I wish I had a teenage daughter. Why? Because here I am with Matt Healy, the frontman of the 1975, who has just offered to take his shirt off in order to give me a tattoo tour. There’s the one dedicated to his nana; his mum, Denise “Loose Women” Welch, is on his foot; his dad, Tim “Auf Wiedersehen, Pet” Healy, is on his arm; and his brother, Louis, on the back of a calf; there’s the one dedicated to William Burroughs, the author of his favourite ever book, Queer; then there’s the one on the inside of his left wrist… of his passport number. “I got bored of being constantly woken up by a woman offering me a landing card while my tour manager, who always carries my passport, is conked out somewhere behind me. I thought it would be useful. It’s really all I need on a plane.”
Welcome to the world of the 1975, whose second album, I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It (yes, really), went straight to No 1 in both America and the UK last year, and who won the best band award at the Brits in February. They have just announced that their third album, Music for Cars, will be out next year, and when we meet they are about to go on tour, kicking off in Mexico and ending in July at Latitude Festival in Suffolk, where they will headline alongside Fleet Foxes and Mumford & Sons. If you’re not familiar with their music — think Pete Doherty mixed with One Direction, maybe — it’s probably because, like me, you’re too old. That said, Mick Jagger, whom the band supported when the Stones played Hyde Park in 2013, is a huge fan — so fond of their hit single Chocolate, he has been known to put it on after dinner for guests.
“Yeah, I remember that gig,” says the 28-year-old Healy, with a faint Northern accent. “It was before I had my eyes lasered and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. Pointless. There were 50,000 people there and I could only see about four of them, but out of the corner of my eye I could just make out this gyrating figure and it was Jagger dancing to Chocolate. Mick Jagger — can you f****** believe it?”
“Do ye…have protection?” Jamie gasped, his knees hitting the back of the bed as he flopped onto the soft, supple mattress.
Claire ignore the soft throb that pulsed through her chest at the thought and shook her head, “we don’t need it, don’t worry.”
“A-alright,” he stammered, his eyes flitting over every inch of her as she began to untie the waistband knot of her flannel shirt. “I don’t usually—“ he started, her eyes silencing him as she let the faux-tartan patterned shirt fall to the floor with a dull thud.
“Me either, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Do you want me?”
What a question, Jamie thought as she rested her hand over the partially undone metal of his flies. She was beautiful, her long curls floating around her face as she hovered over him, a halo of light beaming around the crown of her head small shards of the gentle yellow beam peaking through the breaks in her hair as she swayed above him.
She was waiting (patiently) for him to give her the okay before stripping him. Inhaling deeply, Jamie tried to banish the niggling doubt that said something was amiss. Instead he focused on the fact that he wanted her —really quite badly. And it looked as if she wanted him too. Something akin to *need* seemed to hover beneath the surface of her skin, the electricity of it flowing through her fingers and into his veins.
Claire Beauchamp was nothing if not intoxicating. And he was drunk on the fumes of her.
“Aye, Claire,” he said, finally, the breathlessness of his voice rocketing through Claire from head to toe as she pushed the small buttons through their holes, exposing his underwear as she carefully undid his trousers.
Finally bare, the pair stared at one another, an unfamiliar strangeness encasing them for just a moment. They’d met only a few hours prior, but already Claire could feel a buzz that made her slightly uncomfortable. She sat aside his hips, this skin of his legs warming her to the core. He was like a human radiator, all hard lines and heat. The short, sharp hairs that lay in sleek sheets along his thighs tickled the insides of her legs as she shifted herself higher. His hands rested gently against her hips. He was large, but not intimidating — all of him. It was his hands that swayed it. The careful way that each fingertip caressed her flesh, bringing alight sensations she hadn’t felt for years. She was alive. The flame lit beneath her skin as he waited for her to make her move.
Leaning forwards, Claire bent to kiss him. Seeing his mouth open as his head tilted up to meet her, she could she see the moist slip of his tongue. Glancing at Jamie through half closed eyelids she could almost feel an odd camaraderie.
Maybe that is what love would feel like?
The moment the ‘L’ word appeared in her mind, Claire banished it. She’d been there once before and it had very nearly broken her. She’d been young and naive, foolish to believe his lies. In the years since she’d accepted her single status - and one good looking man wasn’t going to break the vow she’d made to herself.
“Just a little fun, right?” She whispered into his mouth as she nipped his lower lip. Her teeth made small indentations in his skin and she marvelled as they plumped once more.
Jamie neglected to answer, his heart picking up pace at the intonation of Claire’s voice. He’d never been the sort to be frivolous with his affections, but if she needed to mask their brief courtship as ‘fun’, then he was willing to allow it. But Jamie wasn’t sold on it. He felt what Claire felt but was unable to truly understand. Unmarred by previous affectionate exchanges, Jamie wasn’t burdened with the same emotional turmoil as Claire.
He’d known about Frank. Geillis had, of course, spoken of her friend. Frank had been older than Claire. They had met through her uncle before he’d died - and had been a close knit friend of the family. Her uncle had worked closely with Frank and so the growing relationship quickly developed by the pair, urged on by Claire’s uncle (albeit quietly). Geillis knew Claire wished, unconsciously, for a father figure. And at a time when she’d needed that stability, Frank had reacted by his gentlemanly acquiescence of that role.
Soon though, Frank had wanted children. When *Claire* had been unable to provide them for him he had conveniently found someone who could. Jamie rolled his eyes at the thought, who blames their partner? Well, ‘partner’ in the loosest term, he quipped in his own head, if you’re going to lay *all* of the blame at only one person’s door when things start to fall apart.
He’d heard all this and more on Geillis’s bi-annual trips to balance his books. Jamie had felt a certain kinship with Claire through these stories before she’d even stepped foot into his life properly. But he wouldn’t divulge that for now.
Claire, unaware of Jamie’s internal ramblings, was enjoying the subtle tang of whisky on his tongue as they massaged one another through blissful kisses. Jamie had a good, solid grip on her arse, holding it carefully above him as they learned the curve of one another’s mouths.
Shifting his hips, Jamie tried to progress, moving so that he could manoeuvre himself over Claire, but in one swift motion she had his hands pinned above his head; his pectoral muscles stretched deliciously beneath her; his biceps lying flat against her floral sheets. “No, Jamie,” she moaned, sliding herself level with him, every inch of her lying flat over him from chest to ankles, “I’m on top -always.”
“Y-yes…” Jamie mumbled in return, unwilling to argue with her in their current state. He felt high, as if all the oxygen in the world wouldn’t be enough to sustain him. But still he kept breathing, the powerful vibration of their chests moving almost in time with one another causing his skin to ripple with goosebumps.
She took him inside her then, one quick movement that saw him thrusting his head backwards in time with his hips moving upwards. She was hot. Almost unnaturally so. And wet. Jamie felt the moisture of her coat him as her muscles held him prisoner in the most delightful way.
Claire watched through blurred vision, her mouth hanging open as she panted out uneven breaths. Jamie was glorious - in the way that men who work outside with manual equipment often were. He was well toned, but that was down to the lifting and heavy work he did on a daily basis. She kept an even eye on every twitch, every smooth slide of muscle beneath skin as he writhed beneath her.
She could hardly breathe herself, and viewing him as he struggled made her ache for him all the more.
Geillis had been right, she blearily acknowledged silently as Jamie shimmied his hands out from below hers and flipped her straight onto her back.
Claire hated feeling powerless, and the moment her spine hit the heated top sheets, she fought the urge to squirm away. Her mind was at war with her. The pleasure of Jamie surrounding her was lulling her heart into a false sense of security, but her brain rebelled forcefully against being at Jamie’s mercy in this way.
