calm and serene at the the same time. It’s befuddling, and for a second Matthew almost moves to press his hands against the barrier of the painting that separates him from the outside world and stare, transfixed, at the contradicting boy from across the room. He grips the roses tighter, his palms feel sweaty and he feels certain that he’s blushing like the Red Lady’s dress. He keeps staring, unable to tear his eyes away from him.
Their eyes meet and his breath catches in his throat.
He stares back, not wanting to look away. ’Don’t move don’t move don’t move’ he tells himself. The footsteps of the boy’s worn sneakers echo in his ears when he walks over, he thinks he can feel every single vibration that every footfall makes. The boy stares at him, just like all the others have- No, his scowling stare is different. It’s not googly eyed, or critical, or judging, it’s the look of a person who’s just there to look and see. The other boy bounces closer to his brother, staring wide-eyed over the top of his shoulder. “Wow… What’s this painting?” his eyes glance downwards to the metal plate below the reaches of the frame, “Hm…What do you think of this one fratello?” green eyes flick to the hazel eyed boy.
Matthew’s ears perk up. The boy looks away from his brother and back to the painting, eyeing the roses and Matthew carefully. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly.“It’s…nice.”
The slightly taller brother (older or younger? he couldn’t tell) nodded and turned away, humming quietly. Matthew feels his heart flutter, and smiles widely despite himself. The smile drops from his face when he sees the boy’s expression. His bottle green eyes are wide when they meet with the pale violet of Matthew’s. He takes a step back from the painting, startled, and trips into his brother. The other boy looks at him with a small frown. “Is something wrong Romano?”
The beautiful boy stares back at the painting for a moment, then brushes his shoulder off. “No…Nothing.”
His brother smiles with his eyes closed and grabs the boy’s wrist, tugging him along. “Ve~ Let’s go get that pasta!” the boy rolls his green eyes and looks back at the painting curiously for the last time. Matthew smiles again, his heart giving that small fluttering sensation again. He thinks about the boy for the rest of the day, and manages to fight the urge to touch his cheeks when some of the regular visitors remark that the frowning painting’s cheeks are tinged pink. After everyone is gone, and the gallery is dark, he touches his chest.
His heart felt like a bird’s wing, it was flapping and beating quickly. It was another feeling he didn’t know the name of. What should he check-?
The feeling dictionary.
His mind drifts back to the old leather book, he hadn’t used it in awhile, not since Arthur had gone away (and not come back). He pushes away the vines again, just like he had before, and looks to the shelf above the doorway. He reaches up and grabs the farthest book on the left and slowly brings it down. He turned the pages carefully and slid down to the floor.
A fluttering feeling…fluttering- there it is.
-Feeling very attached to someone/something.
-Lots of affection for a thing.
-A fluttery feeling you get in your chest when you see a certain someone~
So he in love with that boy? That fluttery feeling was love? It was… pleasant, something he’d want to feel again. 'Maybe that boy would visit again and…’ he touched his chest with a small smile. He felt that hope emotion.
'Yes, I’d like that.’
Oh god, It’s crappy. Sorry. Anyway, this was my piece for Canadian-Jaeger for the Romanada Exchange. It’s not my best work, but I hope she likes it at least a little bit.
You look up from your book, one eyebrow raised at the
formality spoken with your name.
Kei doesn’t even blink. “Keiji-san,” he amends, only the
barest of smiles gracing his lips as he steps further into your shared bedroom.
You smile back in satisfaction, before setting away the book
you’d been reading to the bedside table. He is still standing at a distance
when you look back at him, fingers laced together out of habit as he watches
your every move. You ask, curious at his oddly docile demeanor, “What’s wrong?”
His fingers, twined between each other, twitch into
tenseness as a response. He opens his mouth, closes it- looking as though he’s
reconsidering his words- before opening his mouth again to ask, “Is it that
So, thanks to (these) pictures, the inner dark harry lover in me has risen. That’s right, he could have gotten that cut from anything, something innocent even, like cutting vegetables. BUT, my mind is too dirty to think that…so… I wrote this…and here it is. (it’s not really dark harry. Just drunk harry and some drunk sex) ;)
btw, I apologize for the shitty title. I honestly couldn’t think of a good unique title. lol
Emotional nights lead to drinking until crazy hours of the morning for Harry. Most especially tonight, December 13th. You knew he was going to get drunk, he can’t handle sad moments too well; he got a lump on his throat the moment he and the boys watched the video of friends thanking them. And he wished he had drank just a tiny bit of alcohol before the performance. But like the professional he is, he didn’t. He waited until they were backstage to get utterly, and completely, wasted. Now, he’s not a drunk crier. Unlike Niall, who was sobbing while he rested his head on Liam’s shoulder, Harry was a loud and happy drunk. Although his eyes rimmed with tears and his lips got puffy whenever someone walked over to him and told him lovely words and wished him luck for his break, Harry was fine. Soft drink followed by stronger ones, and your boyfriend was, as always, dancing in the middle of the dance floor at The X-Factor After Party with Nick and Rita.
