↳Part 2/9 ofUnmatched, 2022 rewrite. See part 1 for story description.
↳Female reader x Lee Know, female reader x Hyunjin
↳5.6k
!Strong language, established relationship, marriage au, love triangle au, thriller, romance, stripper-slash-escort Lee Know, husband Lee Know, heavy angst and tension, explicit sexual content, office sex, make-up sex, dirty talk, scenes of conflict, alcohol consumption, stripping, emotional turmoil, themes of casual sex, promiscuity, commitment issues and adult themes throughout !
Chan’s announcement cloaks the staff room in a reverent silence.
Even as the thud of his booted footsteps fade down the corridor, the tension remains palpable. Indeed, every person in proximity feels it, yet none of them dare to break it.
You’re in utter panic.
Your nerves are working overtime, all proverbial hands are on deck trying to calm you, yet it’s futile. You’re trembling, freezing all of a sudden. Heart pounding, a prickling of icy sweat nips at the nape of your neck and small of your back.
Yet worse than all that, is that you dare not look at Minho. You’re terrified of what you might see.
Of course, he’s the first to collect himself. He steps towards you, hand outstretched in what might well be an act of comfort, yet you can’t allow yourself the weakness of his touch. Can’t allow yourself the addling toxin that comes with his excuses, his justifications, his voice of reason that will assuredly side with Chan, because why wouldn’t he?
“I, uh… I’m going to call you that cab, Lix, okay? J— Just sit tight for a while.”
Voice shaky, polite and professional demeanour so clearly forced it’s enough to inspire pity, but nobody addresses it. They simply nod, smile, don’t try to stop you or offer words of consolation as you leave the room without a glance at your husband.
You suppose it was bound to happen, when your pretence of togetherness crumbles, for it was fragile at best. Your breaths come too sparse, too quick. Your temples throb, your racing, panicked heart is too erratic as it runs away from you, wanting out of the confines of your chest.
Space. That’s what you need. A little alone time to simply process, rationalise, perhaps break down in isolation.
The door to your office in sight, you rush the last few steps with unwanted tears, flinging it open and finding solace with your back against the hard wood as you slam it shut, shoring up for the intrusion you’re sure is coming.
Rosemary put a hand over her mouth. She breathed deeply, willing herself to calm down, even though the adrenaline coursing through her body made her feel light-headed.
A commission for @sirspud, for their Ducktales fic, “Aftermath”! It looks like it’s turning out to be a good one, well-written and great for Teenage HDL and Webby fans!
There are so many good friendships in the series, and I went with InuYasha & Sango. Because I’m a sucker for dog boy having to adjust to his friend being a mama.
By then, Sango was used to having her stomach touched by everyone.
As her belly grew, so did the attention she received from everyone around her.
Miroku, who was already a very touchy husband, became even more so the minute she announced her suspicions 6 months previously. He managed to mostly control himself when they were in public, but as soon as they were alone, his hands would fly over to her stomach, trying to feel any and every movement happening inside. He didn’t give her a break, not even at night: he now slept exclusively with his arms around her middle, which sometimes got him an elbow on the ribs from time to time when Sango needed to move.
request number nineteen: Tom Holland x reader. Reader is casted for Spiderman homecoming and during an interview the interviewer asks what she loves most about herself but she’s self conscious and stuff (even though she’s gorgeous) and she doesn’t really respond and Tom steps in and says what he loves most about her and theres a lot of fluff thx xox ❤️
requested by anonymous
a/n:clearing out my inbox, i’m so sorry this took so long and hopefully you see this whoever requested this!! also it’s trash and i’m sorry about that.
Being a part of the Spiderman: Homecoming cast was more than a dream come true; you got to travel the world, live out your dream and form bonds with some of the greatest people you’ve ever met. People looked up to you; from toddlers and children to adults and co-workers, but you weren’t superhuman. Stepping into the spotlight didn’t make you bulletproof, you were still the same old girl you were before you were chosen to be a part of the Spiderman team.
There was a lot expected from you now that you were put in the spotlight alongside Tom and the others— including the many manyinterviews. The interviews that would take place literally any time of day ornight. Some interviewers would focus solely on the movie while others payed attention to your personal life, looking for an inside scoop. They weren’t all that bad though, most of them were enjoyable and the fact that you did most of them with your costars and friends was a plus.