“Claire,” Jamie whispered, sensing her internal battle. Her limbs had seized in the move and he’d instantly regretted putting her in such a situation. His whole body had simply reacted without thinking but now, hovering over her as he was, he could bring her back to him - of that he was certain. “Claire, look at me lass…please.”
Pealing her eyes open, Claire gazed up at him, her heart racing with equal parts terror and lust. Jamie moved slowly now, an increased caution that brought her pulse back down to a more normal level and quashed her fear of drowning. “I said I was on top,” she replied, more a statement of fact than an argument of their new positions.
Jamie sighed, his hips quivering as they began to pick up pace once more. “A-aye,” he returned, “yer still on top, Claire…fuck…” he swore, the powerful swell of want expanding inside of him as she crushed her thighs around his hips and ‘encouraged’ him to move fully inside her. “See,” he said, with no hesitation now. “I feel you, Claire.”
Claire nodded, her helplessness decreasing with each tight thrust of Jamie’s hips as he fought to continue moving against her in their current situation.
Her world was spinning as she felt his pelvis grind against hers. It was like nothing else and stars sprung up behind her eyes. “Kiss me…” she blurted out, her voice sounding strangled and strange even to her ears, “please, fuck…kiss me now!”
Obeying, Jamie redistributed his weight onto his elbows as he let himself lower softly over her subtle curves. The press of her breasts against him set his flesh alight and his mouth immediately found hers to stop himself from saying something improper in the moment. She was beyond beautiful now, and he’d thought her captivating before - but in the dim glow of the bedroom light with her hair fanned around her face and the palest hint of pink glowing against her cheeks she looked almost otherworldly. He could have lain like this forever with her, cataloguing each freckle, each delicate line that formed her body, each blue vein that ran just beneath the surface of her pearly white skin. But his cock was singing off a different hymn sheet.
He shouldn’t have sullied divination with a ‘one-night stand’, he knew, but the comparison of heaven and being inside Claire like this were surely one and the same. If not, he hoped the afterlife yielded something incredibly similar or else he’d be very disappointed.
“F-fuck…Jesus, fuck…” Claire cursed, pulling Jamie from his thoughts of God and heaven back to Claire herself. The slight pink had increased, spreading across her face now in an ocean of deep red as her nails dug painfully into his sides. She convulsed, her mouth falling open and her lips flushing red as her thighs increased their pressure around him.
Claire couldn’t think. Her mind emptied as the waves of pleasure captured her and dragged her under. She hadn’t had sex since…
…and even then it had been perfunctory. The actions necessary to create new life and not an act of pleasure for either. This was immensely different. This was passion like nothing she’d experienced before. This wasn’t about power or possession. Frank had always *loved* Claire, but he always wanted to own her. His behaviour towards her was always one of control. Jamie gave freely, expecting nothing in return, only wanted to lay himself at her feet. As the haze faded and her breathing evened out, Claire rolled her spine, her legs flopping bonelessly against the bed as she tried to ascertain whether Jamie had…
She could tell instantly. The tense set of his jaw and the fiery lust that glimmered in his eyes told her all she needed to do. He was patiently waiting for her to be conscious again, his thoughts only on ensuring her utter emotional comfort in his presence.
“Jamie…” she whispered, her palm coming to rest carefully against his cheek as she ran her fingers of his almost smooth face, “come…don’t hold back,” Claire coaxed, her tongue peeking out to wet her dry lips in a move that had Jamie squirming above her. “Oh, fuck, Jamie…please,” she gasped, feeling one strong movement of him against her sensitive flesh.
“Ah…Dhia!” He moaned, his Gaelic overriding English in the heat of the moment. Dropping his forehead to rest against hers he allowed his body to take control of his actions. His hips thrust erratically, the sweat of exertion coating him head to toe as in a few short, sharp motions he came his chest throbbing with the force of it.
Lying together in the aftermath, Claire stroked the damp curls on Jamie’s forehead as he nuzzled against her neck. The tickle of his breath against the thin skin there made her smile. It sent little shockwaves through her, but she was enjoying his close contact too much to move him. She could still feel the after-effects of their passionate evening between her thighs as the moisture gathered there. Something about the warmth of it soothed her. She hadn’t known closeness in such a long time and having Jamie’s body molded to hers whilst the essence of him lined the tops of her legs made her heart throb with want.
Shaking off the thought, she pulled the duvet tighter around them and let sleep pull her under.
Morning wasn’t as awkward as Claire envisioned it would be. She left her bed before Jamie woke and began getting some breakfast ready for the both of them.
Jamie followed only moments later, appearing with only his boxer shorts on, his hair flicking up all over the place. He looked well rested, sleep still forming in his eyes as he rubbed them and yawned.
“Morning, sassenach,” he said on arrival in the kitchen, a crack echoing around the small space as he stretched his spine and pulled a chair up to the breakfast bar.
“Good morning, Jamie,” she replied, placing a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him with a large cup of coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Ach,” he replied with a distinctly Scottish clearing of his throat, “I have to go and view some cattle just outside of the city. I’m looking to expand the farm.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyebrows raising, “that sounds interesting. What do you look for in a good heifer then?” She joked, winking as she sipped at her own cup of coffee.
“Good strong rump!” Jamie retorted, a twinkle in his eye as he replied. “And spirit. Every lassie needs a wee sprinkle of sass, aye?”
“Aye, indeed.” Claire chuckled, the sensation shocking her a little.
Jamie saw the shadow beneath Claire’s eyes reignite at the sound of her own laughter and he smiled sadly in recognition. Finishing up his breakfast, he tapped his bare foot against the metal legs of the chair. “I should go,” he said meaning the complete opposite.
“Yes,” Claire replied thinking that she didn’t want him to go. Something about him that spoke to her on a completely unconscious level. He was like sunshine, covering her in warmth, increasing the level of vitamin D in her veins. But she couldn’t let her baser needs dictate her actions.
It had been one night. As she’d told him before they’d done it. Just one night of fun, nothing more.
Even as she thought it, nodding with a small, coy smile plastered across her face, she knew she was lying. She’d been lying when she’d said it out loud to him only hours before. The question that he’d asked her before they’d found themselves in flagrante came to mind as she watched him depart the kitchen to get himself dressed.
She was lonely, he was right. Lonely and so very fucking tired.
True to her word, she didn’t see Jamie again. Much to Geillis’ distaste.
“Claire, he asks about ye all the time. Let me gi’ you his number…call him? Please?” She’d begged over tea one day, her bright green eyes imploring Claire to accept her offer.
“Isn’t it wrong of you to give out the number of your clients, Geillis?” Claire had lightly castigated, trying to change the tenor of the conversation away from her very dubious love life.
“Aye, but only if he doesna want you to have it. And he does.”
“Has he said as much, or are you just assuming?”
“Me?!” Geillis replied, faux-scandalised by Claire’s suggestion, “assuming, Claire? Never.”
“So that’s a yes then.” Claire scoffed, scalding herself on her hot tea as she tried to sip it. The mention of Jamie now came with added tension, something that she didn’t want to open up to her friend just yet as she surreptitiously rubbed her womb, her fingers metaphorically crossed with each passing day.
“Claire, at least let me gi’ him your number?”
“No.” Claire bit back quickly, the sudden remembrance of her late period causing her to be sharper than needed with her friend. “No,” she repeated in a softer tone, “I’m not ready, Geillis. Not yet.”
“How long into it will ye wait, Claire?” Geillis said, a glint in her eye as she nudged Claire’s foot beneath the table.
