#hi yeah i have nightmares almost every night. been like this since childhood. maybe i have a sleep disorder...? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anonymous-dentist · 3 months

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Or: In a world where everybody has a superpower, Roier doesn't seem to have one

For day five of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week- Superheroes/Blood

Cellbit's dreams are always dark. They start with him in his childhood bedroom, and then they move him down to the kitchen his parents died in, and then they end with him under the bridge. The sounds are muffled, but he can still understand what's being said, and it's always: "It's your fault."

Because it is.

He's had the same dreams since the night his parents died.

Every.

Goddamn.

Night.

But, well. He deserves it. The darkness surrounding the edges of his dream blurs out the unimportant details, like the face of the little girl who was sitting at the kitchen table when Cellbit's parents died, or the view outside of his bedroom window.

But the darkness hides something else- and this is a recent development, and he really doesn't understand it. Because, just out of view, is a figure in all black with eyes that glow white and claws that tear through Cellbit's dreams like they're paper.

He doesn't know who, or what, this thing is, but he does know a few things about it:

The creature destroys Cellbit's nightmares, sending his subconscious tumbling into a much happier dream- one that he can never remember when he wakes up

The creature tries to talk to him every time, but the fangs in its mouth are so large that it just can't

The creature seems to grow taller and stronger with every nightmare it destroys.

The creature is scared of Cellbit's husband

Now, yeah, sure, the creature can't talk, but Cellbit doesn't need to hear someone speak to know what they're afraid of. That's his superpower: fear. He can look at someone and hear what they're scared of, and he can make them scared, and it's horrible and he's a monster and he deserves to-

Cellbit gasps his way into full consciousness. He stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, brain loud and annoying and and and and-

"Gatinho?" Roier murmurs, curled up by Cellbit's side with his head pillowed on Cellbit's chest. He wraps an arm around Cellbit's middle and squirms closer, somehow, he's so clingy.

"Está bem," Cellbit breaths. "Just... just thinking."

"Well, don't," Roier grumbles. "Your brain is loud. Sleep, pendejo."

As if on command, Cellbit's eyelids droop. Roier always has this effect on him; he's just so comforting. He's a living, breathing weighted blanket, and Cellbit loves him so fucking much.

Soon enough, he's asleep again, and he's face-to-face with the creature again.

The creature tries to speak, but no noise comes out.

It flexes its claws as Dream Cellbit starts the walk downstairs to the kitchen.

The dream is shredded, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier and Cellbit have been married for almost one whole entire wonderful year. He's known Roier for one and a half years, and he's been out of prison for two years.

Roier knows about the creature in Cellbit's dreams, even if Cellbit hasn't told him what his dreams actually are. Roier's been trying to come up with a name for it for months now, but Cellbit doesn't really know what to think of that considering the creature is literally invading his brain every night.

"It's kind of sweet, though, right?" Roier asks.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose and jabs his chopsticks down into his rice.

Dinner tonight is Chinese takeout because Roier's tired from work and Cellbit is tired from existing. It's good, but kind of bland. Since they changed ownership and ended up under the Federation of Heroes' official branding, the food has gone downhill. Yet another thing that Cucurucho has ruined, ugh.

"I mean, maybe?" Cellbit replies. "It's kind of freaky."

"I don't know, it kind of sounds cute."

Cellbit gives Roier a flat look; Roier just grins and steals some chicken from his plate.

"It's destroying my dreams," Cellbit says. "That doesn't sound 'cute' to me."

"Yeah, but doesn't it give you different dreams?" Roier asks. "I think it's trying to help."

"Yeah, or it's trying to kill me."

Roier's shoulders tighten. "Do you think so?"

It's always hard to pick up Roier's fears, but Cellbit can often just guess them even without using his powers. Like, he knows that Roier is just scared enough of bears to refuse to go camping anywhere without a cabin for him to stay him. He and Cellbit are both terrified of losing each other, and they're even more scared of losing their kids.

God, Cellbit is so stupid. He doesn't need to be worrying Roier with this, he already freaks out enough when Cellbit ends up caught in the middle of one of the Federation's hero fights due to his abysmally terrible luck.

His face falls. He places his chopsticks down and reaches across the table and takes Roier's hand in his.

"It'll be fine," he tells Roier. "If it tries to kill me, I'll just... wake up."

"If it tries to kill you, I'll kick its ass," Roier swears.

He squeezes Cellbit's hand once and offers a lackluster smile.

Cellbit's heart twists in his chest. Oh, Roier...

The night's dream starts as usual:

Cellbit opens his eyes to find himself in his childhood bedroom in his childhood body. There aren't any bloodstains on his clothes yet, though that'll change soon enough.

He tries looking out the window, but that isn't what he did that night, so anything beyond the window is covered by the darkness.

There's a growl, and then the creature forms in the shadows near Cellbit's bed. (There are always two beds in his room, but why?)

"What do you want?" Cellbit tries to ask, but that isn't what he did that night.

Instead, and in a squeaky childish voice, he groans and shouts, "This sucks! I can't figure it out!"

He's at his desk. In front of him are multiplication tables he's supposed to be doing for homework, and they're easy enough that Adult Cellbit could do them now, but that isn't what happened that night. So the problems look like random lines and squiggles, and Cellbit's chest hurts, and he can't breathe, and-

"I can't do this!" he shouts, jumping off of his chair and pulling his homework with him. "Mãe!"

He reaches his door, has his hand on the handle, and then... there's the creature by his side shredding the door into pieces with its claws.

Cellbit blinks, and he's an adult again, and he's in a different dream, and he turns to the side and he's face-to-face with-

Roier is one of the few people Cellbit has ever heard of that doesn't have a superpower. He seems happy enough without one, but... but Cellbit thinks that he's lying. He isn't angry that Roier is lying, though. No, he understands, because he himself lied about not having powers until they'd been dating for six months.

In the back of his mind, Cellbit has a few ideas of what Roier's secret superpower could be. The only one he says out loud is, "I know what your power is. You're super handsome!"

But, in order, it goes:

Extreme endurance (evidence: goes for long runs every morning and ends up back in bed sweating and tired by the time Cellbit wakes up)

Can always cook the perfect meal (evidence: he's just really good at cooking)

Comfort aura (evidence: Cellbit always feels happy and cozy and safe when Roier is around)

Super strength (evidence: he's really strong)

But, well. None of those quite work, mostly because the majority of them are just early excuses for thinking Roier was attractive back before they started dating.

Tonight as Cellbit brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, he thinks up a new idea:

Vocal projection (evidence: he's loud as fuck when he's singing in the shower)

Because, yes, Roier is, indeed, in the shower, and he's singing very loudly. But, really, Cellbit wouldn't have him any other way. He's perfect.

"Hey, guapito," Cellbit says after rinsing his mouth out. "I need your help with something?"

Roier cuts his song off with an irritated groan. "Now? I was almost to the chorus!"

"Desculpe. But you're better at naming things than I am, and I need help coming up with something to call the creature in my dream diary."

"You have a dream diary?"

"I'm starting it tonight. I'm going to figure this thing out."

"That's cute!"

Cellbit can see Roier's silhouette shaking with silent laughter through the shower curtain. Wordlessly, he opens the curtain so he can take the shower head down and spray Roier with it.

"It's serious," Cellbit says, ignoring Roier's screeching protests. "I think it's messing with my head."

"Put that down- vete a la verga, fuck!"

Roier bats at Cellbit's hands until Cellbit lowers the shower head.

And then Roier yanks the shower head away from him and sprays him with it.

"Pendejo!" Cellbit shouts. (Not the best swear word, but it's all he could come up with on such short notice.)

He skitters away from the shower and looks, horrified, down at his soaking wet pajamas.

"Whoops," Roier plainly says. "Guess you'll just have to sleep naked tonight."

He grins, and Cellbit hates him. He wants to kiss him soooo badly!

So he does, and it's nice.

A few minutes later as they crawl into bed, Roier says, "Hey. I have a name for your monster."

Cellbit looks at him. "Yeah?"

"Call it Venom. It's, like, dissolving your dreams, right? Like poison?"

Brain poison, hmm.

Cellbit grabs his brand new dream journal off of his bedside table and opens it. Right on the first page is a long, detailed description of his dream. Right below it is a description of the creature as well as a really messy drawing.

'Venom', he writes.

...What a specific descriptoin. "Dissolving your dreams", not quite how Cellbit has been describing it.

He glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Hm.

The first part of the dream goes normally.

And then Cellbit is downstairs at the kitchen table with his parents. There's also a girl there, but Cellbit hadn't looked at her face that night, so she doesn't have one now.

"I can't do it," Cellbit whines. He balls his hands into fists and fights the urge to smash his own face into the table.

"You can," his father insists. "You're a smart kid! Why don't we take a break."

He gets up from the table and goes to cut some watermelon.

Cellbit knows what's about to happen next. But he can't close his eyes, because his eyes were open that night.

"Let's try one more time, okay?" his mother asks.

He sniffles and nods.

He looks down at the problems. He can't understand him, he's so stupid. He's so stupid! Why can't he be like [her]?! She's good at math. She's even finished her homework.

His vision starts to blur. He can't see. He can't- he can't breathe oh fuck he can't breathe why can't he breathe what why can't he

A scream.

He looks up and watches his father finish plunging his watermelon-cutting knife into his own stomach.

"Pai!?" the girl screeches.

"I can't do it," Cellbit's mother whispers. "I'm a failure. I can't do it."

She wrestles Cellbit's pencil from his hand and raises it to her eye and-

Cellbit gasps as a clawed hand rips the table into pieces in front of him.

As the dream shifts and as his body turns back into his own, he's pulled by the creature- by Venom- into a loose hug. Its claws dig into his back, but they don't hurt.

He looks up, and he finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier was the first person that Cellbit let himself get attached to after he was released from prison.

He'd met Roier by pure chance, and it was love at first sight. He was just so... and he's still so...

"Does this dress make my ass look big?" Roier asks, posing in front of Cellbit in a way that most people would probably call sexy.

...perfect.

They'd met at their mutual friend, Maxo's, club. Roier wasn't on the pole that night, he was instead working the bar, and he and Cellbit hit it off immediately.

The next time Cellbit had been gone, Roier wasn't there, but his 'cousin' was. Melissa, according to Roier, owns half of the club.

And then, seven months later while rummaging through Roier's closet looking for a hoodie to steal, Cellbit had seen one of Melissa's dresses, and, well. Cellbit isn't stupid, okay? But he hadn't said anything because he didn't want to break Roier's trust, and he lives by that idea even now almost two years after their marriage.

If Roier wants to tell him something, he will. It isn't Cellbit's place to push.

Cellbit checks out Roier's ass appreciatively.

"Everything you wear makes your butt look big," he replies.

Roier nods and smiles, more than content with that answer, and he goes to the other side of his dressing room to start putting his makeup on.