“Now,” the interviewer turned to face you, a genuine smile on her face, “Y/N.”
eddie is elbow-deep in flour when he hears buck’s jeep pulling up.
christopher’s attention is still firmly fixed on the batch of chocolate chip cookie dough he’s scooping onto the baking sheet, so eddie figures he probably didn’t hear it. buck will be delighted, he thinks—he gets a kick out of surprising christopher.
he’s never said why, but eddie suspects at least some of it is because christopher is always so excited to see him, and when it’s a surprise it’s easier for buck to believe the reaction is genuine. that they really want him here.
eddie’s tried telling him his, indirectly and in so many words, but nothing has gotten the message across as effectively as christopher crying out his name and rushing to hug him every time he shows up.
except buck doesn’t show up, this time. eddie heard the motor of the jeep cut out and it hasn’t started back up, but buck hasn’t come inside. he gives it a few more minutes—maybe buck is on the phone, or maybe his keys are lost somewhere at the bottom of his bag—but when he still doesn’t appear, eddie figures he should go see what’s going on.
he wipes his hands off on his apron and checks christopher’s progress. “looking good, buddy,” he says, nodding in approval at the mostly-uniform rows of cookies appearing on the sheet. “i’m gonna be right back, okay?”
“okay,” christopher says, most of his attention on the bowl as he adjusts his scoop.
(“they have to be the same size,” he’d said earlier, solemn as he looked eddie in the eye. “for the bake sale. nobody’s gonna buy them if they’re ugly.”
eddie had wondered if maybe his kid had a future in marketing.)
he opens his front door to find buck sitting on his porch stairs.
“hey,” eddie says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “you planning on coming in, or did you drive over just to sit on my steps?”
buck startles, like he hadn’t heard the door opening. “hey,” he says. when he looks up, eddie is surprised to see that his eyes are red-rimmed. “how did you know i was here?”
“heard you drive up,” eddie says. “i keep telling you, your jeep sounds whack.”
“it’s just personality,” buck says.
“sure,” eddie says. “buck, are you—”
“yeah, i’m good,” buck says, hastily wiping at the corner of one eye. “just, uh, had a rough call. i didn’t really want to be alone.”
“you know you’re always welcome here,” eddie says.
what about your girlfriend? he doesn’t say. the one who lives with you?
buck manages half a smile. “yeah,” he says. “i know.”
“bet i’ve got something inside that’ll cheer you up,” eddie says.
“does it have something to do with the fact that you’re wearing an apron?” buck asks. “which, by the way, might be on my top ten list of things i never expected to see in my life. right up there with aliens.”
“chris wouldn’t wear his if i didn’t wear mine,” eddie says.
“excuse you,” eddie says. “i’m pretty sure this is working for me.”
it gets a laugh out of buck, just like he’d been hoping it would.
“come on,” eddie says, holding his hand out and helping buck up. “i know someone who’s going to be happy to see you.”
buck follows him into the kitchen, and eddie watches him shuck off his sadness like a snake shedding its skin. he barely has time to say “chris, buddy, guess what?” before christopher is abandoning his cookie scoops and hurrying over. buck crouches down to hug him, and eddie sees a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he hides his face in christopher’s neck.
“i missed you,” buck says, and something in his voice burrows deep into eddie’s chest and makes a home for itself there. buck sounds just like eddie does whenever he has to be away from christopher for a few days, like missing christopher is akin to missing part of himself.
“you were just here last week,” christopher says.
“yeah,” buck says. “it’s been five whole days.”
christopher laughs, and buck reaches out to ruffle his hair before standing up again.
“so what are you guys up to?” he asks, looking around the kitchen, which eddie is proud to say does not look at all like a disaster zone, thank you very much.
“i have a bake sale,” christopher says. “we’re making cookies.”
“i got the recipe from linda,” eddie says. “she swears they’re guaranteed to turn out.”
behind them, the oven timer dings, and buck’s face spreads into a grin. “guess we’re about to find out,” he says. “looks like i had perfect timing.”
buck and christopher both declare the first batch perfectly adequate, which eddie will take as high praise from the duo who barely let him in the kitchen at all a year ago. buck helps christopher scoop the rest of his batch while eddie finishes mixing the final dough, and soon the kitchen is covered in more cookies than eddie would have thought could possibly spring from the pile of ingredients he’d assembled some hours ago.
christopher slips out into the living room, and from the way he checks over his shoulder before he goes eddie knows he’s trying to shirk cleanup duties. but he lets it go, just this once. he puts on a pot of coffee without asking, knowing that buck would never say no to a cup of coffee, and clears some of the debris away from the kitchen table as he waits. he pours a cup the way buck likes it and hands it to him, sits down across from him with his own cup, and waits for buck to take a sip before he speaks.