“You know?” She whispered in return, her world spinning.
“I ken you, Claire…that and ye keep holding onto yer abdomen like your worried it might abscond without permission.”
Claire gawped, her mouth falling open and closing again like a fish out of water as her friend pushed her fringe from her face and tilted her head. “It’s too soon, Gellie. To know for sure…and I don’t want to…think it. Not now, not until I *know*.”
Geillis smiled sadly, her memory of Claire’s utter desolation through the later half of her relationship with Frank still raw even to her. “…and if ye are, then will you talk to him?”
“Yes, of course.” Claire said, nodding along as she nursed her cooling drink. “He has a right to know.”
It only took two more days for her world to be shattered once more.
Sitting on the cold plastic of her office en-suite, Claire rocked back and forth, her belly convulsing with pain as she tried desperately to control her sobbing.
“Dr!” A loud call came from beyond the loo.
Pulling herself together, Claire scrubbed the shed tears from her cheeks as she cleaned up - placing the disregarded tampon wrapper in the correct bin as she steeled herself to go back to work. Whatever the cost, she still had a job to do.
“Come in,” she called, sitting at her desk and rearranging the photograph she had of her uncle Lamb sitting aside her laptop.
“Dr Beauchamp,” the intern said with some trepidation, he could tell already that she’d been crying but her obvious attempts to cover it up made the young doctor bury the urge to ask if she was alright. She probably wasn’t. “There’s a call for you through at reception, can you come and take it?”
Sighing, she pushed the chair away and forced herself up.
Taking hold of the ancient receiver she swallowed back her grief. “Hello, Dr Claire Beauchamp here, how can I help?”
“Claire,” came the crackled response. Jamie. “I had t’ phone ye. I hope you don’t mind. Geillis said-“
Immediately Claire knew why he was calling. Geillis could *never* keep her mouth shut. Gulping back the large lump that had suddenly appeared -as if trying to choke her- she prepared herself for the words she knew he was about to say - and the response she had to give in return.
“Weel, she said you might be *pregnant*?”
She could hear the worry in his voice as he said the word and she didn’t leave him hanging for long.
“I’m not. Not as of today, so you don’t need to panic, Jamie. I’m not.”
Slamming the phone down without waiting to hear his reply, Claire shook her curls and rolled her shoulders. Ignoring the bustling reception of the A&E department around her, she turned and walked slowly back to her office without acknowledging anyone. Just wanting to return to the relative safety of her office, she sloped back.
“L.J.!” Joe called out, seeing Claire’s discrete distress as she tried so hard to conceal her brimming tears.
Dr Joe Abernathy had trained with Claire, and was the person one who knew absolutely everything. He hadn’t quite heard all of the one-sided conversation, but he’d heard enough to hazard a guess. Him and Geillis had differing ideas on how to keep Claire afloat and upon hearing the end of her sentence, he cursed the woman for interfering so.
Claire studiously ignored Joe, knowing full well that if she allowed him to talk to her that she would lose it completely and break down in the middle of the busy hospital aisles. She just had to make it back to the office.
“Claire,” Joe called again, following her into the small room and closing the door behind him as he watched her crawl back into her swivel chair, pulling her knees up to her chest, cocooning her arms neatly around them as she rested her head against her knees. “Shit, L.J. I think you need to go home. Cry off sick, I’ll cover for you. Jesus.” He said, his thick Bostonian drawl a welcome break from the Scots burr that reminded her too much of Jamie for the moment.
“I can’t go home, Joe.” She said matter of factly. “I’ll be fine, just let me get on with this mountain of paperwork, and I’ll be—“
“Don’t dare say ‘fine’, L.J.” He warned, a slight tilt of his head as his eyes narrowed at her. “I knew that whole blind date shit was going to be a disaster.”
“It wasn’t,” Claire replied, not wishing Joe to get into another discussion with her about Geillis’ meddling. “Trust me, it wasn’t. Not at first…”
“Chuff!” Joe retorted. “Fuck. Claire. Pregnant? Is that what that guy said down the phone to you?”
“How rude, Joe,” Claire said, with no weight to her words as she looked sorrowfully up at him. She didn’t have the strength to mean it. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“When it comes to you, L.J., nothing is off limits. If I didn’t, you’d never tell me anything.” He countered, a soft look aimed at her as he spoke.
Claire’s chin quivered, the gentle throb of period pain bringing back her huge sense of loss as she tried to hold it together for just a minute longer. “Fuck, Joe…” she sobbed, the first tears falling as he chest heaved with the weight of her grief, “what am I going to do?”
Launching himself forwards, Joe caught Claire just as she flopped forwards. Gathering her up in his arms he held her softly against his chest and rocked her soothingly. “For a start, Claire Beauchamp,” he whispered, placing a delicate kiss against her forehead, “you are going to go home and take care of yourself. Don’t worry,” he continued as he felt her drag in a breath, preparing to disagree with him no doubt, “I’ll get you home. Nobody will know a thing.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Claire said, the fight falling from her lips as she look up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mass of unshed tears. “Thank you.”
Curled up under her duvet with the television softly playing in the background, Claire finally let herself fully crumble. Her chest ached and her throat stung, raw from the sheer amount of tears she’d shed since crawling into bed only hours before.
She’d wanted to make Jamie believe that she was relieved. She fucking hoped she’d achieved it. If he thought her unfeeling, perhaps he’d move on and accept her decision.
“I can’t,” she whispered as her subconscious castigated her foolishness, taunting her with ideas of a blossoming relationship with Jamie instead of just the one night stand she’d convinced herself she’d needed. “Not again, I just can’t…”
Burying her face in her pillow, she wiped the detritus of her sorrow onto the soft casing. Pulling the sides up around her ears, she clung to the fabric with all her might and let out an almighty scream. The hate poured out of her and into the fluffy duck down as she clenched her fingers tight.
“I fucking hate you!” She yelled at herself, loathing coating her skin like ash and death. “I *really* fucking hate you…”
(a combination of angst, smut and fluff. You have been warned.)
… … … … … … … … . … …… … … … … … … .
Your red tartan shirt bristles behind you as you march,
furious, towards the dancing neon lights that adulterate the street ahead of
them. Kyungsoo had gone out. Again. Barley
a week after promising to become less involved in mafia business and he’d
slipped away from your shared apartment the second your back had been turned.
Your brother’s lack of sincerity hurt, but what really fuelled your rage was
the greater, heart-rendering betrayal you’d stumbled upon not an hour ago. Your
boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, with
his face buried between another’s woman legs. For weeks you’d suspected him of
an affair, but to have it materialized in front of you had been too much to
handle. You’d cried angry, shameful tears and stumbled home, in hopes of
finding your older brother’s comfort and warmth. Instead, the house was cold
and empty, and the nearest trace of your beloved
big brother was a scrawled apology on a ripped piece of paper.
So yeah, you were pissed. And you weren’t about to let
Kyungsoo get away with it. You knew how often he frequented this club, though
you’d never actually visited it in person before, and that it was a place his
gang would often strike deals with neighbouring groups.
You knew very little about Kyungsoo’s group, mostly because
he refused to tell you anything or ever let you meet with any of the members.
Not that you were exactly pleading for him to let you. He knew how much you
hated that part of his life – the gangs, the money, the fights. You had no idea
in what the hell he was involved in, but you knew it wasn’t even a little bit
legal. He’d come home bloodied and bruised so many times that you were coming
to be pretty handy with the makeshift doctor’s kit you kept underneath the
kitchen sink. But no matter how many times you would complain about how this
life was hurting him, he’d always simply reaffirm the same, undeniable truth –
you needed the money. At which point, your yelling would abruptly cease, as you
could offer no worthy response – he was right, you really, really needed the money.