Cellbit tries to make it to every one of "Melissa's" shows. He's a good husband, he wants to support Roier in everything he does.

...And he can't sleep anymore unless he has Roier by his side. Does that make him clingy?

He yawns, anyway, and he leans back and slumps in his chair. He might move to the dressing room's sofa, he's exhausted. (He might not be able to sleep without Roier, but he can rest his eyes, at least.)

"Is it okay if I stay back here?" he asks. "I need to lay down."

Roier glances at him through his mirror, concern lining his face. "Are you okay?"

Cellbit waves his concerns aside. "I'm just a little tired. I don't think I'm going to fall asleep, but I don't want to accidentally pass out during your show. That would be bad for business."

Roier's eyebrows furrow, just slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, if it's okay-"

"No!" Roier cuts him off so quickly that he even seems to surprise himself. "I mean. It's okay, but you might not be comfortable. I can try and find you a pillow?"

His voice is shaking, just slightly. Hm.

"Nah, I'm good," Cellbit replies. He shrugs his jacket off and balls it up in his arms. "I've slept in worse places before."

"If- if you're sure, then go ahead."

Something feels... off. Maybe it's just because Cellbit is tired, but something is just. Weird.

But Roier eventually leaves the dressing room, though not without giving Cellbit a big fat messy lipstick-covered kiss on the lips.

Cellbit moves to the sofa, and he pillows his head on his jacket, and he closes his eyes, and he... he falls asleep. Just barely, because his dream is a faded memory around him, but. But.

But Venom isn't there.

The third stage of the dream is the coldest. It gnaws at Cellbit's brain, because it was the middle of January when his parents died. He was alone and under the bridge and covered in blood and absolutely freezing.

The dream doesn't ever go on past the bridge. He always just sits there shivering until he wakes up unless Venom shows up.

So he sits, and he shivers, and he waits to wake up. His body is crying, and the tears are freezing to his cheeks. He can't breathe. He can't stop thinking of... of... fuck, who is that girl? The one who chased Cellbit out of the house. The one with no face but the same voice as him.

A police car speeds over the bridge above him. It's going to his house, he knows this. The morning after the bridge, he snuck back towards his house, and the police car was still there. So was the girl. So were his parents bodies, wrapped in sheets and being carried to a Federation-white van.

He's a mistake. [She] was always better than him. [She] never hurt anybody. It isn't fair!

He sobs and buries his face in his knees. He won't sleep tonight, Cellbit remembers staying up all night because he couldn't close his eyes without seeing his parents die in front of him, and he still can't close his eyes without seeing it.

"I'm a monster," he whimpers, the first time he'd ever spoken those words, but not the last. (Later, he would try to embrace them and become the monster the media labeled him as, but it didn't help.)

There's a snarl above him, and then there's Venom standing above him with its fangs bared.

"I-" Cellbit chokes, forced to repeat what he'd said all those years ago. "I need to turn myself in. I have to!"

He stands. Venom moves to block him, grabbing onto his shoulders and holding him in place.

"There have to be healer heroes," Cellbit reasons. "They can fix them."

(They can't, and they won't.)

If possible, Venom looks distraught. The darkness wavers around it, and that's when Cellbit realizes that this is the closest they've really gotten to each other. This close, he can almost make out a face hidden behind Venom's teeth, buried deep within its mouth. But it's too dark, but if he looks hard enough...

Venom steps back, and he tears the bridge apart, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

Roier is cooking dinner tonight, and it smells wonderful. Of course it does, Roier's the one cooking it. Everything he cooks is wonderful, because he's wonderful.

Cellbit sits at the table watching. The kids are all in the other room doing homework, and it's almost peaceful.

Roier slips with the spatula and drops it into the pan. He swears and scoops it out and swears again as the oil inside burns him.

Again, almost peaceful.

Cellbit swiftly stands from his chair and goes to help Roier.

"Here, let me-"

Roier lightly smacks his hand. "Não, não. Go away."

"Mmm, what if I wanna stay with you?"

He slips an arm around Roier's waist and snuggles up against his back. He rests his chin on Roier's shoulder and watches a beautiful smile spread across Roier's face.

"I guess it's fine," Roier sighs, playing up the theatrics. "I guess."

And then it's peaceful once more. Cellbit watches Roier cook, and he pays special attention to Roier's biceps. (Sue him, his husband is hot.)

But then, in the other room, Richarlyson starts shouting:

"This is stupid!"

"Calm down," Bobby drawls. "It's just multiplication, let me see-"

"No, I can do it!"

Cellbit tenses. Roier doesn't seem to notice, and that's fine. It's nothing for either of them to worry about.

"You've literally been working on that for hours," Bobby argues. "Let me see."

"Não!"

Quietly, Pepito pipes up with, "I wanna see!"

"No!" Richarlyson yells. "I can- I can do it!"

"Let me see," Pepito pleads.

(Cellbit can't see.)

"Fuck you, give me the homework," Bobby snaps.

"Fuck you, it's mine!" Richarlyson exclaims.

(Cellbit can't breathe.)

"You literally can't even do it," Bobby mocks. "Give it."

(Cellbit can't-)

The world dissolves around him, and all he can see is his father's body sprawled across the floor and his mother across from him still muttering about how useless she is as he still muttered about how useless he is and he's both 26 years old and eight and he can't breathe and and and and and-

"Cellbit!" he hears. Two warm, gentle hands settle on his cheeks, and he blinks, and he's in his own kitchen. With his husband. Crying.

"It's fine," Roier whispers. He presses his forehead against Cellbit's, eyes slipping shut. "It isn't going to happen again. You're fine. They're fine. It's fine."

Cellbit blinks. The kitchen sounds miles and miles away, but he still heard that, and he knows for certain that he not once has told anybody about the night he killed his parents.

He swallows, fresh tears stinging at his eyes. "What isn't going to happen again?"

Roier tenses, but he doesn't move. His eyes squeeze even further shut, but he doesn't move. His mouth narrows into a pencil-thin line, but he doesn't move.

Cellbit can barely feel his hands, but he still moves his arms to hold Roier around the middle. The kids are still fighting in the background, but... but he can't handle them right now.

In a minute.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Roier hesitantly asks.

Cellbit's answer is immediate: "No. Just... sorry. I'm sorry."

Roier's brow furrows. "'Sorry'? Sorry for what, eh?"

"You shouldn't have to see all... all that. I don't even want to talk about it, but-"

"No, shut up. I'm sorry for sneaking into your dreams every night. It kinda just happens, I don't control it, but... it happened, and you were so sad, and I wanted to help."

Cellbit smiles faintly. His own eyes slip shut, and he can almost not see the bodies this time.

"You do help," he responds. "You help more than you could ever imagine, even outside of the dreams."

He tips his head up to kiss Roier, soft and brief and gentle.

Against Cellbit's lips, Roier mutters, "I can stop."

Cellbit shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Now that I know it's you, I can stop freaking out about a buff scary monster guy haunting me."

Roier huffs out a quiet laugh. "I can try and be less scary, but I don't control that, either."

"It's still you. Just... God, does this make me a monsterfucker?"

Roier's laugh is much louder this time. He bites Cellbit's bottom lip before pulling back.

Cellbit's eyes open, and he looks into Roier's, and he can see the love in them, and he can feel the love in his own.

God-damn, how did he get this lucky?

"Who are you calling a monster?" Roier demands. He pinches Cellbit's side and turns back to the stove. "Fuck you, sleep alone tonight. I don't even care."

Cellbit smiles and invades his husband's space once more. He hooks his chin over Roier's shoulder, and he sighs against Roier's cheek.

"Te amo," he says. He presses a chaste kiss to the side of Roier's jaw.

Roier's ears turn red, but his face betrays no emotion.

"Your breath smells," he says, a smile teasing at his own lips. "Go brush your teeth before we eat."

Cellbit rolls his eyes, but he leaves to go do as he's told if only to try and finish panicking on his own and try and calm down before dinner.

He passes through the living room, and he sees Bobby at the table helping Richarlyson with his homework.

Some things do change, after all.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #here's a bit of a weird one #i'm playing fast and loose with 'superheroes' here lol #this is such a weird au i love it #basically: roier has some kind of sleep control! he can enter dreams and change them #but he always looks scary because he himself thinks he's scary for being able to do that #this is inspired by roier's old dream stream with bobby and tilin where they blew up the server

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cloveroctobers · 7 months

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OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 9. Guero

A/N: im trying my best to complete my list for this fall season. In MY brain winter doesn’t start until December hits and winter isn’t officially until late December which blows my mind every time I look it up lol but don’t come at me X-mas lovers because I get it! just don’t bring that Holly jolly bs my way just yet 😉!!! Anyways missed my man so he’s next up for this short thing.

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: “Please, I’m begging you. don’t make me watch the nightmare before Christmas again.”

WARNINGS: language, family drama, mentions of violence, + slightly sexual content towards the bottom.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

“Fucking bitch makes me sick!” You huff as you flail the bed sheet up into the air for what should have been the fifth time.

Guero is smirking to himself, fresh out of the shower in his lounge wear, leaning against the doorframe that leads back into the bathroom.

You just got back from your outing with your sister-in-law and niece maybe twenty minutes ago but Guero figured things must have gone left when he heard you mumbling to yourself while he was drying off. He even called out to you through the crack of the door as he got dressed asking who you were talking to, since he didn’t see you on the phone and you didn’t hesitate to continue your rants.

“What she do this time?” Guero questions, knowing this tangent was aimed at your sister-in-law, since you only tolerated her and adored your niece.

Throwing the sheet against the mattress in frustration you whip around to face your boyfriend, “what doesn’t she do?! You know how she is.”

Guero nodded his head. He did in fact know how your sister-in-law was and he also didn’t care for her either—not just because you didn’t fuck with her but they got into a debate about guns that left a sour taste in Guero’s mouth. He didn’t have to engage with her much like you did but he definitely listened every time you vented that she annoyed the shit out of you…so in a sense she was still around him too.

He waited for you to continue as you began pacing now, “was I not tasked a week ago to get Ely her dress for the fall dance because her mother’s dumbass was too busy partying with her best friend of a mayor—who’s she’s probably screwing and my brother’s oblivious ass was too tied up with work?”

Eloise, or as you both called her, “Ely,” was your twelve year old niece that was just getting into fragrances and dresses—which was a complete contrast to her mother. It was no shock to you that her mother, Reagan put that off on you since she wasn’t the most stylish and didn’t really connect to her daughter in that way.

“Hell yeah you were,“ Guero said, “you were almost as excited as Ely was. What went down?”

You turned to work at the sheets again, straightening them out in the air and failing to get them to fit on the corners, “I go to this lunch date with them just to find out Reagan returned the dress! Said it was too inappropriate to wear to a middle school dance. And that I was trying to make Ely to look like a hoe since she’s already top heavy.”