“so, rough call,” eddie says. “the silo?”
“yeah,” buck says, wrapping both hands around his mug. “i guess you guys heard about it over at dispatch.”
“yeah,” eddie says, sipping his coffee. “yeah, they had me tweet out a warning to avoid the area.”
“good,” buck says. “that’s—good.” he sighs. “you should have seen her, eddie—i mean, i’m glad you didn’t have to, i just mean—”
“i know,” eddie says quietly.
“it’s always hard when they die,” buck says, “but—did you hear her story?”
“only that a woman went through a silo cover,” eddie says.
“she’s—she was a mother,” buck says. “she was out there with her daughters, three of them. they were playing tag, having fun, and then she just—vanished. the ground just gave out beneath her.”
oh.
“one minute she was playing with her kids,” buck continues, “and the next she’s telling them she loves them over the radio because everyone knows she’s dying in the next few minutes but no one’s saying it out loud. and i just—” he sighs, shakes his head, takes a long drink of coffee. “i don’t know.”
“tell me anyway,” eddie says. frank uses it on him a lot when he tries to avoid answering questions by saying he doesn’t know, and it always annoys him but talking about it usually still ends up helping.
“what if that’s me, eddie?” buck asks, looking up at him. “the girls—her daughters—they lived with their dad, only saw her on the weekends. and then she vanished. what if that’s me? what if i’m only here to be on the periphery of people’s lives and then disappear? just fall through the ground?”
“is that what you think, buck?” eddie asks. “that you’re peripheral to us?” buck hadn’t specified, but from the way he looks off to the side eddie’s pretty confident this is the issue.
“sometimes,” buck admits. “just, like—i go home, and your lives just go on, right? as they should, obviously, you two are a family and i’m just—”
“—buck, you’re family,” eddie interrupts. “even if you’re not here all the time.” buck won’t look up from his mug, so eddie finds his foot under the table and nudges it until buck relents. “i mean it,” eddie says. “just—family doesn’t always look like you think it will, you know?”
“but—” buck starts, and eddie shakes his head.
“no buts.” he stands up, mug in hand, and holds the other one out to buck. “come on, if you won’t believe me there’s someone else we can ask.”
buck sighs, some mix of exasperation and disbelief, but he takes eddie’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.
buck tries to release his hand once he’s on his feet, but eddie keeps holding on. he’s not sure buck is entirely convinced, or that he’d told him the whole story, but he figures a bit of human contact couldn’t hurt.
they head into the living room, where christopher is perched on the couch playing one of the several racing games eddie struggles to tell apart.
“hey, chris,” eddie says, perching on the armrest of the sofa. he lets buck take the seat next to christopher, because he knows how this situation is going to end up.
christopher pauses the game and looks up. “yeah?”
“when someone asks you about your family, like maybe a teacher at school, what do you tell them?”
christopher tilts his head like he’s considering the question. “i say i have a dad and a buck,” he says.
“see?” eddie says, nudging buck. “told you. family.”
when buck looks over at him, his grin is a little watery, but it’s there. “sorry,” he says. “i know—”
“—no,i know,” eddie says. “you have nothing to be sorry for. i know.”
buck just looks at him, open and guileless, until christopher shoves the other controller between them.
“race me, buck!” he says, and buck grabs the controller and settles in.
eddie crosses the room and throws himself in the armchair, watching the looks of intense concentration on buck and christopher’s faces as they hurtle neck and neck down the virtual racetrack.
buck’s words nag at him. the periphery of people’s lives, he thinks. i go home, and your lives just go on.
eddie thinks about the night he’d trashed his room, and how buck had stayed for days after despite repeated assurances everything was fine. he thinks about how right it had felt to wake up and find buck in the kitchen, to know that every night after they put christopher to bed buck would still be here. when he’d called buck at work about the grocery list, and buck had said he could easily grab some milk on the way home.
home.
he looks at buck and christopher, elbow-to-elbow on the couch, and he thinks, home. this is home.
he remembers the call from a few days ago, the influencer with the fake life. maybe she felt like she was missing out on a life she could have had, may had said. if she’d been born someone else, or made different choices.
eddie looks at buck and christopher, and for the first time he thinks, is this a life i could have?