You were silently chuckling at them as you sipped on your Margarita. Oh, you could not get drunk tonight if you wanted to bring your messy boyfriend home safe. Not home, a hotel just for the night.
“Y/N!!” I yelled, banging on her front door. “Y/N! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! PLEASE LET ME TALK!” I kept banging. All of a sudden the door across from her swings open, “Will you shut up!” I turn around to see a guy standing there, looking irritated. “Sorry… Did you just move in? Never seen you before.” “Yeah, about 3 weeks ago.” “Oh, welcome. Sorry about the noise again. Just wanting to talk to my girlfriend. You’ve seen her?” I pointed to her apartment door. “Last time I checked, you guys broke up.” “Minor set back. Just want to talk to her and talk it out.” I shrug, turning around again, knocking. “She’s not there, you know.” “Oh yeah, where is she then?” “She went back to her hometown.” “What? How do you know?” “She gave me her spare key to water her plants and look after her apartment while she was gone.” He lifts up her spare keys in his hands. “Do you know how long she’s going to be gone for?” “She didn’t say. She just said to look after her stuff till she comes back.” I try to approach him and take the keys from him, “I’ll look after her stuff. You won’t have to.” But he hides the key behind his back, “I don’t think she would want her cheating boyfriend to look after her apartment.”
“You know?” “Of course I know. For christ sake man, she would cry her eyes out every night since. I knocked on her door one day and she just told me. Didn’t even hesitate to tell me. And you sir, are a fucking scumbag.” He points at me scoffing. “I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” I tried defending myself. “YEAH, SO DID HALF OF THESE MEN THAT CHEATED ON THEIR SOUL MATES. BUT YOU STILL DID IT. SO IT DOESN’T MATTER! ALRIGHT!” He yells in my face. “Look, I know I’ve only know Y/N for so little time, but from the stuff she’s told me and the things she’s saying, I don’t think she’s ever going to take you back..” He tried breaking it to me. “No, you’re fucking wrong.” “No dude, I think I’m right.” “Leave me and Y/N alone! Alright! You know nothing about us! NOTHING!” I felt my face turning red. “J-just stay away!” I was scared to look at me, walking away.
“J-just stay away!” He stuttered, walking away from the door. Charlie closes the door, “Woah,” he chuckles. “He is definitely something..” He walks into the hall way where I was hiding. “You can come out from hiding now, you know..” He tried to pull me. I was just frozen in my spot, staring at him. “Hey, you okay?” He give me a concerted look. “Y-yeah, just. I don’t know. He’s been calling me and all that, and I have nothing to say to him.” I shrugged, walking to the couch. “Well, tell him that. Then he’ll finally leave you alone.” “I don’t know…” I started feeling uncomfortable. Charlie then leans in to kiss my cheek,
“Come on, give me a smile.” He says adorable. “Come on, give me a smile..” He says cheeky. A smile escapes my lips as he chuckles, pecking my cheek again. “That’s my girl.” He grabs my waist and tackles me to the couch. “I feel wrong doing this.” “Why? You guys broke up yeah?” “Yeah, but” “But nothing. You’re only feeling guilty because you still have feelings for him. But we are totally in the right for this, okay? Now, let’s get back to the movie.” He throws his arm around my shoulder, turning on the tv. He stares at the tv as I constantly look at my phone, tempted to see what Sam has left for me. His messages lately have been really simping, missing me, wanting me. I know he’s sorry for what he did, but I can’t forgive someone who is so relentless with their actions. I saw my phone vibrate with messages. He grabs my phone and shuts it off. “For later.”
~2 weeks later~
“You know Sam isn’t going to be happy when he finds out you’re dating someone right?” J whispers to me. “I know…” I twiddled my fingers, looking down. “I know but I like him. I really like him.” I look up at Charlie talking and laughing with Hayes, Swazz and Rupp. The rest of the guys sat around me as I look at them, “Does he make you happy though?” They ask me. I look up again at him smiling and getting along, “Yeah… Yeah, he really makes me happy.” I smile at myself, and start blushing. “I think that’s all that matters.” J grabs my hand. “We can hide it from Sam for as long as we can but, it’s going to be a moment where he will know.” “I know. I know. Leave that to me when that happens.” They just nod, kissing my head and goes back to talking to him.