You think however, slamming through the club’s dingy doors,
that you’re not completely clueless
about this part of Kyungsoo’s life. He’ll occasionally let slip some crucial
piece of information that you’ve built up a fairly solid background. His gang –
exo – run your area. They’re a group of 9 men and you think perhaps the leader
was.. Suho, was it? Something like that. But you know that while they’re in
control of the local area, they are not the absolute power at the front of it.
They’re one of many gangs that help control the whole of Seoul for the big
boss. That’s what you’ve taken to calling them, since Kyungsoo absolutely
refuses to disclose any clues about their identity. You’re not aware of much
else, other than that exo has had to regularly defend their territory lately,
so Kyungsoo had been coming home more bloodied and bruised than ever. It
worried you to no extent, but you knew that he would never leave his gang. Because
as much as you were his sister, they were all his brothers, and his level of
devotion to them ran deep. But he had swore
he would spend less time out on these jobs, and the clear disregard for your
wishes stung deep.
The club seems so busy that the walls themselves vibrate.
Everywhere you turn, people slam against one another with shuddering fervour,
and more than once you are jostled violently to the side. Craning your neck,
you hope to catch a glimpse of Kyungsoo’s dark hair in the crowd, but with this
many people and the twitching purple lights, it’s impossible to see. Your fists
clench as you attempt to reign in your
growing anger and, thinking you see an opening in the middle of the floor, you
push towards it.
It takes a considerable time, but eventually you manage to
squirm your way to the forefront of the crowd. In the middle of the floor, two
boys dance opposite each other, mirroring the other’s moves in a routine like
motion. Around them, the partygoers cheer ferociously and stomp their feet to
the beat of the mismatched song. You sigh irritably and scan around the room.
From this angle, you realize there is a seating area above the floor. It trails
around the room with a number of plush purple comforters at different points,
tables situated between them. You growl, realizing this is Kyungsoo’s likely
Your attention is drawn back to the boys for a moment as the
audience’s approval rears up once again in thunderous applause. You cringe
slightly, and then realize it is because the floor beneath them has opened up
and is now sprouting water, soaking their clothes.
And yes, you’re angry, very much so, but, well you know how
to appreciate a nice view, alright? You’re so lost in the fluidity of the dance
for a moment, the stark contrast of the boy’s physiques and their opposing
blonde and black hair that you fail to realize everyone around you has moved
back, and that you are a definite two paces in front of the crowd with water
sloshing at your ankles, impatient shouts ringing at your ears.
Cursing at your own mindless ogling, you try to take
advantage of the situation and glance up to see if you can better see Kyungsoo.
However, as your eyes drift upwards, they connect with the blonde boy in front
of you. His movements have paused, realizing your stance, and he seems to be
assessing you, almost. His hair, wet and tousled, bats impatiently around his
forehead, only lightly obscuring his dark eyes. The water drips untroubled down
the long bridge of his nose and puckering over his full lips, before leading a
dangerous path towards his lean and open chest. His attire, you note, leads
very little to imagine, with his white shirt soaked through and ripped open,
and his dark jeans equally distressed, clinging tight to his skin.
You snap out of your undignified gawking and clear your
throat awkwardly, realizing he is smirking at you.
You’ve never been very good at holding the gaze of people so
attractive they make your eyes hurt, so you look down immediately, blushing
darkly. You hurry to stumble back into the safety of the crowd, but just as you
begin to move, so does he. Suddenly, he seems to barrel towards you, as in,
literally right towards you so that
he is practically running at the crowd. Your eyes widen in considerable shock
and you’re hurrying to distance yourself when he leaps into the air, twisting his limbs in a stance that frankly
seems both unnatural and dangerous when-
He lands at your feet, on his knees, with his head hanging
in front of you. The crowd roars their approval and, running his hands through
his hair, he turns to look up at you, grinning this time. His boldness shocks
you, though you can’t deny how attractive the sudden confidence is. You’re on
the verge of grinning back when your eyes flick south again and realize the red
ink on his shirt. Your eyes darken as you take it in, recognizing the same mark
on Kyungsoo’s jacket at home. You know exactly
what type of mark that is.
Of course. A man lands literally on his knees in front of
you and he too, is involved in the mafia. What a blessed, blessed day.
Your interest evaporates instantly and you sigh audibly as
he stands, especially when you realize his frame dwarfs your own. He blinks
down at you, body still very, very close to your own and quirks an eyebrow at
your admittedly not very club like attire.
“Enjoy the show?” He asks, eyes crinkled in a half smile as
he leans down slightly.
You match his eyebrow quirk with your own and reaching your
hand up, flick some of the water from his performance at his face.
“I’ve seen better.”
Over his shoulder you finally catch a glimpse of your
traitorous brother, laughing loudly in a booth with a red haired man in front
of him. Your earlier feelings of anger are quickly recalled at the sight, and
glowering at the image, you shoulder roughly past the still-smirking man in
front of you and slosh loudly through the water stage. You catch the grin of
his dark haired partner as you do so, but make no effort to return such
niceties – you are much, much too angry for that.
You land in front of your brother will a dull thud, water
dripping from your jeans. He and the men around him turn to look at you in
interest, but this quickly turns into panic as Kyungsoo realizes who it is
standing, glowering in front of him.
“What the actual fuck Kyungsoo?”
He stumbles around to exit the booth and the members around
him seem shocked at your tone. If you were perhaps calmer, more in control of
your rational sense, you would perhaps note that these people around him are
the infamous exo gang and have absolutely no clue as to who or what you are, or
what you are doing.
“Y/n, calm down-“
“Don’t you dare!” You growl, snatching away from him as he
attempts to placate your flailing limbs. In the process, your hand reaches up
and strikes against his cheek, and though the men behind him make small sounds
of outcry, he only stares at you.
“You promised me, you promised-“
Your voice continues to raise as your hysteria does, and now not only him,
but the men around him reach forward to steady you.
“Little sister, you’re making a scene.” He mutters quietly,
latching onto your wrist, a slight red blossoming on his cheek.
“Little sister? D.O,
what’s going on?” From behind him a tall man asks, taking you in quietly. You
glare at him in response, and his gaze hardens.
“D.O? D.O? Is that
what they call you here?” You hiss. “Is this who you are, D.O?” You question sarcastically and his grip on your wrist
He leans toward you darkly, ignoring the questioning shouts
of the men behind him.
“This is not a place for you, y/n. Go. Home.” He punctuates his
last two words harshly, though you see the quick scan he does behind you and
realize faintly, that a small crowd has gathered to spectate. Still, unwilling
to back down, your matching dark eyes challenge his.
“Go with me.”
You realize that you have laid out a very clear and obvious
choice in front of him, and so does he. His eyes widen slightly at what you
appear to be asking of him, but you refuse to submit to the hurt that blossoms
there. He watches you for a few moments longer before sighing angrily and
releasing your wrist so abruptly that it seems to fling across the small space
between you. He backs away from you and stands in front of the men in front of
him, closer to them than he is to you.
“Who’s the girl, D.O?” Someone asks from behind you and
turning slightly, you realize a much larger crowd has gathered than you
originally expected. You turn back to your brother, your palms clenched tightly
together. He’s turned his back on you, leaning close to the tall man from
earlier, who continues to stare at you tensely.
“She’s nothing.” Kyungsoo replies simply and, looking out
across the crowd, smiles sardonically, rolling his eyes.