Guero frowned, “the one you showed me a pic of? That little burgundy shit with the puff sleeves and flows at the bottom? I don’t get what was wrong with it? Ely looked pretty and happy in it.”

“Yes! Nothing was wrong with it! It wasn’t too tight or short. Reagan was all smiles when I dropped Ely off that night too, almost thankful that I got something done that her ass should have been doing.” You hissed and balled up the sheets out of frustration.

Guero stepped in then, gently prying the sheets from your hands to put the sheet on the bed correctly. It was something you mentioned on your first date that you were always criticized for not making your bed right as a kid so your potential significant other had to be down with at least putting the sheets on.

Childhood trauma was a true bitch…much like sister-in-law’s apparently.

Guero repeated, “So Reagan went and returned it?”

“Yeah and I think she truly did it out of spite because you won’t believe the dress she got Ely,” you informed with your arms crossed, watching as Guero put the sheets on with ease, “she’s gonna make my niece look like a pilgrim at that dance.”

Guero glanced at you, “that bad?”

“And I told her straight to her face when she showed me a video, that the dress Ely originally picked out was much more fitting than that floor length dress. I wasn’t rude about it or anything.”

“Floor-length? Nah, that’s crazy. What she say after that?”

“That I wouldn’t know the first thing about appropriate wear considering what I wore when I first met you.”

Guero furrowed his brows, “fuck is she getting at with that? We met at the damn fair in hot ass Arizona!”

“Exactly,” you agreed, “the fact that she even remembered that back then let’s me know that she’s been keeping tabs on me just to talk shit and probably about me to Ely too but I don’t care! She can run her mouth all she wants but don’t try to take your insecurities out on Ely. That’s when it becomes a problem for me.”

Regan was a jealous person, you peeped that from the first day you met her unwillingly at your seventeenth birthday party. She barely let your brother mingle alone without interjecting herself into their conversations and this was after she was already introduced to family and friends. You knew she wasn’t the person for your older brother, Kelvin but he insisted on settling for her after getting his heartbroken by an ex who cheated on him and fell in love with his (then) best friend during their college years. He didn’t give himself enough time to heal right before he was back into another relationship with the very set in her ways Reagan. There was a five year age gap between you and your brother and sure you didn’t understand it all back then but you were always aware that your brother tended to love long.

As siblings you didn’t always see eye to eye and when he did bring his serious significant others around you were open to them opposed to him who gave yours the third degree. Just because you were his little sister didn’t mean you wouldn’t look out for him either. The moment you expressed your doubts of Reagan being the woman of his dreams, he decides he’s going to propose to her despite their heavy arguments of not being trusting of each other or really in love.

Eloise wasn’t far behind after the wedding if you connect the dots.

It was odd to you that you always got scolded for voicing your opinions on your brother’s well-being by your parents, that you were always expected to keep your mouth shut and just follow along but that same energy was not reciprocated when it came to Kelvin. He was the older brother, he was “supposed,” to set the standard for you but at the same time you would always be different people.

Funny how that turned out now with your parents not wanting to be bothered with Reagan but preferred your four year going strong relationship with Javier “Guero,” Bardales.

“She’s the fucken worse,” Guero says fixing his side of the bed after you retrieved the duvet from the bay window seat, “was the kid messed up about it?”

“Oh absolutely, it was written all over her face and you know how she shields her true personality away when her mom’s around,” you say then clench your jaw which would probably trigger your TMJ later but you continue, “I’m so pissed with Reagan. Of course kids can’t always get their way but you don’t have to shit all over their enjoyment because of your own personal problems!”

“Did you tell Kel about it?” Guero smacks the pillow against the headboard, already sensing that was a lost cause.

He was just waiting for the day that Kel kicked Reagan to the curb. Now listen, Guero wasn’t down with divorce, given that his own parents went through it and it resulted in lost time Guero got to spend with his own dad but…Guero actually liked Kel, although he gave him shit from the very beginning he walked into your life but they grew to actually like each other. Guero had his own fun and deep conversations with Kel, noticing that he was also most like himself whenever Reagan wasn’t around. And one thing about Guero, if he saw someone he cared about being held back by someone else? he was always ready to do something about it; especially if the person was capable but taking too long to go through with some action.

Guero was a actions kinda guy.

“For what? That’s like talking to a brick wall and I’d rather save my breath.” You responded placing your hands on your hips before a smile spread over your lips.

Guero stared at the wicked expression on your face, “…what’d you do? We gotta hide the body?”

You snickered and then let out a sigh, “That time hasn’t come yet but my breaking point is among the Horizon I fear.”

Here you go with the dramatic stare off into the distance for a moment that it has Guero jumping onto the bed to get to you. The anticipation was bugging him and you were well aware as you kept smiling at him.

Resting your hands on his shoulders you said, “I went back and repurchased the dress and snipped the tags off. Reagan’s going away that same day as the dance to some conference in D.C. so obviously Ely’s gonna get ready here instead with her little girlies and non-binary friends.”

Guero wasn’t thrilled about some pre-teens being at his shared spot with you but the expression on your face made him ignore that.

“That’s what I’m talking’ about baby! Fuck what Bride of Chucky has to say, you’re more of a mother to Ely anyways.” Guero hyped you up as he gripped the sides of your neck to place a kiss right in between your brows.

You brushed your shoulders off, “and if she finds out and decides to get buck with me, I got something for that ass. She just doesn’t know that I’ve been counting on the day.”

Guero knew you meant that too and that made him smile. He was never above violence, it was always fuck around and find out in his mind. He’s been by your side for four years now and knew it took a lot to drive you to that point but he always encouraged you to speak up for yourself too since it was always conditioned for you to keep it all locked in.

Not when it came to Reagan though and he knew you had it in you, hearing of the fights you got into in your teenage years (one story consisted of: aged sixteen banging some girl’s face into the pavement, a story your father told him about—and another : aged thirteen with you jumping in to fight some older guys that tried to jump your brother at his high school graduation party—just to name two of Guero’s favorite stories) and a recent road rage incident that happened two years ago which almost sent Guero into cardiac arrest.

So his girl was never no pussy, don’t let the face fool you.

Guero instigated, “I dunno…ain’t she on a softball team?”

“She was until she fucked up her rotator cuff.” You gave the man a dark stare, “you think beer muscles scare me?”

Guero snickered and put his hands up in surrender, “relax baby, I’m just fucking with you. No need to go assassin on me.”

“You want me to be one so bad.” You rolled your eyes as Guero reaches out to slip his hands over your hips.

He has no shame in his game as he nods his heads at you, “oh yeah, listen it’ll be the dream costume, huh?”

“You just want to see me in more leather.”

“Yeah I do.” Guero laughs before nipping your bottom lip.

You flick your French curls over your shoulder as you drape your wrists behind Guero’s head, leaning to brush your lips against his ear you state, “that’s just too bad, daddy.”

Guero let out a groan as you untangle yourself from him, hand going right to his chest, almost as if you just stabbed him while he flops back onto the bed. “Such a tease and these are the things I get when I just made the damn bed?”

“Oh the horror! Oh the bare minimum!” You joke as you plop on the edge of the king sized bed after locating the remote for the mounted flat screen, “that’s what you get for not being my bone daddy last year.”

Guero sits up on his elbows, “you’re still pressed about that? Baby I got enough art on my skin already, now why would you want to decorate this handsome face? Which is my best art piece.” He winks at you as you scoff at him from over your shoulder.

Shushing the man, you don’t grant him with a response as the movie begins to roll the credits and you start to bounce from side to side at the music.

Guero glares at the tv, “please, I’m begging you. Don’t make me watch the nightmare before Christmas again.”

Ever since late September hit, you started off with the light hearted fall themed movies first. This was your third time now watching the nightmare before Christmas and Halloween wasn’t even near! Now if Guero suggested watching something like, “Terrifier,” then you’d be ready to kick him out the house or go sleep at a friend’s instead.

“This is my comfort movie, let me vibe.”

Guero sighs, sitting up to sit beside you to glance at the screen before settling his eyes back on you. It had to be a good solid two minutes of Guero just watching you that even when you tried to grip his chin to face the tv again, he wouldn’t budge.

Stubborn ass.

“You know, I could be your comfort too.” He places his hand right on your thigh.

“Don’t worry you already are,” you say eyes still locked on the screen with your fingers holding onto his jaw, “if you weren’t, I would have been dropped your ass.”

Guero breathed out a laugh as he quickly gets to his feet and yanks you up, “Oh so like this?”

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being lifted over Guero’s shoulder just to be slammed right back onto the bed. “You’ll never be my Roman reigns.” You puffed out.

Guero kisses his biceps before turning his expression serious, “and he’ll never get to touch this belt, which will always be mine just so you know.”

You smirk up at Guero as he gets to work unfastening the belt on your low-rise jeans.

And when you’re bare, exposed to the fall chilliness in the air of your bedroom, you keep your eyes on Guero as he places open-mouthed kisses with his incredibly soft lips against your lower belly. He trails a feather-like touch against the side of your ass as he knocked your right thigh to the side so he can get better adjusted.

“Whatchu looking at me for? Eyes on the movie, remember babe?” Guero says with his lips right above your throbbing center.

His reaches a hand right between the valley of your pale pink sweater covered breasts to grip your jaw to tilt upwards instead.

You weren’t sure how this man thought you were supposed to be focused on the iconic film when there were so many sensations going on. From the light scratches of the copper leaves against the bedroom window, the softness of the moss colored duvet, the theatrics of the soundtrack playing from the classic animation film, and the firm but solace grip of a loved one’s touch…it was all just what you needed to get by.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓ ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

Continue with my fall anthology prompts here.

#queued #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans mc x reader #mayans imagine #mayans x reader #guero mayans mc #Guero Mayans #andrew jacobs #fall prompts #mayans season 5

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sukirichi · 3 years

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Hi! I hope you're doing okay. So I just had a thot. And idk what to do with it. So Imma just put it here cause your blog is my new favourite. I'm not even joking. I literally devoured everything related to Tokyo Rev on your blog. So here's my theory. Do correct me if you think I'm wrong Sensei!

Bouten husbands and where they liked to be kissed the most/ or is their weakness. (Ps: it's just my opinion. I mean no offense to anyone.)

Mikey~ Kiss him on his shoulders and he'll cry. Cause he's been bearing all the burden of his dark and decaying world for so long that he doesn't even know that he needs to take a minute for himself and rely on others around him. Especially since most ppl around him are willing to give their life and limbs for Mikey. He just can't seem to keep that in mind. So you've taken it upon yourself to remind him frm time to time. Just a little peck on his strong and broad-ish shoulders to remind him that he's not alone. That if nothing, he has you. He always will.