“I liked your friends.” Charlie mentioned in the elevator. “Yeah,” I smiled, “They really like you too.” “So, we are officially official now?” He waits for me. I just nod at him and he kisses me. The elevator door opens and I turn to walk into the halls but my heart drops as I see Sam leaning on his side on the wall, looking at the elevator, disappointed at me. “Fuck..” I whispered. We walk out and towards our apartment. Charlie kisses my head before getting into his apartment and locking it. “Him? You’re dating HIM?!” He low-key yells in my ear. I unlock my door fast and pull him inside, closing the door. “Yes, HIM!” “Why Y/N! WHY! Why did you just leave and not tell me? I thought we were going to work this out! Why didn’t you message me back or call me back at all!” “BECAUSE I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU! ALRIGHT!” I yelled. “I have TRIED to be nice Sam. I have TRIED to let it be. But I can’t if you keep messaging me about it!”
“How are you going to be with someone else when you’re still in love with me! How can you just leave me under the bus like that!” He points at himself, veins popping out his neck, turning red. “YOU THREW ME IN FRONT OF THE BUS WHEN YOU CHEATED ON ME!” He straightens his back, “I thought we were past that!” “HOW COULD I BE PAST THAT WHEN THE PERSON I LOVED RIPPED MY HEART OUT FROM MY CHEST AND RAN IT OVER 100 TIMES! I CAN NEVER BE OVER THAT! BECAUSE OF YOU, I CAN’T OPEN UP MYSELF TO CHARLIE. BECAUSE OF YOU, I’M AFRAID TO SAY I LOVE YOU. BECAUSE OF YOU, I’M AFRAID TO LOVE MYSELF BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT WAS MY FAULT. BUT YOU WERE THE ONE WHO DID IT! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HAD SEX. YOU WERE THE ONE! BUT I’M THE ONE GOING THROUGH EVERYTHING! OKAY?! SO DON’T TELL ME I LEFT YOU UNDER THE BUS. YOU PUT YOURSELF THERE!” Tears running down my cheek, gasping for breaths.
“Y/N, please.. Give me another chance! I’ll do anything! You don’t know how much these past few weeks I’ve been thinking to myself about needing you in my life. How much I want to have kids with you, and grow old with you, and have you by my side when I’m dying. I want to be able to hold you when you cry and kiss you when you laugh. I can’t imagine my life without you Y/N. Please..” Sam’s voice cracking, tears falling down his face. “I didn’t mean to break your heart..” Those words broke me. I dropped to my knees, crying in my hands. “Please forgive me.. We need this happy ending together!” He grabs my hands, kneeling in front of me, begging.
“Not every relationship is going to end up in a happily ever after Sam. I don’t think so Sam.. I’m sorry.” I pulled my hands away from him. “No, Y/N, you don’t mean that….” I started nodding my head violently, “I do though. I love you Sammy. You will always hold a special place in my heart. But it’s time for us to part..” I sniffled, holding back my tears. “Y/N,” “You need to leave Sam and never contact me until you’ve moved on.” I demanded. Charlie barges through the door, and grabs Sam, pushing him out my apartment but he tries fighting him to stay. “Please, no, Y/N, I’ll do anything.. I’ll say anything.. Anything!!” “It’s time for you to leave buddy.” Charlie pushes him harder. “I really didn’t mean to break your heart Y/N. I promise.. I love you..” His last words to me ever, scarred me, but healed me.
Hi! I really really love your blog! I was hoping you could give me a singledaddy!peeta for my birthday on November 25. Any rating will do, just fuck me up with some everlark and toastbabies please!! Thank you!
Wishing you a most wonderful birthday! To help you celebrate, the lovely and gracious @katnissdoesnotfollowback has crafted this delightful little fic just for you!
Back aching and head throbbing, Peeta’s shoes scrape the pavement as he trudges home. Hands dig in his pockets for the bottle of aspirin and he tosses back two dry right before pushing in the waist high wrought iron gate leading into the tiny garden in front of the narrow brownstone in which he lives. The rent was a steal four years ago, affordable with the addition of a second job. It also came with the added benefit of finally moving out of his mother’s home. Away from her constant judgements and interference. Away from the crushing memories of his father and the unending reminders that one stupid grief driven mistake led to the one thing he’d done in his life that matters at all.
He shrugs off the melancholy thoughts, rolling his shoulders to work the kinks from them. Second week pulling double shifts at the bakery is leaving its mark. At only twenty-eight, he shouldn’t feel this tired and worn. As he inserts his key into the lock, squealing fills the house, travelling to his ears and making him smile. He’d thought she was just about too old to be greeting him like that anymore.
Description: The Reader gets a new job, but has trouble balancing her new working life with her hunting life, and her relationship with Dean.
“I got the job,” you say eagerly into the phone, as soon as Dean answers.
“Hey, that’s great!” he replies cheerfully over the sounds of tinny bar music and clinking glasses. “My girl, the physical therapist.”
You grin. His girl. You like the sound of that.
“So when do you start?” he asks. The background noise has lessened now, so you know he stepped outside.
“They want me to start training on Monday,” you reply, flopping down onto the couch in your small apartment. “I’ll train for a week, and then after that I’ll be an official member of the staff.”
“That’s awesome, Y/n,” Dean says. “Seriously. This is amazing.”