“As if I would associate with the likes of her.”
The crowd titters in cruel excitement behind you and hot,
angry tears spring to your eyes. You scoff in disbelief and wonder how the
situation escalated from bad, to worse.
He looks back at you once more and there’s a regretful
understanding in his eyes, an almost tug in his limbs that make it seem as
though he wants to approach you, but confirmed with a certainty that he won’t.
Overwhelmed with hurt, you turn on him and weave through the
crowd who, having just witnessed your utter humiliation seem willing to leave
room for your escape. This, small mercy you suppose you can appreciate.
Bursting out the doors of the club, you let out a sudden,
feral scream. The hinges of the doors trickle shut behind you, but you ignore
it, squatting to your knees and taking your head in your palms, willing the tears
You can’t believe Kyungsoo
would willingly treat you this way. For a long time you’d regarded your brother
as the one person in the world you felt you could rely wholly upon, who you
were sure would never break or abuse your trust the way he had only moments
ago. Your anger, while still present, is overwhelmed by the hurt of your
brother’s disloyalty and your own humiliation at his hands.
Your inner monologue is interrupted as the doors once again
swing open behind you. Initially, you take no interest in the likely drunk
trespasser, expecting them to perhaps vomit in the muddy patch across from you
before then stumbling back inside. Instead, slow, careful steps click against
the pavement next to you and, spreading your fingers slightly, you realize a
group of 3 men or so have come to gather around you.
You stop crying, and raise your head slightly. One directly
ahead of you, one at each side. Your breath comes in quick, sudden gasps but
you figure this is probably a good thing. They will not expect much of a girl
who looks afraid.
(Though, you figure it’s probably important to note that you
are very, very afraid anyway.)
A man with a dark suit, dark hair and darker eyes grins
sardonically down at you. A cigarette dangles precariously from his lips and
after a moment, he draws in a breath that seems almost laborious and crushes it
under the heel of his shoe. He makes the sudden twist of his foot seem
intimidating, and though he seems keen to maintain a supposed easy going
stance, every inch of him stands firm and calculating.
After a moment’s pause, he squats down in front of you and
pulls your hands away from your face, keeping them still in his palms. His
hands are cold.
“And who might you be?” His words are smooth and clear,
ringing out across the suddenly empty street.
Fighting hard to maintain a facade that doesn’t show how
intimidated you have become, you raise your head higher, looking him dead in
“No one to you.” Your response is casual, cool, the opposite
of what you feel in the moment.
He hums, the pressure on your wrists increasing slightly.
“No one to D.O either, apparently.”
You lose your composure for half a second, anger slipping through your eyes and he clicks his
“Ah, so sorry. Too soon?” His head tilts to side, mocking
arrogance dripping from his every feature – the twist of his lips, the slight
crinkle of his crescent eyes. Your fear is evident, but quickly overwhelmed by
the irritation this man’s presence inspires.
“Is there a point to you speaking, or is it just that no one
else wants to listen?”
The men to the side of you let out little chuckles, and he
himself seems delighted by your notable indignation.
“Awfully brave thing to say of a girl who’s hands won’t stop
shaking.” He holds up your trembling fingers as though to prove his point,
loosely combining them with his for a second.
“It’s because I don’t find you attractive. I tend to get
uncomfortable when ugly men insist of touching me.”
The men next to you really are laughing now, and though the
man in front of you smiles still, he squeezes his fingers into your own
harshly, so much so that you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from
yelping in pain.
“But you didn’t mind when Kyungsoo touched you, did you? I
bet you were loving it, his hands on you.” You attempt to back up slightly,
disgusted by what he appears to be suggesting, but he doesn’t let you,
snatching your body closer to his.
“That’s what you are isn’t it? I saw you on the floor too,
standing closer so that little brat would come grind on you or some shit. I
gotta say, you’re not very subtle about what you do, or what you are. But hey,”
He pauses, reaching his hand to roughly tug your chin up to meet his, before
letting his eyes travel slowly, leeching over your every curve and dip. He
flicks his eyes up once more, settling on the disgust that screams in yours.
“I’m certainly not complaining. I respect a girl who knows
exactly what she is – a dirty, little who-“
He doesn’t get to finish his monologue because, having heard
enough of just exactly what he perceives you to be, you lurch forward bite
harshly into the soft skin of his cheek. He yells in pain but you grind your
teeth until you feel the blood spurt up in between them. He slams his palms
against your face and the two men at your side rear you up and away from him.
Breathing heavily, you spit out the blood in your mouth onto the street.
“Bitch.” He hisses, pressing his fingers to the blood
trailing down the side of his face.
You hum in agreement and lean forward in your captors grip
slightly. “And one that would never fuck
His smiles and laughs are gone now. He takes two steps
toward you before pushing open his jacket slightly to reveal a glint of metal
against his hip.
“Maybe I ought to teach you a little les-“
The doors behind you slam open as Kyungsoo launches himself
at one of the men holding up your arms. Beside you, the tall man from earlier
does the same. And then, all at once the men you had seen sitting in the club
seem to trickle out on the street beside you,
taking up equally defensive positions.
Your arms now free, Kyungsoo takes a moment to look up from
his attacker and shift his head frantically down the side of the street.
You nod back quickly, but, turning back to the bleeding man
in front of you as he faces off with the red haired man you’d seen your brother
laughing with earlier, you can’t resist pulling the pepper spray Kyungsoo had
insisted you carry from your pocket, and unloading the contents of it on his
face. He shouts in pain as it sprays into his eyes and, satisfied, you drop the
empty can and sprint off down the street.
“Dick!” And really, as you shout it, you’re unsure who it is
you’re shouting it at.
As it turns out, you are even less athletic than you
previously thought, and that was already pretty bad. So you’re not running for
long when you slip into a small, decrepit alleyway and lean down in an attempt
to catch your breath.
Your hand is spread over your stomach and your hair bats
impatiently around your eyes when you jump at the intrusion of a rich voice
ahead of you.
“Is this how you usually spend your Friday nights?”
You turn your head slightly and notice him, still damp from
his performance as he leans against a wall and takes you in.
“Well, this is more of a Saturday night thing but, well I’ve
had a rough week.”
The corners of his lips tug in a half moon smile and he
takes a few more, easy steps toward you. You lift up your palm suddenly in an attempt
to maintain a barricade.
“Listen, I’ve really had my fill of all and any of the male
species tonight, so if you’re planning on intimidating me, d’you think we could,
you know, move it to tomorrow night or something?” You huff and he’s really
smiling now, eyes crinkling.
“But don’t you already have Saturday plans?” He asks, his
head tilting to the side.
Despite yourself, despite the overall shitty nature of today
and despite that little red inking on his shirt, you feel the laughter bubble
in your chest.
It expands until you’re heaving through the chuckles,
ignoring the tears that stream down your cheeks. You sigh, leaning back on your
heels and sliding against the wall until you’re sitting, legs propped out in
front of you. You hear him as he walks towards you and, as he comes closer, you
loll your head to the side to look up at him. He blinks down at you, smiling
gently, before he sighs loudly and slumps down next to you.
He nudges his knee against yours slightly and though you
know you should probably attempt to create some space between you, remind
yourself that not only is he a stranger, he is the worst kind of stranger, you can’t seem to muster the energy to pull
“What happened?” You sigh, drawing up your knees to rest
your head on them.
You lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment before he
mimics your position, resting his head so that you both blink at one another,
each taking the other in.
“I have a serious question.”
You steel yourself, nodding.
“Why’d you flick water in my face?”
“Maybe I was displeased with your performance.”