May’s words echo around Eddie’s head. He’s pouring coffee in the break room and they’re there:
Maybe she felt like she was missing out on a life she could have had.
He’s sitting in Frank’s office and they’re there:
If she’d been born someone else, or made different choices.
He’s lying on his couch, toes wedged under Buck’s thigh, Speed Wedding playing on the TV, and he’s thinking what if this was different?
“Hey,” Eddie says, two beers and the TV half-light spurring him to bravery. “Do you ever wonder what your life might be like if you’d been born someone else?”
Buck gives a little half laugh and turns to look at him, already smiling. “Not you too.”
It’s not the answer he expects.
“Me too?” Eddie echoes.
“Yeah, we were talking about it in the truck the other day,” Buck says. “Whether we had regrets and stuff, you know? If we wished we’d done things differently, lived different lives.”
“And do you?” Eddie asks, inexplicably nervous. He’s not sure if he wants Buck’s answer to be yes or no. Maybe both.
Buck shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, picking at the label on his bottle. “My life is pretty good right now.”
A sideways flick of his gaze in Eddie’s direction, there and gone. Maybe just a trick of the light.
Eddie swallows. “Yeah,” he agrees. Right now right now right now. “I like to think we always would have ended up here.”
He’s rewarded with a bright smile, the kind that lights up Buck’s whole face, like Eddie reached right into his heart and pulled it out.
“You think?”
Eddie can’t imagine a life that doesn’t have Buck in it. Most days he doesn’t let himself imagine anything more than that—this, friends—either, but… beer, and TV half-light, and feeling brave.
“Maybe not exactly like this, but… You and me?” His voice must be giving him away, but he doesn’t care. “Yeah. Always.”
Buck’s smile is softer then, something a little more shy, a little more…
A little more.
“Always,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Maybe it’s the stutter of Eddie’s heart in his chest, but it sounds an awful lot like forever.
You and me, forever.
Maybe he’s not missing out, Eddie thinks. Maybe he doesn’t need to be born someone else. Maybe alwaysandforever are still in reach.
Maybe, one day, he’ll be lying on this couch, toes wedged under Buck’s thigh, Speed Wedding playing on the TV, and he’ll think I wouldn’t change a thing.
Obviously, I think Pero would be the Blacksmith for this enterprise
Gruff grumpy man working hard at the hot forge? Yes please
He also has his “secret” artistic and romantic sides, 100% will make his sweetheart a little something special
When he wasn’t learning his blacksmithing craft, he also learned a good amount of silversmithing
Not really much of a secret when he first gets adopted by one of the local cats and takes care of her litter of kittens
He also really un-ironically likes Pride & Prejudice and various other period dramas
And he has a a linear tattoo on the inside of his left forearm of a spray of apple blossoms which is his mom’s favorite flowers (why yes he has a spot for someone else’s favorite flowers on his other arm
Din Djarin
Works at the reconstructed, interpretive glasshouse as a Glassblower
The glasshouse is a bit further out from the main museum being built near where the remains of the original 1600’s glass furnaces where rediscovered and excavated
Had to go through a four year apprenticeship to become a proper glassblower
He also did some work within his schooling all while juggling being a single dad for his adopted son after retiring from active duty
Grogu def thinks his papa has one of the coolest jobs ever and wants to learn how to blow glass too (also the kiddo is adorable af in his little costume that he has to match his dad’s work clothes too
Loves the science needed to create something that is both useful and beautiful, and thankfully any questions museum visitors ask don’t require much “character” interpretation and he can just keep it to the art
Is the kind of glass nerd who would die if he got to go to Venice and see the Murano glassblowers at work and would kill to learn more skills in sculptural glass work from an old school master
I’m OBSESSED with this! It’s too good! How did you nail all of these *so* perfectly?? They’re all spot on and exactly what these lovely men would do/be like. I love it. Ezra’s especially made me smile. It’s so very true. Goshhh take me to this museum PLEASE
@vonschweetz omg you KNOW the dynamic would change!
Like Blacksmith Pero isn’t normally the most… vocal about his affections
But when he and reader get married? That man is ecstatic!