“Thanks.” You glance at the clock on your wall, seeing it’s still early for a Friday. “So where are you guys? I don’t have anything going on this weekend, if you wanted, you could come over…” You trail off, waiting to let him fill in the blanks.
“Sam and I just finished up a case,” Dean replies, “we were grabbing drinks to celebrate.”
You feel yourself deflate a little, but you know it can’t really be helped. “We don’t have to hang out tonight, I under-”
“Hey, I never said I wasn’t coming,” he cuts you off. “I just have to drop Sam off. Be there in an hour?”
After getting off the phone, you quickly head to your bathroom to shower and change. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, hardly able to believe it.
You. A physical therapist.
Well, not exactly. Physical therapist is your official title, but your job at the local veteran’s hospital is a little more unconventional.
You were raised a hunter. Both of your parents were part of the life, and after your parents died - of natural causes, by some miracle - you followed in their footsteps. That’s how you met the Winchesters. They were working the same case as you and you partnered up.
You went separate ways after that, keeping in touch via phone and the occasional email, but after several tough cases, you decided to leave the life for a while.
Finding a job was harder than you anticipated. Desk jobs were too boring, labor jobs had you looking over your shoulder every three seconds, and all of it was shrouded by an intense paranoia that was later diagnosed as post traumatic stress disorder.
You did a few stints with a therapist, who suggested you check out the local hospital and meet with some of the veterans. It was supposed to be to talk, to get to know them, to discuss symptoms and rehabilitation and becoming human again.
It turned into the greatest experience of your life.
Your job, now official, is physical therapy, but a very unique branch. You teach combat classes, specifically mixed martial arts and boxing. Essentially, you give the veterans a chance to release some of their aggression in a healthy environment, and you finally get to use your skills as a hunter for something good.
And you love it.
“Y/n!” Dean’s voice comes from your living room. He must’ve used his spare key. “I’m here!”
“I’ll be right out!” you call back, putting the finishing touches on your makeup before opening the door.
Dean leans casually against the door frame, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.
“What’s this?” you ask with a smile as he pushes the flowers into your arms.
He cups your cheek in his hand gently and gives you a lingering kiss. “Congratulations, baby,” he murmurs.
You close your eyes, slipping one hand to the back of his neck to draw him closer. “You didn’t have to,” you whisper between kisses.
“Sure I did,” he says with a smile. “We’re celebrating. Now let’s crack open this bottle.”
You fall asleep that night wrapped up in his arms, happier than you’ve ever been in a long time.
The next Monday, your alarm goes off promptly at four in the morning, and you roll over to smack the snooze with a groan, trying to ignore the pain in your side. The case you worked with Dean this weekend wasn’t particularly challenging, but the restless spirit you were trying to take down managed to throw you in a book shelf and leave some nasty bruises across your back.
You quickly throw on your clothes, athletic pants and a T-shirt, and then slip into your kitchen where you scarf down some toast and an apple. You know you should eat more, you’ll be working hard today, but you’re too tired to really think about being hungry. You think back to the night before, when Dean had invited you to come on the hunt.
“You sure you want to come?” he asks. “You have work tomorrow, right?”
“I’ll be alright,” you assure him.
“It’s your first week,” he protests. “And this isn’t some mindless job. It’s a safe environment, but it’s still combat. You need to be on your game.”
You cup his cheek, looking into his distressed eyes. “Dean, I’ll be fine. I’ve done a lot more with a lot less rest. And I won’t make it a habit.”
He hesitates, worry furrowing his brow, but after a long silence he relents.
Truth be told, you are a little worried. You didn’t get much sleep last night, and the sleep you got wasn’t very restful, but there was no way in hell you were going to skip out on a hunt. It was hard to convince Dean to let you come in the first place; even more so getting him to see that you could take care of yourself. You weren’t about to blow it by quitting out on him for your day job.
You can handle being tired if it means hunting with Dean.
You glance down when your phone starts to buzz, seeing you have a new text from your boyfriend. You’re hardly surprised. His sleep schedule has always been erratic.
Good luck at work today, it reads. Be safe. Love you.
You grin at the message, holding your phone a little closer to your chest.
Yes, the sleep deprivation is definitely worth it.
“Hey, great work today, guys!” you call, wiping your face off with a towel. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, five o’clock sharp. Get some rest.”
You watch as your class files out of the training room, smiling when you note the brightness in some of the patients’ eyes.
“I haven’t seen them this alive in a long time,” your coworker, Mark, says as he starts to wipe off the matts.
“This is good for them,” you agree. “There’s a lot of pent up anger to get rid of.”
“And what better way to do it than getting the crap kicked out of them,” he continues with a laugh. “Seriously, where’d you learn to fight like that?”
You shrug, unwrapping the tape from around your hands. “My dad taught me. Wanted his little girl to be able to defend herself.”
“Well he certainly succeeded.”