“No, that’s not it.” His eyes twinkle with a childish
mischief. “I saw you looking.”
You scoff, raising your head. “Looking at what?”
He raises his eyebrows, again repeating your motions. He
gestures down to himself, over his still open shirt and dark jeans. “All. Of.
You roll your eyes, but your grin does not falter.
“I was looking at the other one.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
You pause, feigning shock.
“You don’t know. I could be a terrible truth teller.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“100% a thing.”
“Doesn’t sound like a thing.”
“It’s a thing!”
His grin widens and he tilts his head further, regarding
your now ruffled exterior. After a moment’s pause, he sticks out his hand
You hesitate, eyes flickering between his hand and loopy red
handwriting barely visible in the light of the dumpster. After an awkward
pause, you figure your night can’t really get much worse than it already has
and well, he did make you laugh. You slip your hand into his gently, noticing
that it is surprisingly warm and immediately worrying that your palms are
“Y/n.” You respond, sighing.
Dropping your hand, he leans his head back against the wall
again, closing his eyes briefly. You study him as he does so, your eyes
canvassing along the general slump of his arms as they rest against his knees,
the slack in his strong jaw.
“You look tired.” You observe meekly, and his eyes flicker
open, familiar smile finding his lips once more.
“I am exhausted.”
He grunts slightly, twisting his body to face you.
“You uh, I mean, you don’t have to stay here with me, if
you’re tired.” You stumble over your words, suddenly embarrassed. “Actually,
why are you here?” You enquire, gesturing around the dimly lit alleyway.
He shrugs, and his eyes cloud over for a second.
“My friends got in a fight.” He mutters. You regard him
quietly, with not a small ounce of curiosity.
“You’re not gonna fight with them?” You enquire, and if on
cue, his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He barley glances over at it
before, reaching into his jacket, he flings it across the space and it lands
with a dull smack against the wall, crumbling on the cracked pavement. You do
Turning to look at you, his gaze seems much more intense,
much more sudden than his previous teasing looks. You think that you should
probably look away, that this interaction has become much more serious than
either of you intended for it to be but, always curious, you do not.
“I’m tired of fighting with them.” He mumbles, almost
meekly, as though he is ashamed of what he is saying.
“Do they know that?” You approach carefully and when his gaze
finds yours, it is light again, infused with teasing.
“They would, but unfortunately I’m a terrible truth teller.”
You snigger slightly and he responds as such, blinking at you
You exhale loudly, eyes wondering over the starless night
“My brother hurt my feelings.”
You grunt the words out forcefully, tasting them like bile in
the back of your throat. He responds gently, carefully as you had done only
“What happened?” He tries again, and you blink the tears out
of your eyes, your breath catching slightly.
“I just-“ You break away, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.
“It’s just been a shitty night.”
You feel his eyes on you as you struggle to regain your
composure, and furiously blink away the tears that so desperately want to
fall. You hear the slight shift as
movement as slowly, he leans closer to you. When you don’t pull away, he
continues to shift, until his head rests carefully on your shoulder.
The gesture is a little strange and made awkward by how much
taller he is than you. He has to shift quite far down the wall for his head to
reach your shoulder, so he is practically lying beside you. He doesn’t seem to
quite know how the rest of his body should face, because his long limbs hang
nervously by his sides, as though you will jump away at any moment.
Despite this, and all the circumstances around the uneasy
embrace, you appreciate it, and the hesitant warmth that scatters from his body
to yours. You smile gently and rest your head against his, wanting somewhat to
place your hand over his, but worrying that this will perhaps be too much. So
instead, you inch your pinkie finger towards his, until they brush gently
against the other. For a while, you both sit like this, leeching onto the other
in the bristling of the slight spring chill and each enjoying the comfort of
one another’s company.
“Thank you.” You murmur, and though he doesn’t respond, he
turns your hand over slightly so that he is tracing small, nonsensical patterns
on your palm, humming quietly as he does so.
You spend a while there with each other, until eventually the
dark night gets darker, and the chill around you becomes too insistently bitter
to ignore. You raise your head slightly and his movements on your hand cease.
He raises his head to look up at you earnestly and in that moment, in that one,
gullible moment, you make a decision.
“You wanna go get a drink?” You blurt out suddenly and he
lifts his head from your shoulder, surprised.
“A… drink?” He draws out and you nod, perhaps a little too
furiously, in an attempt to dispel some of your nervousness. It doesn’t work and a slow, easy grin slips
onto his lips.
“I mean – I’m just- not that you have to or anything like
that – I just thought maybe you would uh- right, yeah, so I’m just gonna leave
now.“ You stand up, your cheeks flaming as you stumble over your words. A
drink? Really? Why not just scream that you want to do him right here in this
alleyway? You groan internally, and his playful laughter bubbles up beneath
You go to walk away and quickly you realize he is lumbering
“So, where we going?” He asks. You turn to him, surprised,
and slow your scurrying pace to a standstill in front of him.
“You know, to drink?” He teases, mimicking drinking from a
glass. You scoff slightly, surprised, and pleasantly so.
“Have you ever noticed people seem to make really rash, dumb
choices when they’re drunk?” He interrupts, eyes skimming briefly over yours.
With a surge of confidence, you gnaw on your lip slightly,
and follow his dark eyes with your own brazenly.
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Things progress very quickly after that. As it is, it turns
out you and Sehun do not require many drinks at all to make thoughtless,
impulsive choices, and you’re barely tipsy as you stumble through the door of
his apartment, his lips connected to yours.
It’s a decision you know you’ll regret in the morning, a
very, very silly decision that neither of you should be making. Still, as his
long fingers press gently against your ribcage, his leg pushing between the two
of yours, it’s not one you can seem to pull yourself away from.
His movements are tender as he touches you, careful in a way
that drives you to the brink of insanity as you just want more and more of him. He
presses you against a wall, arms caging either side of you as his mouth works
languidly against yours, peppering your lips with gentle kisses until your
mouth slips open against his and his tongue slips against yours. You groan
slightly, and you reach out your hands to brush over his cheeks, before
smoothing down the sharp angles of his body until you reach his waist, at which
you pull him flush against you.
He chuckles slightly, as the movement nudges his mouth away from
yours so that he instead breaths hotly on your neck. You both take a moment to
breathe, before he reaches down and tugs meekly on your thighs. You twine your
calves easily around his waist as his lean fingers spread across your legs,
moving his right hand up to your neck to brush away loose strands of hair and
the collar of your shirt, sucking lightly on the skin there. You bite back a
moan and your back curls against the wall, pushing your breasts against
him. He lets out a ragged breath and
pulls away from you suddenly.
“We can still… stop if you want.” He hums slightly, hands
suddenly hesitant against your thighs. You frame his face with your hands and
press your lips firmly against his, much harsher than he had done. He grunts
slightly in surprise and fists his hand in your hair as he returns the kiss
with just as much fervour. You take the chance to stretch your arms out
slightly behind you, peeling away your tartan shirt and letting it drop to the
floor, leaving you in a loose tank top. You pull away, and skirt a thumb over
his swelled bottom lip, before pressing insistent kisses against his jaw.
“I don’t… wanna stop.” You mumble and you think you hear
him curse slightly under his breath. He tilts your chin up and reclaims your
mouth, pressing against the sliver of skin exposed where your tank top has
He readjusts his grip and pushes away from the wall.
Surprised at the action, you press your head into the space between his
shoulder and neck and, as he walks, push at the jacket on his shoulders. It
slips from him easily and you lean back up to kiss him again, your hands
resting at the nape of his neck.