Rindou~ Something about being kissed on his cheeks, especially by his lover, does things to him. Like his cardiovascular muscles do a little somersault in his chest or something. Because yes, it doesn't matter if he's one of the big, scary and irreplaceable executive of Bouten, he still has an unconscious inferiority complex. Sometimes it just skips his mind that despite everything, he too deserves the world. And every once in a while you need to remind him about it. That he doesn't have to be flashy and snarky like his brother. He just needs to be himself and that he is undeniably worthy of love.

Ran~ Not many people are taller than him, you are no exception. So it makes sense that in order to kiss him you need to be on your tippy toes. And still you're only able to reach his neck. So yeah, just kiss him there. Right on his Adam's apple and he's a goner. It doesn't even have to be sexual. Ran is always the one to take charge. It's kind of in his nature and you happily oblige him. But every now and then, you also need to remind him to take a breather That he can just let go and get dotted over for a change. You're more than happy to take care of him, that he needs to be taken care off.

Koko~ This man not only, brings in the big dough for Bouten, but also beats up people while at it. To say that he's always overworked is an understatement. His hands are always doing something, illegal things most of the time. He knows he's no saint. That there's no coming back into the light. He's painfully aware. But once e intertwine your hands together and kiss him on top of his knuckles, he swears that it's his redemption. You're the only light in his dark and dangerous world.

Kaku-chan~ Please. Just kiss this man on his forehead. Please. He's literally out there, ready to give his life for the things he wants to protect. He's always doing that. Protecting the people that have gone astray, who have no more hope left. He's ready to die for them, if it means they'll keep going. So please, just once, just protect him instead. Protect him from the demons he skillfully hided in his head. Protect him from the nightmares that torment him every night. Just protect him for a change. He needs it more than he's willing to admit.

Sanzu~ Okay. Hear me out. He's deranged and he knows it. He knows he's won't bat an eye before painfully torturing someone to death. Heck he'll even do it with a smile plastered on his face. He knows that he's stained in blood almost all the time.(sometimes his own, most of the other times, not his own). He'll even relish it. He knows that he's been tainted with burden of death. He knows that he lives in the shadows. He's not sane. He's not good. He's bad. He's ugly. You can tell that these awful thoughts keep him awake at night. So when they do and he has this almost painful look on his face. Just pull him close and kiss him on his face, over and over. Kiss his scars, kiss his lips, kiss his nose, his eyes. Just don't stop until he's got your point across. That yes, it's true that he's despicable. But you still love him nonetheless.

Ps: Sorry that was too long and kinds got out of hand. But these are just my "thots". Thank you for hearing me out!~ Thot anon

hi i’m doing okay, thanks for asking n i hope you are too !! also aaah i’m glad to know my blog is your new fave, i hope you enjoy more of my future tokrev content 🥺 ALSO YES ITS HEADCANON TIME LETS GO LETS GO

mikey n shoulder kisses 🥺 i hc that mikey is stiff and rigid all the time without knowing. like you said, he has a lot on his mind and draken even said mikey had a heavy ass cross to bear, so imagine the weight and burdens he has to shoulder 🥺 so if you lean into him for a hug then kiss his shoulders, mikey deflates. to him, its like a reminder he doesn’t have to carry it all by himself all the time and poor bb forgets that often

cheek kisses for rindou 🥺 the idea of this big, bad executive infamous for breaking limbs but is actually a sucker for cheek kisses and turns into a soft lil bean when you cup his face and just smother him with love n affection? bless. rindou probably unknowingly exerts too much effort sometimes to prove something - may it be his strength, his power, or how he’s perfectly capable of fighting by himself - he’ll have that voice at the back of his head that he needs to do something. giving him cheek kisses grounds him and elicits butterflies in his stomach bcos he realizes that, “oh, i don’t have to try so hard. silly me...now more cheek kisses, please.”

ran and neck kisses !! ON THE FLOOR RN, TELL ME MORE. but yes omg i also hc that ran is such a giver and grown up to look for others the way he does for rindou, so in his head, he’s kind of drilled it into himself that he has to be the one in the lead - not necessarily in a mikey way - but in a “he needs to take charge and take his responsibilities seriously” kind of thing. like mikey, ran is probably often deep in thought as well despite his teasing mannerisms, that when you kiss his neck he can’t help but soften. he enjoys being doted on. loves to be the one on the receiving side. has the sweetest smile on his face when he gets a lil ticklish and he just feels like he’s on cloud nine <33

knuckle kisses for koko 😫 everything you said was on point !! his hands are probably so tired from fighting and counting bills all day, not to mention the amount of paperwork he has to do bcos who else will do them ?? no one knows the inner system of koko and how it works as well as koko does, and he wants to do his job right. he gets a little too absorbed in his work, however, that koko gets a little confused when you take his hands away from whatever he’s working on to leave little kisses at the pads of his knuckles, maybe even massaging his hands or playing with his fingers to help him relax a bit. and you know how koko is so good at what he does bcos its all he knows, but at the same he probably hates how he treads on this dark path ?? so when you kiss his knuckles, he feels relieved. like everything will be okay and second chances are real n something he’s worthy of

omg now this is my favorite - kakucho + foreahead kisses. forehead kisses are always so intimate and soothing in a sense. like come here so you can kiss him on the forehead, watch the way his eyes flutter close and a smile tugs at his lips when your lips trail down to his scar, all the while your hands are cupping his face with such tenderness he never really knew of. kakucho is so used to being the tough guy with his rough childhood that it almost feels surreal. surreal that he’s in bed, with you, safe and sound and you’re kissing his forehead so comfortingly he doesn’t have to worry about putting his walls down for a second. he feels safe. he feels at home. but most of all, he knows he’s not alone and he has you - his family

kissing sanzu’s scars 🥺 everything you said was beautiful n i can totally see it happening !! as much as we all know sanzu takes great pleasure and finds entertainment in what he does, it sinks down a little too late. when he’s not high, that’s when he feels the lows. when the blood on his hands are dried, that’s when he realizes it gets harder to wash them off until it stains deep all the way into his soul. then his scars. he sees his scars and remembers how he has to hide them at some point. he stays awake at night and oddly enough, silent and unmoving. and what better way to ease his worries than to pull him close and just to kiss his scars that he thinks are only one of the ways the darkness - the ugliness - of his soul shows through. keep him close and kiss his scars. sanzu may not always be in the right mind to understand your words, but the simple gesture of showing love and acceptance to a part of him that makes him a whole will engrave deep into his heart. leave him butterfly kisses. kiss him from everywhere to his eyes until they flutter close to sleep. kiss his nose adoringly until they scrunch so cutely. kiss his lips until its your taste that overwhelms him. and kiss his scars to remind him his imperfections are accepted and loved

#asks with naoya's trophy wife #thot anon #ANON I LOVED THESE THANK U FOR SHARING ME UR THOTS 😭#I loved them all especially the kaku n sanzu one 🥺#i swear you guys keep making me soft for sanzu LMAOOO #👔 ― bonten! husbands exclusives #long post #unedited

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bonny-kookoo · 3 years

Text

Strong Girl 🔞☁️❤️🎀

🍧 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

🍧 Genre: Good Girl AU!, slice of Life AU, non-Idol AU, smut

🍧 Warnings: DD/LG themes, so much love it's gross istg, a home accident if that makes you uncomfortable but we aint having a full on world's end dw, hero! Reader, no other way to put it, Koo is so proud, so so proud, showers her in kisses yes please, nsfw themes because it's me what did yall think this was gonna be, finger sucking (forgive me lord for I have sinned-), reader being cute, injuries (mentioned and described), praise kink, oral (oral f. rec.), size kink, strength kink, manhandling, subspace, Dom! Jungkook, Sub!Reader, protected sex because you won’t ever catch me slip HAH!

🍧 Summary: Jungkook is not just your boyfriend- he's your absolute hero, your knight in shining armor, your protector and personal simpBodyguard when he needs to. But sometimes, even little girls can be heroes. And they always get rewarded, in the end.

This is part of the Good Girl Universe! (But can be enjoyed on its own)

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl || Pretty Girl || Charming Girl || Enticing Girl || Bad Girl || Tempting Girl || Strong Girl

Taglist: @sweetenedcooky @ggukkieland @btsismybias22 @darkgvk @daddypkj @flowerprincess24 @crazylittlemay @zeharilisharaban @teresaisla @tangledsparkles @dammit-jjk

The first time you said it, it made his heart beat faster.

It was on your way home from grocery shopping, a small bag in your hand as Jungkook held your hand, walking silently. You and him had been slowly but surely become a couple like the one's you always dreamt of being when you were younger- the one that fought sometimes, yes, but would ultimately be together at the end of the day, doing simple tasks such as what you did just now. Jungkook somehow made even boring things such as buying mere groceries interesting, not just by making fun of other customer's outfits, but also by explaining things you didn't know. He loved that he somehow made your eyes light up in wonder whenever he told you about a certain dish he could try out with a vegetable you've never tasted before. Or that awkward moment you said you hated brocolli, just so he could correct you and explain to you that no, you've eaten it a lot actually- he was just really good at making food taste how you liked it. He felt proud when you told him, with magic in your eyes, that he was incredible.

Because when you said it, he really felt like he was.

It all happened so suddenly, you didn't even notice yourself slip out of fear and shock- and even Jungkook didn't notice at first. A stray dog had walked up to you, but, contrary to all those cheesy movies where you'd pet it and it would be on its way quick after, it turned out to be not a stray at all; because the man that owned the big dog was desperately trying to catch up to it, leash in his hand- collar still attached to the hook.

Jungkook had never reacted so quickly in his life before, as he pushed you behind him, sucessfully shielding you from the violently barking saint bernard in front of him. You held onto his jacket in complete terror, mind filling with nothing but the loud barks as you were sure this was a nightmare. Don't get it wrong, you loved dogs- but this one wasn't so sweet.

"I'm so sorry!" The man yelled, slipping the collar back around his dog's neck, making it a bit tighter to make sure his pet was secure this time. "He just slipped out, are you two okay?" He said, and Jungkooks voice spoke out, calm, but firm in its tone.

"We're good, but please make sure to boy a harness or something, sir." He said, and the man apologized again, hurrying on his way while the dog still pulled violently and untamed at the leash.

"Baby? He's gone, you can let go now." Jungkook says with the hint of a smile in his voice, one that quickly vanished however once he feels you sniffling against the fabric of his jacket, as your head shook in denial. "Sweetheart I can't check up on you if you hide like this." He explains calmly, glad that your apartment building was already in sight. He knew that you had probably slipped, and he was unsure how to deal with that in public; it wasn't like he was ashamed of it, but he knew that others would judge you quick and easy, and he didn't want to push you into such a bad situation. "Can Kookie check up on you, baby? You're worrying me." He says, and at that, you slowly let go of the fabric, as he turns around. His heart clenches at the sight, tear stained cheeks and nose all red already. He quats down in front of you for a second as he rubs your arms comfortingly. "There we go, everything's fine, yeah?" You nodded after a moment, but refused to speak. "That was scary, wasn't it?" He asked, and you nodded, still quiet. "Let's go home, okay? We can continue that puzzle we've started yesterday, alright? And Miri is waiting, too!" He said, and at that, you nodded more excitedly, even though you still seemed timid.