You laugh, pulling your phone out of your bag to see a text from Dean.
Found a case nearby. Salt and burn. You in?
“You know, Y/n, if you’re not too busy, do you think that maybe you could meet me before work tomorrow?” Mark asks. “I’d love some pointers before the vets take a swing at me.”
“Sure,” you say absentmindedly as you type out a reply. Yeah, I’m in. Pick me up in 30? “Four o’clock okay?”
See you soon.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Mark replies.
“Cool.” You slip your phone into your pocket. “Listen, I have to get going, something came up. Think you can handle cleanup on your own?”
“Sure thing, Y/n. See ya tomorrow!”
You head for your apartment to get ready for the case.
You stifle a yawn as you clamber into the passenger seat of the Impala, rubbing your cheeks in an effort to wake yourself up.
“What?” you ask when you catch Dean staring at you.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Late night, early morning,” you reply. “But nothing I can’t handle.”
He studies you for a long moment. “Listen, Y/n, if you’re too tired-”
“I’m fine, Dean,” you cut him off.
He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s an easy case. Salt and burn about twenty minutes from here and nothing Sammy and I can’t handle. Not a big deal if you want to take the night off.”
“I don’t have to be at work until ten tomorrow,” you lie. “And I want to come.”
He nods. “Fair enough. Alright, let’s get going.” He puts his foot on the gas, reaching across the seat to take your hand, and you lean your head against the window while you wait.
The salt and burn is simple, just like Dean predicted, and you make it back to your apartment by midnight.
You start to say goodbye to Dean, but he surprises you by hopping out of the car and insisting on carrying your bag in for you.
He sets his hand lightly on your shoulder as you climb the steps to your apartment, wrapping his arm around your waist as you fit the key into the lock.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, lips close to your ear. “I could text Sam and tell him to head home without me.” He presses a kiss to your neck.
“Dean, I can’t tonight,” you reply, pushing the door open and slipping out of his embrace. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Not until ten,” he argues, following after you. He sets your bag down and sweeps you into his arms, tugging you against his chest. He bends his head to kiss you and you have to fight the urge to sink into the sensation.
“Dean,” you murmur, setting your hands on his chest. “Dean, I’m sorry, not tonight.”
He sighs, resting his forehead against yours, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat.
He pulls back abruptly, forcing a smile. “No, it’s fine. You’re right. You have work. We’ll hang out this weekend or something.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He shuts the door firmly behind him.
You bite your lip, part of you wanting to chase after him, but a glance at the clock and the three hours you have before you’re supposed to be at work changes your mind.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, even though he can’t hear you.
You’ll think of some way to make it up to him later.
“Y/n.” Mark’s voice startles you a little.
“Yeah?” you ask, shaking your head a little to try to wake yourself up.
He peers at you with concern. “Are you feeling alright? You’re really spacing out.”
You force a smile. “I’m good, just a little tired is all.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “You sure? We can cancel your class for the day if you’re not feeling up for it.”
Now he’s starting to sound like Dean. “Mark, I’m fine. Really.” You glance toward the door, where the patients are starting to file in. “Come on, they’re here.”
A few minutes later your thirty students are lined up around the ring, where you and Mark are standing.
“Good morning, everyone!” you call. “Glad to see I haven’t scared you off yet. Today we’re going to learn a little something about boxing. Mark and I will demonstrate some of the basics, and then you’ll all get a chance to spar. Sound good?”
At their eager nods, you and Mark slip on your gloves.
“Rule number one,” you begin. “Keep your guard up. You want your hands near your face, but not high enough to leave your stomach unguarded.”
You and Mark demonstrate the proper positioning, circling each other as you work.
“Maintain eye contact and try to anticipate your opponent’s moves,” you continue. “When you block, use your forearm.”
You turn your attention to Mark.
At his nod, you take an easy swing at him, slow enough that he’ll have no trouble blocking.
“It’s going to look like that, only faster. Mark, go ahead and take a few swings,” you instruct.
Mark makes a few quick jabs, which you block easily, but he catches you off guard with a right hook that connects painfully with your jaw.
You stagger back a couple of steps.
“Shit, Y/n!” Mark exclaims. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” you wave him off. “Just surprised me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t-”
“Don't worry about it, Mark,” you assure him, smiling slightly even though you can feel your cheek starting to swell. “It was a nice shot and I’ve had worse.”
He eyes you nervously.
“Alright, guys, try not to get hit like that!” you call cheerfully, earning a few laughs. “Go ahead and partner up, then get in line and we’ll get started.”
You hop out of the ring, still massaging your jaw as you move to grab your water bottle.
The world tilts dangerously.
You clutch your head, fighting back a groan. It wasn’t that bad of a hit, you shouldn’t be feeling dizzy like this, but your steps falter and you grab the wall for support.
Someone calls your name, but it sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
You lean heavily against the wall, the sound of your labored breathing reverberating through your skull.