You’re unaware you’ve reached a bedroom until he settles
beneath you, bringing you down so that you’re sitting on top of him. You shift
slightly so that your legs are on either side of him, and press against his
crotch. He pulls away from you, moaning out your name quietly and you smirk,
pleased at your apparently significant effect on him. You tilt your head down
to nip at his neck before reaching down to pull on the ruffled white shirt he
wears, pushing it over his head. It lands with a wet thump against the floor
and as you turn to laugh slightly, Sehun takes the opportunity to flip you
over, so that he hovers, shirtless above you. You press your hands against his
back and his own palm flattens against your stomach. Instead of removing your
flimsy top, his fingers crawl beneath it, reaching up over your stomach and
fluttering over your ribcage before falling on top of your bra.
You grunt and flop beneath him, throwing your fist against
the bed sheet.
“Don’t tease.” You
huff and he chuckles at your frustration, before helping you remove the top. He
pushes you further against the bed and crawls over you, until your head rests
carefully on the navy blue pillow and he marvels down at you, smiling gently.
“Are you sure?” He whispers against your collarbone and you
almost whine at him to hurry up already. He seems to sense your
exasperation though, because he makes quick work of removing his own jeans
before then pulling off yours, kissing along your legs as he does so. When he
pulls down your underwear, his fingers press into you slowly, and he appears
about to add his mouth too when you shake your head, pulling his face up to
“Later.” You gasp and he nods, settling over you once more,
fingers curling inside you. Again you slam your fist against the bed sheets and
let out a loud groan, roughly pulling his head down against your own. He
removes his fingers and you shudder at the loss of contact, but then his hands
are slipping underneath you to unclasp your bra (and really, you have to take a
moment to appreciate how quickly he does remove it, because you’ve been wearing
one for years and it still takes you some time in the morning). Immediately his
hand is on your chest, rubbing slowly against your breast. You throw your head
back against the pillows but it smacks against the headboard instead, and you
groan at the sharp gasp of pain.
Sehun stills, gasping before moving his hand to cradle the
back of your head gently, lust quickly overcome with concern.
“Ah, y/n, are you alright?” He whispers and you wince
slightly, but nod. You stare at him for a moment, his knuckles running softly
against the back of your head. The concern in his face surprises you, but makes
you feel good in a way you cannot explain. You skim your hand over his jaw and
his gaze is drawn back to yours, wherein he blinks down at you with a firm
sense of tenderness. You smile, and lean up to press a chaste kiss against his
lips, hand still smoothing down his jaw. When you pull away, his eyes are soft,
face settled in a small grin as he runs his hand through your hair.
“Do it now.” You whisper, wracked by a sudden eagerness to
have him thrusting into you. He nods slightly, and leans down to kiss you
again, before reaching into a draw and rolling a condom onto himself. You place
your head back on the pillows as he braces above you. After a moment, he pushes
into you, and you emit a high pitched gasp, your walls settling around him. He
waits a moment too long to move, and you have to kick his shin slightly to
signal that you’re ready. He huffs out a laugh and slowly begins to press into
you, hands fisted in the sheets next to your head as he builds up a steady
rhythm. Of all the boys you’d ever had sex with (which, admittedly, was really
not that many) you’d always been pretty quiet in bed– sure, it’d felt good when
they’d moved inside you, but it hadn’t exactly been earth shattering. But Sehun. The way he thrusts into you is,
frankly, ridiculous. With every smooth roll of his hips he seems to find a
different sweet spot and when you’re a moaning mess beneath him, he adds two
fingers. You yelp, body twisting unnaturally beneath him, but he just keeps
going, a thin layer of sweat forming on his chest. You lean up, trying to match
his rhythm and he kisses you roughly, lips slanting over yours, your moans
meeting in a mismatched choir.
It’s not long before the familiar pleasure begins to build,
and by his sudden alternating change in pace you sense he’s close too. His hand
gropes your chest and he leans down, taking your nipple in his mouth and just
like that, you’re a goner. You’re on the verge of a scream as you come around
him and he all about collapses on top of you, thrusting out his own orgasm.
Your hands link as you both ride out your highs, Sehun sucking on your chest.
Spent, he pulls out of you slowly and tosses the condom into
a bin beside him, his body flopping down next to yours. You throw your arm over
your eyes, trying to calm your ragged breath as he does the same.
Silence settles around the two of you, panting, sweaty and
naked in his dark sheets. Embarrassed, you wonder if, now that you’re finished,
he expects you to leave. You shift away from him slightly, moving to the edge
of the bed when he rolls over to his side and gets out the bed. You rush to do
the same, shuffling awkwardly on the wooden floors.
You watch his figure retreat to a small wooden closet in the
corner of the room and bite your lip, shifting your hands to cover your exposed
“Uh, should I-“ You begin, but are halted as, after having
pulled on a set of loose tracksuit bottoms, he begins toward you, a shirt in
his grasp. You raise your eyebrows questioningly, but he just gestures for you
to hold your arms to the side. You do so, a little reluctantly, and he pulls
the shirt onto your shoulders, humming.
He kneels to do up the buttons and as he finishes, pulls you
toward him to place a soft kiss on your clothed stomach. Unsure of how to react,
your hands simply hover above his tousled blonde hair.
He stands once more and intertwines his hand with yours,
pulling you back toward the still–warm bed. He pushes you onto the sheets
gently before then following suit. You turn on your side and he carefully
places his hand on your waist, shifting a little closer.
“Is this… is this okay?” He mumbles and turning your head
to face him, you nod slightly. Reassured, he smiles and moves closer, arms
pressing more firmly around you.
“Don’t go.” He says and you face him once more, tilting your
head in confusion. “In the morning, don’t go.” He elaborates and you smile
softly. Instead of answering, you lean forward to press a tender kiss on his
lips, and then his cheek. His eyes closed, he lets out a small contented sigh
and you turn back around, closing your eyes.
He presses a soft kiss onto your head and, choosing not to
think of what will happen in the morning, you clear your mind, and drift into a
((pls forgive any spelling/grammar errors as it is 1am and I cannot find the energy to check this. Also, I am a holy untouched virgin so idk how accurate the smut is but???? enjoy??? if you’d like a part 2, lemme know!))
“Oh my God!” squeaked Rebecca, grabbing the copy from Molly’s hands, flicking through the yellowed pages, “Oh my gosh, a first edition, it even has – oh – that first copy smell! You’ve got to tell me where you got this—”
Molly found herself tugged along, rather than leading the effervescent head of the book club down the narrow street towards the small, indifferent looking bookstore.
The shop bell tinkled above them, Rebecca’s mouth swinging open, eyes swivelling to take in the disorganisation. She dived immediately into an aisle, squeaks and gasps coming at a rapid pace, books being snapped shut and opened. Molly stood awkwardly for a moment, rocking back and forth on her heels.
She hadn’t quite expected Rebecca to be this excited when she’d mentioned finding the place, considering 'Holmes Books’ was more of a to-read pile that had got vastly out of control than a retail shop.
LOUIS Tomlinson and his girlfriend Eleanor Calder have been spotted looking more in love than ever as they put their airport brawl drama behind them to party at Coachella.
The One Direction star was seen wrapping his arms around his girl as they attended the music festival just weeks after his arrest at LAX.
The pop star put his legal troubles to one side to head to the massive event in Indio, California and was seen walking through the festival site with Eleanor.
The pair looked happier than ever as Louis wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held on to her hand.
Louis, 25, looked happy and relaxed in a tartan shirt, while Eleanor wore denim shorts with a black leather jacket.