But you still held his hand tightly, only letting go once you were in the safety of your own home- calling him your hero with a quiet voice he almost didn't catch.

Jungkook really enjoyed both sides of you.

Just like he did now, searching for the right puzzle pieces to place, silently watching your innocent, concentrated face. In a way, it was healing for him; since he never truly had a good childhood himself, this was somehow like a chance to enjoy all of these things he missed with you- a fact that made all of these experiences even more special to him. "Baby, I don't think that fits there." He chuckled, correcting your placement of a piece that didn't fit the edges of the picture it was trying to build. You huffed, before yawning, eyes glossing over with sleep. "Hm, this one is hard, isn't it?" He asked, running his hand over your head before pushing some hair behind your ear. "I think my baby needs to recharge her batteries, hm?" He asked, but you shook your head after a moment, making him raise his brow in question. "Oh really? Miri, what do you think?" He asked, the dog immediately skipping over, excited to be given attention so suddenly. She immediately went to sniff your face, making you giggle. "See! I knew she'd agree with me!" He said, and you laughed full on when the dog went to lick your cheek. "Alright then, Miri, off!" He called out, the dog immediately stopping her actions at the sound of his voice. Jungkook had been unsure on how to train a puppy at first, but overall, he'd done a pretty good job at keeping her fierce temper under control.

Even throughout her violent phase of chewing on pretty much every fucking thing.

So after making sure you were comfortable on the couch, he simply sat down at the puzzle laid out on the living room floor to continue silently. However, shuffling could be heard as he look towards the couch, where you'd previously been laid down on; your tired form talking towards him with eyes barely open. He chuckled when you simply flopped down close to him on the floor with your blanket, head on his thigh as you sighed in comfort. It was second nature to him almost, the way his hand immediately found your head, gently stroking your hair as you drifted off.

Days like this were nice, he decided.

Typically when you came home, Jungkook would greet you at least with a call. Today however, you heard nothing; something that immediately set something off inside you.

Searching for him wasn't a long process- after unleashing Miri into the apartment, you went straight into the bedroom where he's usually be if he's not feeling too well. And sure enough, there he was- weirdly pale and visibly uncomfortable, even in his sleep. Squatting down in front of the bed, you gently felt his forehead, just to simply detect that he was slightly sweating, but had no fever whatsoever. "Koo?" You asked, and he stirred a little, opening his eyes, a little red looking.

"You're home? I didn't even hear you." He said, before he ran a hand over his face. "Sorry, I think I'm coming down with something." He explained, and you nodded, simply telling him to lay back down and take it easy. You made a mental note to maybe cook something light since he never really had much of an appetite when he was sick.

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?" You asked, brows furrowed as you noticed how chilly it was inside the apartment, despite the heater being set pretty high. Jungkook simply groaned, too tired to move much as he asked you to please close the curtains. You followed his request, worried figure dissapearing out of the bedroom.

However, something didn't sit well with you.

Maybe it was a simple gut feeling, but when the night slowly crept over the town, and you were slowly growing mildly dizzy yourself, you decided to make sure that your suspicions were correct, slowly walking towards the heater in the living room. It was chilly, but the heater was set to full power. And somehow, after looking at Miri whining in her bed, aimlessly pacing around, it seemed to click inside your head.

Jungkook had been home all day since last evening.

The apartment was cold, the heater's on.

Miri was already looking just as bad- and your own headache told you that this was exactly what you thought it was.

You instantly shot up from the couch, knocking your knee into the edge of the table which made you fall- the edge of the table ripping at your skin on your arm, painfully scratching it open. But it was as if you didn't feel it. Ripping the bedroom door open clumsily, you immediately opened the window, turning the heater off, before you went to wake Jungkook- or at least, try. "Kookie! Jungkook, wake up, come on!" You begged, shaking his shoulder as he slowly somehow came to his senses. He wasn't really awake- but he wasnt unconscous either. "Fuck.." You whispered under your breath, grabbing his phone and calling an ambulance- the dispatcher telling you to try and get him outside or to a place with fresh air.

But this was Jeon-I-love-working-out-Jungkook.

There was no way you could carry him all those stairs.

So you ran out the door, uncaring to close it, and knocked at your neighbours door- a familiar face looking at you with surprise. "Y/N?" He asked, visibly stunned to see you; teary eyed, with a bleeding arm, and clearly distressed.

"Namjoon, I think we have a gas leak in our apartment.. Jung-Jungkookie- they said I should get him outside but he's too heavy-" You pressed out, last words a little unclear as you finally broke. Namjoon simply went inside to grab his shoes and keys, before he closed the door, running towards your apartment, where he instantly grabbed Jungkooks arms, trying to somehow get him on his back.

"Jesus christ how much does he fucking weigh-" He swore under his breath, until he got a somewhat secure hold on the younger boy, walking out the door while you grabbed the dog, running after the two with the puppy in your arms.

Outside, the ambulance had just arrived, immediately attending to the both of you.

Seems like you owe Namjoon twice now.

Jungkook woke up with stinging smells and bright lights around him, some birds chirping outside the opened window. His arm felt heavy, fingers tingling slightly, and as his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings, he saw the cause of it.

You, with a bandaged arm, sleeping with your hands grasping his in your slumber.

He gently moved his arm, waking you, as you sleepily looked up at him, eyes suddenly widening as they glistened- a tell-tale sign that you were going to cry. "Thank god!" You said, head burying itself into his chest as he chuckled, a little confused on what was actually happening.

"What happened?" He said, partially also referring to your arm clad in white cloth, his inked hand gently touching it.

"We had a gas leak in our apartment." You explained, sniffling. "At first I thought you were just not feeling well, but then I started to feel unwell too, and Miri.." You went on, his hand running over your head to soothe you a little, noticing how you were getting wound up again. "And then I- I checked online and thought better be safe but you were sleeping, and you looked so bad so I called an ambulance and they said I should get you outside and I really tried-" You explained, and even though it hurt him to see your tears, he couldn't help but chuckle at that in amusement.

"Baby, you tried to carry me?" He asked, and you nodded. "My strong girl!" He teased, full on laughing when you playfully hit his arm to make him stop, a small smile on your lips. "But I highly doubt you got me even out of bed baby." He said, and a familiar voice chimed in from the door of his hospital room.

"No, but she was smart enough to get someone who could." Namjoon explained, casual clothes telling you that he wasn't there for work purpose. "I'm seriously questioning your body though. How the hell do you look like a yoga instructor but weigh as much as a professional wrestler?" Namjoon teased, making Jungkook groan in annoyance.

"Oh my god, now I owe him twice!" He said, playfully exagerating his reaction to the fact that Namjoon had helped them for the second time by now. "Please someone lay me back in my bed, I wanna die!" He said, and you hit his chest.

"No!" You said. "You're ready to leave me and Miri like that?" You said, playfully pouting as you turned away from him.

"Oh baby no, I take it back- nooo, look at me!" He whined out, making grabby hands for your just-out-of-reach sweater you wore, Namjoon laughing as he watched the scene unfold.

A couple of days later, Jungkook and you were sitting in your home again- with the pipes fixed, and plans of moving into a different apartment. For some reason, you didn't truly trust the apartment anymore- but maybe that would settle after a while.

"Hm.." Jungkook mumbled, looking at you as if checking for something, until he moved from his place on the couch, sitting up from his previously laying position. Without many words, he moved you onto his lap, his back resting against the couch, as he held you in place on his thighs. "You know everything's fixed right?" He asked, and you nodded- but he knew you simply answered to reassure him, not yourself. "Baby, I promise we can think about moving if you're really not comfortable- but let's settle down first, yeah?" He said, and you sighed.

"I know its stupid-" You began, but he quickly placed his pointer and ring finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up. You already knew that he'd argue that you weren't stupid, and you knew that- sometimes phrases like these just slipped out. So you playfully snapped after his fingers, making him shoot you a dark glance; a glint in his eyes that told you clearly that he was definitely up to play with you.

"Hm, did they never tell you to not bite the hand that feeds you?" He said, voice deep as he suddenly, and without warning, pulled you closer by your thighs, the abrupt movement forcing you to brace yourself against his chest with your hands, face inches away from his. "Or the hand that gets you off, in our case." He added, making you blush from his words.

You should be used to this by now, but somehow, as weird as it sounded, being together with Jungkook was never the same as the time before. He always found ways to make things different- either by taking it slow, or by introducing you to kinks and fantasies you never even knew were a thing. He loved excitement, loved to try out new things, even if sometimes they would turn out to be something he or you didn't enjoy. Somehow, he always managed to steer things around even if that happened however, turning an awkward situation into a sweet memory in the blink of an eye.

He groaned out lowly when you took his hand again, never breaking eye contact with him while you slowly guided his hand towards your lips- Jungkook instantly taking the hint, as he pushed his first two fingers between your lips, pushing down your tongue;

oh what a sight to see.

Both of his hands wandered towards your neck, never putting pressure- simply touching, holding you, and enjoying just how sweet you were being just for him. He loved these moments with you, these reminders that no matter how useless he felt whenever something didn't go his way, for you, he was always a hero. A knight in shining armor, your Master-

He could feel his pants getting uncomfortable at the thought of those words tumbling from your lips.

He'd probably introduce you to that someday else, because in that moment, he was way too impatient to think clear enough. He'd probably miss important clues that were sometimes so small that he himself wondered how he saw them- because you were dangerously submissive to him. He knew that if he asked, you'd do anything.

Even if you didn't like it.

"Hm.. I wonder if my baby can ride me this time?" He hummed, and you nodded, making him grin as he searched behind him for his hidden condoms in the couch- something you found quite funny at first, but by now you've gotten used to it. "Fuck." He groaned, noticing that there was no contraceptive hidden like it usually was.

"Thats a bad word, kookie." You playfully said, teasing him as he grabbed your behind quite roughly, raising his brow as his jaw clenched.

"Oh I'll make you scream out some bad words." He said, before standing up, throwing you over his shoulder in a manner that seemed to practiced to be simply winged out of nowhere. After all, this wasn't just a one time thing- he loved showing off his strength over you, and you loved it just as much in return.

Your body hitting the matress, Jungkook immediately grabbed your thighs again, pulling you to the edge of the bed where he already kneeled- placing your legs over his shoulders after almost rushing to get your clothes off. There was no gentle touching, no foreplay, he simply dived right in, pitch black eyes darkly watching you as you squirmed, back arching off the mattress every now and then in pleasure once he added the first two fingers into the game he was playing. "No smart words now, hm?" He hummed from his spot between your legs, amusement clear on his face at the sight of your trembling body. "But I'm not gonna let you suffer tonight, baby." He said, licking his lips before crawling over your body, hand reaching for the bedside table where he knew he had condoms stored in. "Take it as-" He said, while shedding his clothes before wrapping his length in the clear protection. "As a reward." He said. "For being my personal guardian angel." He said sweetly, before leaning down to connect his lips with yours. What was an innocent gesture at first, turned heated quite quick however; you would've never guessed, but Jungkook was a pretty messy kisser- open mouthed and tongue running over your lips, all while he guided his length inside you.