The room continues to spin, picking up speed, and somehow you end up on your knees although you don’t remember falling.
You collapse fully to the ground, vision going fuzzy around the edges. The lights are swirling above your head in an unending blur.
The last thing you see is one of the nurses leaning over you before everything goes black.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s okay.”
You stir a little, feeling something soft draped over your body.
“She’s fine - yeah - doctor said she collapsed.”
Your eyes flutter open and you find yourself staring up at the ceiling in your apartment. You don’t remember driving home.
“Said it was probably exhaustion; overwork, too much stress.”
That’s Dean’s voice. You turn your head and see him standing in your kitchen, facing away from you, phone pressed to his ear.
“He said she just needs rest,” Dean continues, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She’s supposed to take the rest of this week off and take it easy when she comes back on Monday.” He pauses, turning around to look at you.
His eyes meet yours.
“Sammy, I gotta go,” he says, jaw clenching. “I’ll call you later.”
He hangs up.
For a long moment, the two of you are silent.
You look away from his angry expression. “How - how did I get back here?”
“I’m your emergency contact,” he says. “The hospital called me and I brought you home.”
You sit up slowly, looking down at your hands. “Oh.”
“Oh? Oh?” Dean takes a few steps toward you and then stops. “You collapsed at work and all you can say is oh?”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” you mutter.
“I don’t think you heard me right, Y/n. You collapsed. You were completely unconscious. I get a call at six in the morning asking me to come to the hospital because you passed out and they need to run tests.” He glares at you. “You can imagine my surprise when they told me it was from exhaustion and not the head wound you took in your class today.”
You roll your eyes. “He punched me, it was hardly-”
“And speaking of your class,” he cuts you off. “What the hell is up with that? What happened to not working until ten?”
You can feel some of the color draining from your face. “I - I got called in early,” you stammer.
Dean throws up his hands. “You’re lying to me. Again. You didn’t get called in early, that was your schedule. That’s been your schedule since Monday, and you lied to me.”
“I didn’t want-”
“You didn’t want what?” he snaps. “To miss out on a case? To miss out on a salt and burn in the ass end of nowhere?”
You have nothing to say to that.
“What the hell were you thinking, Y/n?”
“I thought I could handle it!” you snap. “I’m a hunter. Sleep isn’t part of the job description. I thought -” You cut off in sudden anger at the lump forming in your throat. “I love my job. And I also love hunting with you. And I couldn’t just choose one over the other. I wasn’t going to lose you over some day job.”
“And what if I’d lost you, huh?”
You look up at Dean with wide eyes.
“What if I lost you?” he repeats. “What if you didn’t collapse at work? What if you collapsed during a case, during a hunt? What if you would’ve collapsed in the middle of a fight and I was too far away to do anything about it? What then, Y/n?” He falls to his knees in front of you, clutching your hands. “You’re not expendable, Y/n. You’re important to me. Hell, you - you’re everything to me.”
Your chest tightens when you realize there are tears in his eyes. “Dean.”
“You love your job at the hospital,” he continues. “And that’s amazing. I’m happy for you. And if you told me you wanted to drop hunting completely and focus on that, I wouldn’t just give you my blessing, I’d push you out the door myself.”
You shake your head. “That’s not what I want.”
“I know,” he cuts you off. “I know. You want to keep hunting. You want to do both. And if that’s what you want, then damn it, we’ll make it work, but I’m not letting you get yourself killed over it. I can’t lose you, Y/n. I won’t.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly, hating the way he trembles. “I’m sorry. I’ll be careful, I promise. You won’t lose me.”
He hugs you back. “Maybe you should take a break from working cases,” he says quietly without looking at you. “Just until things settle down at the hospital and your schedule loosens up.”
“No,” you protest. You pull back to look at him, cupping his cheeks in your hands. “No, Dean, not that. I’m sorry I was reckless but I’m not going to do it again, I know my limits.”
His brow furrows. “Y/n, you collapsed.”
“And it was my own fault,” you reply. “But I won’t let it happen again. Please, Dean, don’t make me stop hunting with you.”
His jaw clenches and unclenches a few times. “You have to promise me you’ll be careful,” he begins. “If you’re too tired, or if you have to work early, then you will say no. You understand? You’re not collapsing again.”
You nod. “I promise.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment, and then he gives a relenting sigh. “I’m going to regret this, but fine.”
You smile, kissing him lightly. “Thanks, Dean.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up a little. “You’re welcome.” He cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes. “How are you feeling? You need anything?”
“I’m feeling better now,” you assure him.
His eyes wander to your still swollen jaw. When he brushes his fingertips against the bruise, you wince, making him frown. “Bastard got you good,” he mutters.
You push his hand away. “Dean, I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”
“Well, in that case.” He scoops you up into his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Dean!” you protest. “Put me down, I can walk on my own!”