The singer appears to moving on following his arrest at LAX airport on March 3. Louis was held over allegations he attacked paparazzo Karl Larsen and onlooker Ana Becerra as he and Eleanor returned to Los Angeles after a holiday in Las Vegas. Eleanor was also caught up in the scuffle, but she was not arrested and subsequent reports suggested Louis was attempting to defend his girlfriend.
He has yet to find out whether he will be prosecuted over the clash as officials in Lose Angeles are keeping the case “under review”.
After the incident, Tomlinson’s lawyer Martin Singer said: “The paparazzi provoked and caused the altercation that occurred with Louis at the airport.“This is not the first or last time that a paparazzi has created an altercation with a celebrity.“
While the altercation was going on with the paparazzi, three other individuals were attacking his girlfriend during this incident and he came to her defense.”
A police report of the incident revealed Louis had “fresh abrasions” on his knuckles after the fracas and Larsen claimed he was knocked unconscious. Becerra claimed Louis punched her in the eye and broke her glasses and her wife Bianca Garza told cops the singer grabbed her spouse by the waist “bear hug style” and threw her over his shoulder.
When an officer asked Louis if he recalled sweeping Larsen’s legs causing him to fall to the ground, the star answered: “I may have taken him down…I remember we both fell to the floor.” Eleanor admitted to cops she tried to slap the phone out of Becerra’s hands after she began filming the scuffle, but claims she was then punched and kicked by the woman before Louis intervened.
Erwin is the noisy neighbor who always has too loud sex. Levi loses his patience and goes to rip him a new asshole. But then "oh no, he's hot"
I can’t remember if this was a three sentence prompt or not, but I feel like writing some I’m gonna say it was a general prompt. It got long, so I also put it on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10334981
Levi has lived in the worst shit holes in creation–boarding
houses with rooms for rent by the week, dilapidated Victorian homes cut up into
boxes for a rotating cast of drunk college students, apartments with holes in
the floor, multiple roommates.
And then there was the time the bathtub fell through the
Could you do wolfstar telling jily about their relationship?
Remus moaned, pressing harder against Sirius. His body contorted and conformed, fitting in all the gaps of Sirius’ until he wasn’t sure where he ended and Sirius began. Sirius pressed his lips against the column of Remus’ throats, laving his tongue along the exposed flesh as Remus’ fingers dug sharply into his upper arms, leaving little red crescents in his wake. Sirius’ lips met with Remus’ collar bones and he sucked on the flesh until was a vivid, dark red. Sirius grinned as he saw the mark, his gaze flicking up to meet Remus’ hooded, lustful gaze and crooked smirk.
Just as Sirius started to move downwards, the door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall.
Remus’ and Sirius’ eyes met, panic evident in their expressions. They were supposed to have the entire dorm to themselves – Peter was in detention for blowing up his cauldron in Potions (which had really been Remus who was absolutely abysmal at Potions) and James was on his first date with Evans. They were supposed to be alone. That’s why they were here, in bed, shirts off and down to the skivvies.
They hadn’t told anyone yet about their relationship; it wasn’t that they really expected something bad, the wizarding community wasn’t nearly as prejudiced as the muggle one towards relationships of their nature, it was just that they didn’t want to be at the center of the rumor mill, and they certainly didn’t want to give Snivellus and his band of losers more ammunition. They also weren’t really sure how James and Pete would react. James’ parents, while loving and supporting, had grown up in more traditional, restricted cultures and they weren’t quite as forward thinking and as such they weren’t sure what James’ opinion would be. As for Peter, the fourth Marauder had a tendency to get a bit awkward with anything overtly romantic and sexual, and Remus and Sirius’ half-naked make-out session would definitely count in both categories.
“Fuck I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” a deep, Scottish trill sounded, bouncing off the walls of the dorm room. Sirius’ and Remus’ eyes widen in unison – Evans! Lily Evans!
“Oh really?” a smug voice responded. James!
“Yup.” There was the sound of rustling clothing and then a cried out moan from James. Remus and Sirius were pretty sure they didn’t want to know where that came from.
There were thuds as Lily and James moved around the room, more moans from both parties. Remus dropped his head, burying it in the crook of Sirius’ neck. If it wasn’t bad enough that they were trapped in such an obvious position, the sounds of Lily and James made it a hundred times worse.
“Which bed ‘s yours?” Lily said headily as there was a sound of snapping buttons and more rustling clothing.
“Doesn’t – ah! – matter. S’long at in–umph!–nt Pete’s,”James replied. Sirius shook his head, his lips quirked slightly in amusement. Remus glanced up at Sirius as he gave a hard poke in the ribs.
There were more footfalls, a grunt, a groan, and couple more moans and then–
James and Lily fell back through the curtains, James’ head hitting something soft and squishy, He glanced up and his eyes met with Sirius’. James shrieked. Lily’s head whipped up from James’ lap, green eyes as wide as saucers. Remus’ heterochromatic eyes were just as wide, a cherry red blush spreading across his cheeks. Sirius was blinking rapidly.
“What the fuck Padfoot?!” shouted James, scrambling off the bad, his hands fumbling as he grabbed the blankets off the bed, wrapping them around his completely naked waist. Lily, in the background, had grabbed her bra and put it back on and she was now stumbling into a pair of too large jeans.
James managed to grab the sheet, pulling it off the bed and revealing the rest of Sirius and Remus. Revealing the fact that they were just in their pants. Bollocks.
“I want to know why you two were about to have sex in my bed,” said Remus.
“Why are you two in–” James motioned to them.
“Clearly they were doing what we were doing!” Lily snapped, now wearing James’ jeans and searching frantically for her shirt. James was half-turned to her and half-turned to Remus and Sirius, gripping the sheet around his waist with white knuckles.
James looked back at Remus and Sirius, searching for something. Anything. Sirius rolled his eyes.
“That was quick Evans,” Sirius said, looking past James and leering at Lily. She rolled her eyes, snapping up the buttons of her tartan shirt.
“I’m still curious about the whole you were going to have sex in my bed thing,” Remus said, drawing the attention to him. Lily shrugged at him, her expression wholly unapologetic. Remus narrowed his eyes at her.
“I want to know how long this has been going on!” James growled, everyone’s gaze turning to him. He his expression was a measure of frustration and embarrassment. “Have you two been, like, doing this while we were sleeping? God, when I was studying? Has it been on my bed?” Remus rolled his eyes at the last question.
“What does it matter to you, Potter?” The question, surprisingly, came from Evans. Sirius blinked at this before giving an approving nod.
“I– What if they were having sex while I was combing my hair?” James sputtered.
“God, you are self-obsessed.”
“How is that news to you, Evans?” Sirius ask, raising an eyebrow. Lily’s only response was just to stick her tongue out at him. Sirius pulled a face and she rolled her eyes.
“So,” Remus said, drawing the attention away from Sirius and Lily’s banter, and smiling awkwardly, “good date?”
“Good date,” snapped Lily as she made a face. She ran her hand through her messy red hair, glancing around the floor for something.
Sirius’ and James’ eyes had met in the meantime, and they were silently communicating. Remus glanced at Sirius, brow furrowing with concern as Lily looked to James. Sirius’ face was hard, his expression closed off. James’ face read of confusion. Then, suddenly, something seemed to dawn on the messy-haired marauder and his face lit up with realization.
“Padfoot, the only thing I’m concerned about is if you had sex while I was combing my hair. Be as gay as you want,” he said, giving Sirius a grin. Sirius’ lips curled and he nodded; Remus, at his side, smiled too.
Sirius crossed his arms, smile turning into a smirk; “now go find your own room.”