One thing Jungkook loved, was just how utterly small you looked underneath him. Not just that- but the way he could feel his own dick move inside you underneath his inked hand placed on your lower belly made him growl deeply as he rolled his hips in a forward motion, eyes fixed on the view he had of your cunt swallowing him as if it was nothing.

You were his.

For a long time, he didn't quite get the hype about saying that your partner belonged to you. For him, that was stupid- you couldn't 'own' a person, so why say that? But nowadays, he finally understood that no, this wasn't about ownership. It was about being able to simply have situations like these; moments of pure emotions and nothing else, with a person so devoted to yourself that you felt as if your entire life had their name.

He was yours.

Because even if he took on a more dominant role in the relationship, and a leading force in the bedroom, you had him in your hands at the end of the day. He was so utterly in love with you it sometimes hurt him to even think about it; the way you looked at him with so much adoration made him melt, the way you touched him with so much care made him feel so loved. He'd glady give his life to you if he had to choose between you and him.

"So sweet, just look at you." He mused, out of breath as he smiled, leaning over you again before kneading your soft breasts with his hands, kissing the delicate skin sweetly as he picked up his pace. "All mine, aren't you?" He said, and you nodded, mewling out something he didn't quite catch- but that was okay. "Gonna fuck you stupid, pretty girl-" He huffed out, biting the skin on your shoulder as he grew more and more sloppy. "Come on baby, cream on my cock," He grunted out, making you squirm- and open your mouth in a silent scream as Jungkooks hand found its way between your bodies, viciously moving his fingers over your most sensitive spot. The quick movement and the pressure of his length inside you finally made you come undone, hands desperately reaching for his arms as if that could save you. The orgasm you experienced made your vision bright, and unbeknownst to you, Jungkook came quickly after, panting to catch his breath, before he discarded the condom.

It took a moment for you to come back around, but when you did, the first thing you noticed was, that you were practically laying across his chest- his hand gently running up and down your arm, kisses being place on the top of your head as he bathed you in praise. "You're so sweet.." He hummed, before he noticed your eyes on him. "Welcome back princess." He grinned cockily, before placing a kiss ontop of your nose. "Come on baby, lets get you washed up and into bed, yeah?" He said, and you simply nodded.

Too tired to talk, and too comfortable in his arms to really move on your own. But that was fine.

He loved carrying you around anyways.

"You know.." Jungkook said, while you were both at the table, eating dinner. "I know I said I was uncomfortable with you calling me daddy, and I still stand by that." He said, and you nodded, unsure where he was going.

"I mean, yeah, you've said that but what does that have to do with-"

Suddenly, he leaned forwards after finishing his plate, eyes sparkling mischieviously. "I wouldn't mind hearing you call me 'Master' though." He hummed out.

And you choked on your fries.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

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hpimaginesandblurbs · 3 years

Note

Hi! I loooove your writings.

Could you write a one for me where the war ends and Harry goes to Ginny to apologize after sometime, but being the stubborn woman she is, she picks up a fight with him and says she doesn't want to see him again. He needed the most comfort during that time and that is when our reader (who was also his best friend) enters 🎉, she stays with him during his nightmares and all his PTSD episodes and comforts him, and being oblivious to both of them, they fall in love. And when Ginny sees them together, she realises she shouldn't have let him go and she goes to talk with him, he calls her off but forgives her anyway.

P.S- Ginny sees the reader and James after she finishes talking with Harry and it breaks her?

I know it will take a lot of time, but I hope you can write it for me, please 🥺🥺.

pairing: harry potter x muggle!reader

warning(s): pg, hurt/comfort, angst

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i decided to make it a muggle, childhood best friend reader because it just started to flow like that. i hope you don’t mind and i hope this is everything you wanted it to be. i really loved the idea of writing something like this because it’s so different than my usual on her and it was really fun for me tbh.

1998

---

“Hi,” Harry said from the doorway, a boyish grin on his face as he looked at his girlfriend sitting on her bed. Well, ex-girlfriend. Maybe girlfriend? He wasn’t sure. But that’s what he was here to try and figure out.

“Hi,” Ginny replied back, a bit cold in her tone.

“Can I - Can I come in?” He asked reluctantly. He had expected a much warmer welcome. When she simply nodded, he slipped in the room and shut the door lightly behind it. He leant against the door, wanting to keep as much distance between them until he was sure she wanted him closer. “I- I wanted to apologize for what this past year has been. I know I couldn’t help it, but I just wanted you to know all I wanted to do was keep you safe. You’re one of the only people I thought of when I was out there, wondering how you were doing, if you were alright. A- And I know this probably isn’t a good time but-,” he started, but Ginny cut him off quickly.

“Then it isn’t a good time. You left me to go wonder about the woods for months. You didn’t have to do that. It didn’t change a damn thing. You never asked me how I felt about any of it. I just had to go along with it because you’re you,” she said angrily, a flush coming to her cheeks.

“I know that now. That’s why I wanted to apologize,” Harry said back honestly, hoping she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, just how sorry he was.

Ginny let herself take a deep breath before looking up at him again. “You’re forgiven, but I won’t forget this, Harry. Ever. You hurt me and you can’t take that back easily.”

“I know,” he said with a resigned sigh.

He was just hoping…

All he wanted was…

He thought he could come to her…

“I think you should leave, Harry. I love you, I do. But we all need some time right now. I need to be with my family,” Ginny told him gently, but that stubborn fire inside of her was never burnt out.

“Y-yeah. Okay,” Harry agreed, immediately moving to open the door again. He had so much more he wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t stand the awkward tension for much longer.

As he departed from the Burrow, he didn’t really have a clue as to where he was going. He didn’t have a family. Didn’t have a home. But he had Y/N.

~~~

Later that night, Y/N heard a soft pop from outside her doorstep followed by a knock. When she opened it, she found her best friend Harry on her porch, staring down at his feet.

“Are you alright?” She asked, concern lacing her voice, no need for hello’s between the two of them any longer.

All Harry had to do was look up at her with tears swimming in his eyes to tell her no, no he was not alright. She immediately ushered him inside of her house and down the hallway to her bedroom, trying to bring him as much comfort as she could.

Silently, she passed him old clothes that he had left there on previous occasions and guided him to lay down on the bed as he fought his tears before finally laying beside him as they had done as children.

“What happened?” Y/N finally asked.

“She doesn’t want me anymore. I know it’s stupid, after everything, but I just though… I dunno,” he trailed off, unable to look Y/N in the eye.

She knew her childhood friend well as well as everything he had been through in his life, and she could see right through him.

“Tell me,” she said gently, trying to coax the words out of him.

“I just thought I could rely on her right now. I need her. She’s one of the only people who has ever brought me a shred of comfort and I need that right now,” he said quietly, for once in his life eloquently explaining his emotions.

Y/N looked at the messy haired boy, unsure just what to do with him. It had to mean something that he came to her at that moment. When he felt he had no one, he somehow knew he still had her by his side. And Y/N could only hope that she brought the same comfort that Ginny had to him.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here. As long as you need. I’ve missed you,” she told him gently, keeping a well balanced smile on her face in case he finally looked up at her.

And thankfully he finally did, and he looked a bit less upset than when he turned up, so that had to count for something.

“I - I’ve missed you too, but I can’t just stay here,” he tried to argue.

“And why’s that?” She asked, her brows furrowing together.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he told her, a small blush coming to his cheeks.

“Harry, we’ve been friends since forever and you’ve never bothered me once. You need someone, and quite frankly, somewhere to be. Just stay here,” she replied easily, not understanding why he was even arguing this.

“I know that,” he said, frustration building in his voice. There was something he was hiding from her. After a well timed staring match, he finally broke. “I have nightmares.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to be completely unaffected by everything. That’s really not a problem, Harry. We’ll figure it out.”

After much more much needed reassurance and enough hugs to satiate him, the pair finally fell asleep side by side, Harry finally feeling at ease in his own skin.

~~~

One night turned into a week, and a week turned into months of Harry staying with Y/N.

Almost every night, a nightmare would rouse them both from their sleep, but Y/N never faltered. Every time it happened, Y/N was quick to wake him from his screams and wrap him up in her arms, holding him until the tears stopped. Cups of tea would be shared and many late night binges of their favorite childhood shows brought the smiles back to both of their faces.

And it wasn’t just difficult nights, the days grew hard sometimes as well. In his healing, Harry was paranoid, angry, depressed. Some days Y/N felt as if she was walking on eggshells around her best friend, but never once did she complain or feel put out by his behavior. She tried her best to understand what he had been through and the healing that came after that.

And Harry was infinitely grateful for her. Without her, he wasn’t sure where he would be. Sure, he had Ron and Hermione, but they were preoccupied with themselves and each other at the meantime. He knew he could go to the Weasleys’, but he felt as if they had already done more than enough for him. And he hadn’t even heard from Ginny since that evening in her bedroom, a hurt that grew easier over time.

As the months passed, the pair of friends only grew closer and closer. They practically knew each other inside out. And although there was another bedroom in Y/N’s flat, Harry always spent the night in her bed. Their bed. Both of them just argued that it was easier if a nightmare happened to leave it that way.