He ignores you, carrying you easily to your bed and setting you down on the mattress. He pulls back the covers as you slide beneath them, drawing them up to your chin once you’re settled.
“Get some sleep,” he says, straightening up. “I’ll come by to check on you in the morning.”
You catch his arm. “Stay with me.”
He chuckles a little. “I thought you said you wanted to sleep.”
You frown. “Please?”
He sighs, but he slips off his boots and crawls under the covers. You smile as he slides his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind.
“Comfortable?” he asks.
You rest your arms over top of his. “Mhm.”
He kisses your cheek. “Then get some sleep, Princess.”
Exhaustion quickly overtakes you.
You wake the next morning to sunlight streaming through the curtains and an empty space where Dean had been.
You sit up slowly, looking around your tiny bedroom as the last vestiges of sleep fade, before flinging off the covers and padding out into the living room.
When you open the door, you can hear Dean bustling around in the kitchen, and the scent of breakfast - buttermilk pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sizzling bacon - wafts over to you. You find him standing at the stove wearing boxers and a T-shirt with a spatula in one hand, easily flipping pancakes and pushing eggs around the pan.
You hug him from behind, peering around his shoulder. “Something smells good,” you note, leaning your head against his arm. “What’s the occasion?”
He looks down at you. “Can’t a guy make breakfast for his girl once in a while?”
“He can,” you reply, nudging his hip with yours. “But you usually only make breakfast if you’re in trouble.”
He shrugs off your comment. “It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to treat you. How you feeling?”
“Much better,” you assure him, grinning when he snags a piece of bacon off of the pan and offers it to you.
“Good.” He takes a moment to rest his hand on your cheek. “Your bruise is looking better, too. You should still take it easy today, though. Don’t push yourself.”
You nod. “I was just going to get some chores done around the house. Maybe do some laundry.”
Dean shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. We’re spending the day watching movies and relaxing and you’re not going to worry about a thing.”
You smile, knowing it’s no use arguing with him. “Alright, Dean, whatever you say.”
He kisses your forehead and turns back to the stove.
After watching him cook for another moment, you hug him from behind again, sliding your hands up underneath his shirt and trailing light, teasing kisses along his neck.
Dean turns around to face you, smirking as he loops his arms around your waist. “You know, it’s kind of hard to cook breakfast with you distracting me like this.”
You rest your chin against his chest, looking up at him playfully. “Hm. I don’t think I want pancakes anymore.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Then what do you want?”
You stretch up on tiptoe and press your lips to his.
“Well then.” He reaches back and turns off the stove before lifting you into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. “Your wish is my command.”
You let Dean carry you back into your bedroom, breakfast forgotten.
He's Drunk And Gets Angry - Zayn Preference (Part 1)
(A/N: So…this imagine includes some rather unZayn behaviour, this is only an Imagine and does not represent boys in any way whatsoever, the behaviour is purely fictional)
“Finally!” you exclaimed to yourself as you finished cooking dinner for the two of you, You had gotten a managerial position at work and wanted to surprise him when he got home, You smiled to yourself, knowing that he’ll be proud of his girlfriend when he hears the news.
You set out the table, the steaming hot spinach and ricotta cannelloni in the centre, two plates on either side of the small table and two roses, accompanied by two candles on the sides in the middle, the setting looked so romantic and you just couldn’t wait until he came home.
You headed upstairs to get changed into something slightly more ladylike than tracksuit bottoms and a spaghetti strap top, you decided to a white tight fitting dress that hugged your curves in the right places accompanied by red accessories as you anxiously waited for Zayn to come home.
The sound of keys turning in a lock invaded my ears as you finished putting on your lip gloss and you raced down the stairs to welcome your boyfriend home.
The door opened and he entered tiredly as he lazily kicked off his shoes, not even bothering to look up as he pushed past and began climbing the stairs. His entire body stank of alcohol and you knew he was drunk. You followed him, curious to know why he was so tired, or even depressed by the looks of it so you followed him upstairs to your room where everything was a little bit messy from getting ready, this seemed to bother him a lot as he turned around to you and huffed in annoyance as he tiredly complained.
“Listen Y/N, I’m tired okay, the least you could do is keep the room clean considering you’ve been at home all day” this comment angered you severely. Yes you were home all day, only because you were waiting for the promotion call and in the celebration, your ex manager gave you the day off.
“Zayn! Wha-“ “I don’t care Y/N” he said with a tone of boredom in his voice. “What? You don’t care about what?” you questioned calmly. “I don’t care about the bullshit you did today okay, I’ve had a long day at the studio and I’m stressed and I just wanna go to sleep” he said, his eyes finally meeting your tired ones. You took a deep breath to calm down, not wanting anything to ruin your happiness for today.
“You’re only saying that because you’re drunk Zayn… I have something to tell you” You said excitedly and extremely happily with a smile as you couldn’t wait to share the good news with him. “I don’t care, I just wanna sleep” he said tiredly, this finally broke your last nerve as he had been acting up all week.