Still sometimes cant believe you said yes and now you both are married?! Hell to the yes, Pero is here for this
Since neither of you really have a conflict of interest with neither of you overseeing the other the museum is totally okay with it too, because like you said it gives another layer of realism to museum visitors experiences when real life gets layered with the job
Literally they actually edit both of your “characters” to be married in the setting they have created as well with the gruff blacksmith falling for the sweet and often more chipper lady (only the patrons of the museum with the seasonal passes they use all the time know the fiction is very much based in reality)
For all Pero’s grumpy facade he for sure isnt shy about giving you sweet kiss on the cheek that leaves a soot stain he will laugh about before brushing it away for you
Any weird patrons of the museum who make crude comments about Pero and you that lean to the misogynistic side “because it’s hIsToRiCaL” just get the legendary glare from your husband (generally while he is holding something in the forge with the tongs not that he would hurt them…. probably… maybe)
But it is not at all a strange sight for your coworkers or museum goers to see you take your lunches over to the blacksmith’s shop so you can both eat together
That and the museums designer/photographer took a cute snapshot of you both walking back to your car in the evening still in costume
Pero smiling at you while she recount some of the hilarious questions one of the kids on your tour had been asking. That photo ended up being used on some of the summer promotional ads online and in the new brochure because everyone could just SEE how you both felt for each other and it was just so fricking sweet <3
Ahhhhhhh this is so sweet and soft When your whole workplace ships it looool
Like he would put on rain sounds, if it wasn’t raining already, put the sheets in the washer with that detergent and fabric softener that you love.
While the sheets are in the dryer he would make you some tea, chamomile, lavender, jasmine, dude has it all. Steven will ask you which one you want, have you choose and put the kettle on.
Like dude makes cuddling so goddamn special.
While he’s making the tea, you’re taking a shower, washing off a long and stressful day. Letting the warm water ease your tense muscles.
You make sure to use that body wash he loves, which smells like roses and lavender.
Steven lays out your clothes, which consists of sleeping shorts and a sweater that you practically swim in. the soft and comforting material further relaxes you.
By the time you’re done in the bathroom, your tea is done and Steven is preparing for his turn in the bathroom.
He makes sure to use the shampoo you like on him, the one that smells like cedar and old spice.
Summary: In the midst of a panic attack, the moon boys help you through it.
TW/CW: descriptions of a panic attack, anxiety, highly emotional, fluff
A/N: I’m sorry I’ve been absent, but ya girl has been going through it this week. I hope you’ll take this little drabble I wrote after a bad night and that maybe it could help someone that also struggles with anxiety/grounding. Currently working on Part 2 of El Amor Duele, so be looking out for that soon ♡
——
“I just need you to breathe,” Marc said with persistence, holding onto your shoulders. “That’s it, that’s all I’m asking, baby. Just a big, deep breath,” he said more gently this time.
You struggled but eventually took a large, shaky inhale that turned into a stuttering, audible exhale.
“There we go,” he said as he traced his fingers up and down your shoulder blades. “Can you do one more for me?” He asked, to which you quickly shook your head no, feeling another huge sob building in your chest.
Pairing: Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader x Marc Spector x Steven Grant
Summary: Jake, Marc, and Steven go after Moretti to find Apopsis’s ushabti. Steven discovers that Jake’s hiding something, resulting in a heated argument between the boys. Nothing prepares them for what they find when they return home to you.
TW/CW: Bondage, language, trauma, graphic depictions of violence and abuse, death, mentions of bruising/self-inflicted injuries, heavy emotional descriptions, heavy angst
Jake had thought of everything, except what he would tell Marc and Steven. They wouldn’t be happy, but if he was honest, they were the last thing he was worried about.
Marc and Steven looked around as they could see for the first time since Jake had fronted. He’d taken down his walls, letting them see out into the world after hours in the dark.
Jake, what the fuck? Where are we going? Marc asked, noticing they were now in the car.
Jake ignored them, focusing on the road.
This is the way to Moretti’s club… Is it Sunday already? Steven chimed in.
Jake kept his eyes on the road, choosing not to engage. Omitting the truth wasn’t an exact lie in his mind.
UghjgkffhuHJHJKLSAklsjsdjkl I’m going to sob. What’s your secret? Did you make a deal with a wizard or something in order to get so good at writing angst and hurt and all that?