And something that was clear in both of their heads, but oblivious to the other one, was that they were both madly in love with each other. Harry loved Y/N. Loved the comfort she brought, the ease she put him at, the way she was the only one to make him smile after a hard day. And Y/N loved Harry. Loved his messy hair in the mornings, the blushes he could make cross her cheeks, his never ending sass that could always make her laugh. But neither of them wanted to tell the other, unwilling to break the one good thing they both had going for them at the moment.

~~~

It wasn’t until one day, on one of Harry’s particularly angry days, that one of them broke.

He had come in slamming the door so hard it made the flat shake, making Y/N’s head snap up from her book. She eyes him warily as he made his way into the kitchen, where she could hear cabinets slamming and teacups clanging against each other from behind the wall.

Slowly, she rose from her spot on the couch and rounded the corner into the kitchen, watching him carefully.

“What?” Harry bit out harshly, knowing she was there without even turning around.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Y/N asked, the same as she always asked him when he was like this.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know why you always insist on making me talk about things anyways,” he said, rounding on Y/N to face her.

She could see the anger in his eyes and knew she had to tread lightly. There had been a few cases of accidental magic within the past few months that she wouldn’t like to relive again and had no intention of pushing him that far today.

“We don’t have to talk about it. The only reason I ask is because I know it helps you sometimes,” she spoke carefully, keeping her voice decidedly blank despite her desire to scream in his face some days.

When she moved to leave him be in the kitchen, she heard him speak softly.

“I dunno why you even still want me here.”

It made Y/N stop short and her heart shattered all in one breath. In all the time had been there, neither of them had even questioned aloud why he was still here. Y/N had no desire to change their arrangement and she assumed he didn’t either. He had never said anything about it until today.

“Harry, look at me,” Y/N said when she reentered the kitchen, a determinism about her that he couldn’t question when he did as she said. “I told you months ago that you could stay here for as long as you wanted to, however long that is. And I sincerely hope I have never done or said anything to make you feel as if I think otherwise. But I will not sit here and let you question my words. I want you here because you’re my best friend and you shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself as much as you try and convince yourself you should.”

“I just don’t get it. It can’t be fun having me here when I’m like this. Your boss almost fired you because you keep being late because I keep you up because of my issues. You don’t get enough sleep because of me. You walk on eggshells half the time, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Why haven’t you just kicked me out already?” He asked, growing more and more frustrated as he spoke.

“No, it’s not always fun. But I didn’t expect it to be when I offered either. And I will never kick you out on your arse because - oh, it doesn’t matter why. You need to get it through your skull that people won’t just give up on you. I won’t,” Y/N told him, her voice beginning to rise to match his, the first signs of anger she had directed towards him since they were children.

“Tell me why,” he shouted, his hands planted firmly on the kitchen table as he looked up at her, a mix of anger and curiosity in his eyes.

In that moment, Y/N weighed her options carefully. She could tell him the real reason why she wanted him here, needed him here just as much as he needed to be here, but that risked him bolting right out the door. She could lie to him, give him some other reason, but he’d see right through that. Or she could keep this argument going until it was over and see where that left them. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes before opening her mouth to speak.

“Because I’m in love with you, Harry. I don’t know when it happened, or why, but I love you. That’s why I want to stay here.”

Silence filled the room as they both took in what she said, only the sound of their breathing echoing off the walls.

“Are you serious?” He finally asked, studying her face carefully. All she could give him back was a nod, too scared of the repercussions of speaking right now.

He must have seen something in her face, because suddenly he was rounding the table that had been separating them and approaching her quickly. She watched him move closer and closer until suddenly, his lips were on hers.

Y/N felt every nerve ending explode when his lips devoured hers, never thinking she would ever share a moment like this with him. Carefully, her arms came up so her hands could wrap themselves in his shirt while his held her cheeks between them gently. Neither of them were sure how long they stayed like that, standing in the kitchen devouring each other, but when they pulled away they were both panting.

Harry rested his forehead against hers, gently kissing her lips one last time before saying, “I love you, too.”

---

2006

---

Eight years. From that moment on, the pair of them had been together for eight years. Eight years filled with the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, but most of all, filled with an undeniable, unbreakable love that they shared for each other.

In those years, there had been weddings and children, some of those milestones being theirs. They had gotten married just two years after their confession, not wanting to waste anymore time than they already had. And a year after that came their first child, a son named James Sirius Potter that was the light of their lives.

And in those years, Harry had grown into the man that she always knew he would be. He was stable, had a job, and was still healing, albeit doing much better now than when he had shown up at her doorstep disheveled and in tears. He was the most loving husband and was completely smitten with his child, becoming the parent that he had always wanted.

The three of them were out at Diagonalley, a place that Harry was happy to have introduced Y/N to years ago and was elated to go there as a family now. They were eating ice cream at Florean Fortescue's when Harry saw an unmistakable flash of red pass by, stop, and come back around.

“Hi,” he heard awkwardly from behind him, causing his head to turn around to look at the source of it.

And there was Ginny Weasley in all her glory. A chaser for the Hollyhead Harpies now, and looked the roll too.

Harry immediately jumped into a quick reintroduction, knowing Y/N hadn’t had the time to have a proper one at there own wedding which, curiously, Ginny had ducked out early from. After a brief, and rather awkward, catch-up between the couple and his former girlfriend, Ginny made her move.

“Harry, take a walk with me?” She asked, addressing only him now.

After a quick nod from Y/N, who was occupied with James regardless, Harry took his leave to begin walking through the streets with his ex lover. As they began walking, the routine pleasantries were exchanged before Harry turned to her with an expectant glance, one that asked her ‘What are we doing here?’ without having to say the words.

“Look,” she began with a resigned sigh, “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your day but I just wanted to apologize for the way things ended between us back then. It was unfair of me to push you out like that and it’s been eating at me for a while now, and I just hope we can at least be friends now.”

“I appreciate that, and you’re forgiven. But I’ve clearly moved on and I’m happy now. I can only hope the same for you,” he told her honestly.

She gave him a forced smile and a nod before excusing him to get back on with his day, nothing more to say to him than what she already did.

She watched as he walked away from the window of the shop they had been in. Watched him walk back to his family and back into her arms. Something that could have been hers if she hadn’t been stubborn and angry at the end of the war.

She watched as Harry pulled his son into his arms, hoisting him up and laughing with his wife before placing a loving kiss to her lips. That could have been all hers. Should have been, she thought to herself bitterly.

It took everything inside of her to stop watching him with his happy little family and finally turned away from the window, leaving Diagonalley and hopefully any thoughts of rekindling things with him behind. She knew it was impossible now, but she had always held out some hope in her heart for him.

But as she apparated away, she could feel her heart break for what could have been. What could have been if she hadn’t been so cold to him eight years ago.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter blurb #harry potter smut #harry james potter #ginny weasley

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animalkingdom-an0nymous · 3 years

Text

False God- Sean Wallace

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: A violent, smutty NSFW Sean Wallace fic. What if that last day ended differently? What if Sean made it out with his wounds? And what if there was someone from his childhood who haunted him just as much as he haunted her?

Subject: Sean X Y/N

Growing up, Sean Wallace and I were one in the same. We liked the same jokes, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut the same way- in triangles- and our only real difference was that I was an American. Our fathers, both legendary crime bosses in their own right, were great business partners and made each other filthy rich. We were dangerously similar.

Until we weren’t.

I’d been in America when Finn Wallace was murdered, and I’d stayed in America during the aftermath. My father had cared deeply for Finn, but the world we lived in was fucking brutal, cold, and my dad would never risk my well being by allowing me to go to the UK to be with Sean.

Hearing about all of it had been a nightmare, though. Hearing about murders and the carnage, communities and families wiped out when Sean locked the city down. My heart ached for the boy I once knew and feared for the man that was, and then, just as quickly as it all blew up, the flames went out. All was quiet.

Sean Wallace was dead.

Or so the world thought. My father, who had an in with Billy and Jac, knew the truth. The Wallace family had connections within the police force- cliché, right?- and when a few of their own found him lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from his fucking face, they quickly pronounced him dead at the scene. I didn’t know the ins and outs, didn’t care to, because the life I lived now was so far from the life I was forced to live as a child. All I knew was they got him out of there and Sean Wallace, as London knew him, was dead.

I needed him to stay that way.

It had been nearly a year since then, nearly a year since I last had the nerve to ask my dad about him. I think he knew how I felt, knew I had gone to great lengths to distance myself from him and my mother and the hellish, brutal life they created. But that didn’t mean my dad didn’t love me. I knew he did in his own, twisted way, and I knew he caught on to the hurt I felt whenever Sean’s name was mentioned.

So he stopped mentioning it.

Billy and Jac were stateside and living under different names, that much I knew. I had yet to see them, but I knew they were close enough to drive to because my mother had made sure to mention in her last email that their “home was beautiful and they think it was quite rude of you not to come around and visit, Y/N.”

It was bullshit. Billy and Jac didn’t feel any type of way about me, we were never close. That was reserved specifically for Sean and me. And look how well that turned out.

I was haunted by the ghost of a man I didn’t even know anymore.

He was labeled as a terrorist and maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. I could never scream from the rooftops how much I fucking loved him because that’s crazy. Because who could love a terrorist? Who could love a man that had murdered, cheated, stolen to get his way? And if I did love him, what kind of woman did that make me?

It was a thought that had been in my mind on replay all day long, the musings drifting into the night as I drove towards my childhood home. I had made the agreement with my parents- namely my father- that once a month I would return home for dinner. It was nearly a two hour drive but one that I committed to because if I didn’t I knew they would show up at my apartment. And what twenty-something year old woman wants her parents showing up at her apartment unannounced?

The gravel ground under my tires as I pulled my all black BMW into the driveway. It was already dark and I knew my mother would have something to say about me showing up late, but at least I showed up. Sure, I was still wearing the navy blue pantsuit I’d worn at work all day and I usually changed whenever I had dinner with them, but my mind was occupied tonight. By thoughts of Sean. By thoughts of Sean getting his face blown off. Did it hurt? Did he remember? Would I ever know?

My father met me at the door. Six foot three and wide like a linebacker, the man was not to be messed with. He was no nonsense and the only people he smiled at were me and the people he was going to shoot right before he shot them. You can do what you want with that information.

“My little angel,” he said and reached for me, taking both my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. It was a simple gesture but one he did every single time. It was the one constant my dad ever provided me. “How was the drive up?”

“Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight, but I ended up getting out a bit later than I thought I would.”

He swung an arm around me as we made our way through the marble foyer, my heels clacking against the floor. “My art gallery owner. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows. He was feeding me bullshit, both he and my mom wanted me in the family business more than anything, but from the time I could voice my opinion I let them know. No. I would be taking no part in the family business.

Not that I didn’t know my shit. I knew my way around a gun shop and had a better shot than half the men my dad hired to protect us. I hit harder than my first two boyfriends and let everyone know that my last name was still my last name and not to fuck with me. I knew I was untouchable.

That didn’t mean I was embracing the lifestyle.

“Yeah, business is going great, I even hired someone part-time to help out.”

“Background check?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Of course.”

“Family ties?”

“Her name is Mindy and she’s from a farm in rural Kansas.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows, one of the rare times my father ever looked shocked. “She doesn’t even know what our last name holds, does she?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