“Sleep Zayn? Really. You’ve been going to work for only a week since we came back from holiday last month whereas I had to go as soon as we came back, sleeping is all you’ve been doing for three weeks!” You said a bit loudly. “Shut up Y/N. I’m tired” You scoffed at his response. “You’re tired. You? Zayn you don’t even do anything, I’m the one that has to do everything around here!” You yelled, elaborating your hand gestures to exaggerate, it was true! Ever since the holiday we went to last month, he’s been lazy and claims its ‘holiday hangovers’
“That’s bullshit Y/N, I don’t tell you to do anything, you do it all yourself” he said slightly louder than before. “Well sorry for wanting a proper meal every night” You complained quietly as you turned to the dressing table and began to put things away. All of a sudden you felt a prick on your finger and a drop of blood fell onto the white dress you had worn.
You winced in pain as you intantly began to suck on your finger, completely oblivious to the red stain on your white dress and Zayn’s annoyed expression. “What the fuck Y/N! That dress cost £500 why the fuck are you so careless!” he shouted as tears welled up in your eye from the rather deep cut that just occurred. You stared at him in disbelief as you took my finger away from your mouth.
“What the fuck Zayn, what’s wrong with you? You’re always finding something to complain about, whether it be the dishes, or the room or even my fucking dress, and my finger’s fine by the way, thank you for asking” You yelled as you rolled your eyes and blew on your finger to reduce the pain.
“Don’t you fucking roll your eyes at me” he said angrily but quietly as he began slurring his words as the alcohol took full effect on him. “Oh really, why shouldn’t I Zayn?” You asked as you continued to push his buttons.
“Because you annoy the crap out of me. It’s always blah blah did this for his girlfriend, isn’t that sweet, blah blah did this for her boyfriend, how cute is that, does it ever occur to you that I don’t give a flying fuck about what people do for their partners? I have more important things to do in life” he yelled, stepping forwards with each word until there were mere centimetres between the two of you.
“You don’t care?” You asked quietly almost on the verge of tears. “No Y/N. I don’t care” he stated as he looked you dead in the eye. “Okay then” you mumbled quietly, your heart breaking at his statement as you pushed past him and made your way to the door as tears began to fall. He just said he doesn’t care. Zayn pulled your wrist rather tightly and abruptly stopped your movement as he harshly spun you around to face him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going Y/N?” he asked angrily. “Out.” You stated, purposely wanting to be vague, you needed some fresh air and the situation wasn’t helping one bit.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where the fuck are you going” he said as he took steps towards you, You retreated in response quite scared of his behaviour, he’s been having mood swings recently but the is his worst one yet. “I…I- d-don’t find it ne-necessary to a-answer you Z-Zayn” You stuttered as you felt your back hit the wall.
His eyes darkened as his breathing became short and shallow, a sure sign of his anger reaching its peak. At that moment, your phone rang and since it was on the table next to you, both of you could clearly see the name. The caller I.D read ‘Jackamo’ You smiled at the phone knowing that your best friend Jack (yes, Jack Harries) must be calling to ask about your promotion. Your smile quickly faded as you noticed Zayn’s glare on you as he quietly asked “Why was he calling you?” “I…umm…” You failed to think of a response as your breathing rapidly increased
His hands flew to your wrists, instantly pinning them harshly on the wall with a firm grip that hurt like hell. “Za-Zayn yo-you’re hurting me” You squeaked quietly as tears rolled down your cheek. A sense of realisation suddenly hit him as his eyes went wide but you were wrong as his grip tightened even more. “Are you cheating on me with him?” he questioned accusingly. Your eyes widened at the comment in disbelief that he would even think of something like that.
“ANSWER ME Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING CHEATING ON ME!?” he yelled, his grip hardening with every word as your bracelet broke, falling to the side and leaving bruises. “Za-Zayn stop please… you’re you-you’re hurting me” You tried reasoning with him but it didn’t work. “Answer the damn question Y/N. Am I being cheated on?” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“No Zayn!…I… I-I’m not cheating on you! STOP IT, YOU’RE DRUNK, JUST PLEASE STOP IT" You screamed as you tried loosening his grip. His hands suddenly let go of and balled up at his sides.
“LIAR” he shouted raising his voice completely as his eyes darkened. You screamed out in fear unable to move for a while before he said one thing. “Get out you slut.” You looked up at him in disbelief and he looked down, eyes now completely black. “I SAID GET OUT” he screamed, causing you to shoot up and sprint out of the house.
“It’s Locked” is a phrase that instantly reminds me of my childhood. It’s such a classic phrase for Nancy Drew fans, and I know that many others have good memories associated with this line. To create a look inspired by this quote, pair a white dress with a white cardigan, lace tights, and embellished flats. Finish with a lock and key necklace, a stack of bracelets, and floral earrings.