My heart broke like an egg falling on the floor when I read the part about Steven wearing the Mr Knight suit and when he was looking at her to remember tiny details just in case. Ouch but I love it.
it has Arrived. the grand angst piece of suffering i’ve been working on since the finale. part 1 of 2. more suffering to follow as soon as I’ve written it. enjoy.
Title:Let Me Back In - Chapter 1 ‘As You Are Mine’
Warning:Spoilers for episode 1x08 of the show. Mature rating for dark themes/content. Moiraine is in a fairly deep depression and is dissociating quite a lot. She’s sunk very deeply into an apathetic torpor and it may be uncomfortable/unsettling to read - be aware and be safe if this is a potential problem.
Summary: Post 1x08 - after what happened at the Eye, Moiraine is struggling to cope. Lan has given her time and space to grieve, but after almost a week of apathy and with no signs of improvement, he finally attempts to reach out to her and encourage her to let him help.
Teaser:‘ Today had brought a slight change in her, though he did not think it was for the better. Staring blankly into space without seeming to see anything. Head all that was visible beneath the mountain of blankets she seemed to be trying to drown herself within. Somehow, the Wheel had finally managed to break Moiraine Sedai. It had made her into a small, fragile thing, a thing she would have despised a week ago. Had he not been able to hear the gentle sounds of her breathing in the silence of the room, he’d have believed her a corpse.’
The healers of Fal Dara, talented though they were, had been at a complete loss as to what to do for his Aes Sedai.
When he and Moiraine had returned from the Eye, he had been carrying her for half a day. Her legs had given out from under her without warning in the middle of the Blight and she had been unable to move. Where before she would have clung to every rotted branch and twisted trunk to drag herself on, and stubbornly clawed herself out on her stomach if forced, against all sense or reason, she had simply huddled on the ground, eyes closed, expression bleak. There had been not a word of protest uttered when he had lifted her into his arms to carry her back.
In the week since, she had not improved. He had stayed with her as much as he had been able to, only leaving to fetch things for her. At first she had argued against it, insisting that he do more important things, that they were not bonded now, and he was no longer obligated to assist her. He had ignored her, and after the first day, she had fallen silent. Not because she had changed her mind; simply, he was sure, because she was too exhausted to argue.
None of the healers he had consulted had made the slightest difference to her. Even Nynaeve had been taken aback by the state of her when she had finally consented to visit and examine her after Lan all but begged her. Eventually, after many examinations and concerned conferences, the best they could recommend had been bed rest. For the first time since he had known her, likely the first time in her life, Moiraine had heeded that suggestion. She had not left her chambers, or her bed, in almost a week.
This was so terrifyingly unlike the woman he knew. The woman who had been stubbornly outrunning trollocs on horseback as a deadly poison coursed through her veins, killing her, mere weeks ago. More than once he’d wondered if perhaps the Dark One had not somehow taken his Moiraine at the Eye and replaced her with this false shadow. Yet every time he met her eyes he knew that it was her. He saw in them their history reflected back at him, the life that they had shared together. That, and the mirror of the pain he felt every waking moment at the loss of their bond.
Light knew she was entitled to break, to utterly shatter, after what she had been through. He did not blame her for that at all. If she had been anyone else he would not have been surprised if they had refused to rise from bed for three months. But she was not anyone else. She was Moiraine.
As long as he had known her she had been a woman of action. A woman who did things. A woman with an almost compulsive need to do things. They had not stopped for twenty years. Not for rest, or pleasure, or grief. The Wheel had assigned them a task, and she would see it done, or see herself broken in the attempt. When she had faced obstacles, or grief, or pain, it had only increased her fervour and her drive, as she pushed through and ignored her own hurts. That had worried him, too, but it had been familiar, and something he had learned how to handle. Now she seemed content to simply sleep through what looked like the end of days and he had no idea how to respond.
Standing guard over her rooms was starting to feel more and more like he was standing vigil at her wake; nothing to protect now but a corpse and a memory.
Louis finds Christmas parties usually too boring or too rowdy. Nothing in between. And this one was definitely bordering on lame… Until he spotted the most handsome man watching him.
“Okay,” Niall says. “Don’t get me wrong, ’m grateful for the fans and the music and everything—
“—and your fifty guitars, and the very expensive pieces of real estate in London—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Niall waves his hand. “But fame is also what’s right now preventing me from throwing me hat in the ring to be Holmes Chapel’s next jelly wrestling champion.”