He laughed his hearty, deep chuckle and stopped us at the bar cart outside of the dining room. As always, he grabbed two tumblers and threw a handful of ice in each before adding to fingers of whiskey. Our favorite. One of our few commonalities. “Proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.”

I was about to ask him how his week was when my mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony. She liked to drink her wine out there at night, before dinner. Just one glass, but it was a ritual she followed religiously. Her voice was somewhat raspy, a little cold, and I could hear her laughter as though it was wrapping around me like a vine.

But that was the thing; my mother drank her wine outside alone. That was her time. So who was she laughing at?

I glanced over my shoulder at my father to find him looking as though he was at a loss for words. It was so rare that he was speechless, a man of his stature always held a level of composure that was sometimes shocking. But not this time.

“Dad, wha-“

“You’re going to want to finish that drink, angel.”

My blood ran cold at his words. His tone was low, suddenly serious. The lighthearted moment from before was gone, something dark and heavy in its place.

I should have listened to him and finished the drink because as soon as I turned around I was met with the coldest, most pristine set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that I once swore I would drown in someday.

Sean Wallace was standing eight feet in front of me. It was the first time we had seen each other in years, the first time I’d seen him since he was… dead.

His face was… fucked. Marred by the bullet that ripped through his left cheek on that fateful day. The skin was raised, almost burn-like, and left a medium sized indent in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical face. His left eyelid held a little lower and it looked like he tried to cover up the other, minor scars with the facial hair that littered his jaw and around his mouth.

But even with the new, broken face, Sean Wallace was still the most breathtaking man in the room. His suit was impeccable and fit him like a glove, the stormy gray matching the storm that seemed to be raging in his eyes. His tie was a navy that matched my own suit and it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing. It felt like that bitch was having the time of her life watching me suffer.

“I…” I started, unsure of how to finish.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I know this” he held a hand up to his face “is a lot to take in.”

I already shook my head, my stomach turning at the thought of him thinking he was ugly. “No! No, I… I, I’m, I wasn’t-“

“Best private schools in the state and she still has that damn stutter.” My mother’s cutting voice ceased my own and I bit at the inside of my cheek. She came around the corner in all her glory, designer dress, perfect manicure and not a hair out of place.

She made me fucking sick.

“It’s nice to see you.” I finally managed to get the words out, although I didn’t know if I was talking to Sean or my mom.

“Jesus, Y/N, you couldn’t even change first?”

“I think she looks great.” Sean’s voice caught everyone off guard and even my mom turned to look at him. “Beautiful, really. You always looked great in a suit.”

I knew he was referring to my high school graduation. Sean was two years older and had flown in to see me graduate. My mom, ever the lady, was determined to force me into a nightmare of a ball gown while I wanted a simple, chic suit. Sean had been there for the entire screaming match, laughing at my mother as she tripped over the dress she had been hellbent on making me wear.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged my lips and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return and said nothing else.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I felt my dad’s hand on my back as he ushered me into the dining room. My feet felt like stone blocks were attached to them as I walked, feeling Sean directly behind me with his eyes burning holes into my suit jacket.

We all sat in silence with the ghost of my past sitting directly across from me. Sean made no secret that he was staring at me and it reminded me of the ignorant young boy I once knew. Sean knew he was handsome, powerful, and could easily get his way. He held himself with the confidence of a man who had everything and it seemed a gunshot to the face didn’t change that.

“You’ve managed to stay under the radar.” I noted as one of the maids poured red wine into my glass.

“Y/N!” my mother scolded.

I raised my eyebrows and didn’t glance in her direction, my eyes holding Sean’s. “What? Are we supposed to sit here and pretend everything is normal? You want me to ask him about the weather?”

“Y/N…” my father’s tone held a warning in it.

“No, she’s right.” Sean spoke up as I took a hearty gulp of wine. “Facial reconstruction had me laid up for a bit. Reconstructing an entire cheekbone can be tricky. And expensive.”

I nodded. “Especially when the entire cheekbone belongs to a dead man.”

The room fell quiet with even the staff scurrying to disappear. My mother was glaring at me and I was sure my father was too, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my entire childhood and teen years caring about and loving Sean only for him to cut me off when he became Finn’s minion and then fake his own fucking death a few years after. He got so caught up in the Wallace life, in the life I thought we both hated, that he forgot about me. And I was angry about it.

“I deserve that.” His accent was the same as always. Smooth. Elegant. The best that private school could buy. “I should have reached out sooner as I knew my siblings were in touch.”

My mother, the martyr, was quick to reassure him. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re alright.”

She was so warm with him, a complete contrast to how she acted with me. It was a constant reminder that she always wanted a son and ended up with me instead.

My father opened his mouth to speak when his right hand, Marcus, walked in with a phone in his hand. His face looked pinched, stressed, and my father immediately stood. “Excuse me.”

Sean nodded politely and turned to my mother, but she was already standing and following behind dad, sensing his stress.

“Should we be concerned?”

I shook my head, my eyes still trained in the doorway. “I doubt it.”

Things were quiet then. Too fucking quiet. So quiet I felt like I was suffocating. I took a sip of wine. Then another. Another until my glass was empty and the bottle was taunting me from the center of the table.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I was instantly defensive.

His smile was small, but it was there. “You always were a shit liar.”

“You were always a good one.”

His smile disappeared then and I was soon sitting across from the gangster that was always lurking underneath. Sean could do cool, calm, and collected. But he could only hide the angry, arrogant Wallace traits for so long.

“I… can’t remember the last time we were face to face.”

I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Christmas. Six years ago. Kingston.”

His smile- God, that fucking smile- reappeared. “You threw a drink in my face.”

“You called me a spoiled fucking twat.”

“You were acting like one.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. My early twenties were filled with vodka soda fueled arguments and boyfriends that my family- and Sean- hated. I was so different, that girl doesn’t even seem real anymore.

I was about to respond when I heard shouting coming from down the hall. My father’s office.

Sean and I stood at the same time, both of us sensing a certain level of danger. My father rarely ever shouted, it had to be something catastrophic for him to raise his voice like that.

Entering the hall, I quickly grabbed my bag next to the bar cart and produced my glock before tucking it into my waistband. Sean watched me silently the entire time. He was getting a little too comfortable with staring at me.

“Always prepared.”

“Family business, right?” I shot back at him over my shoulder as we neared my father’s study.

“No, no, fucking No! What do you mean they’re all dead? An entire fucking warehouse of people and they’re all fucking dead?”

My heart stopped in my chest. That was… impossible. The warehouses were untouchable, no one knew where they were unless they were part of our inner circle. Our microscopic inner circle. Which could only mean one thing…

It was an inside job.

“Fuck.” I spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/N, something’s happened.” My mother appeared in the doorway as we approached.

“Who did it?” I asked, getting straight to the point. “Any ideas?”

My dad was seated behind his wooden desk, a desk so large it was fit for a king. When I was a child I would spend hours in there reading on the stuffed leather couch while he worked silently. It was one of the few places I felt “safe” growing up.

“Kensington’s dead.” Our eyes met.

Rodger Kensington was my father’s longtime business partner and someone who was like an uncle to me. He’d been there at my prom, my graduation, and when I took my first steps. He was… family.

“Shit.” Sean’s word was quick and quiet, but then I remembered he knew Rodger too, and he knew what this meant.

“What about Sherry? The kids?” I was desperate to make sure their little ones were alright, they were all so young.

“They’re fine. They weren’t home, they-“

My father never got the words out as one of the staff walked in. I had turned at the sound of him entering the room, just barely meeting his eye as he raised his arm, a small handgun pointed directly at the man whose home we were in.

“Y/N!” My mother screaming my name like that would haunt my nightmares for months after.

A single shot rang out and my ears rang, a gasp leaving my lips as I reached for the gun in my waistband. But it wasn’t there.

The man was dead, a gunshot to the temple with crimson blood spilling all over the Italian wood floors. And then there was Sean, standing at my side with my gun pointed straight ahead, a dead look in his eyes.

It was all dangerously quiet and I could hear my own heartbeat, but only for a moment. Because as soon as I took a single breath, shit hit the fan.

My mother released a blood curdling scream, Marcus rushing to her side and grabbing her as she collapsed. My father, stoic, stood and walked over to the wardrobe near the window, swiftly pulling out guns and rounds of ammo. More security rushed in and I stood next to Sean, everything moving in slow motion. I could hear voices, hear my dad barking commands at his security who acted like his soldiers.

“There’s blood on my shoes.”

“What?”

What? Did I just say there was blood on my shoes? But it was true. My expensive cream suede shoes had blood splatter on them and I was ninety percent sure there was bone fragment near my heel.

“Blood. On my shoes.” My voice sounded far away.

Sean was suddenly in front of me and tucking my gun back into my waist while everyone shouted around us. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Bought them at the store on fifth, yeah?”

“How the fuck did you-“ I stopped, putting two and two together. “Have you been watching me?”

Sean’s face changed then and he straightened his shoulders. Our height nearly matched but only because of my heels, and I knew his gesture was dominant, authoritative. “I promise we can talk about that later, but-“

I pushed past him and walked towards my father who was barking orders into a phone. “Did you have Sean keep tabs on me?”

“Y/N, this isn’t the time for you to complain about your independence.”

I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk the same way I had watched him do it so. Many. Times. “Answer me!”

My father, all six foot three of him, stood tall and looked over me even with a desk separating us. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“What the fuck is going on that you hired someone to watch me? That you hired Sean to watch me? What aren’t you telling me?”

He paused for the briefest of moments while everyone moved around us. I could hear safeties being turned off, my mom screaming down the hallway, and feel Sean standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I’ve known for a bit that someone on the inside was giving information to Merkov brothers. Rodger and I spent months sifting through the weeds trying to figure out who it was. We had a break last night, I was going to tell you everything-“

“Four black SUV’s were spotted five miles from the property. Moving quickly. We need to go.” Marcus had appeared in the doorway sans my mother, his face wiped of anything sort of emotion. In fact, Marcus may have been the most emotionless man I had ever come into contact with. I would even venture to call him heartless.

“Shit.” My dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I promise I will tell you everything, angel.” He looked at me, the desk separating us. “But right now you need to go and it can’t be back to your apartment.”

“Dad, I…” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t go back to my apartment in the city, there was most definitely a hit out on my family, including myself, and Sean Wallace was back from the fucking dead. My day was going from bad to worse, my life blowing up in a twenty minute time span.

But I knew my last name, knew the weight it carried. I knew I had a certain responsibility to handle my shit and handle it well, with my shoulders back and my chin up.

“Where am I going?”

He was already on the move and I was on his heels, following him down the winding hallways of the home I grew up in. It was the same house that was sure to be shot to shit as soon as those SUV’s showed up.

“Harbor House.” He barked over his shoulder. “You can drive down there in the charger. Tinted windows. Marcus, have Anthony load a bag into the car. Ammo, guns, everything she’ll need.”

“No one knows where Harbor House is except us.” I reminded him. His business partners may have known about the warehouses and my father’s permanent residence, but Harbor House was for family and family alone.

“I’m not taking any chances, Y/N, not with you. Sean will accompany you and you’ll stay there until you hear from me. I’ll call-“

“What?” I cut him off. “Sean’s not coming with me.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” He repeated.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sean cleared his throat behind me and I refused to look at him. I knew he was offended by what I’d said, but quite honestly I was offended by everything he had done since stepping foot in my parents’ home that day.

“This isn’t about what you need or want, Y/N. He’s going with you.”

I was about to fully lose my temper when shots rang out through the house. I reached for my glock and turned the safety off, immediately ducking behind a marble pillar with Sean’s hand on my elbow, holding me still.

There was yelling and gunshots, some of the housekeepers screaming bloody murder from the second and third floors. There was no way those SUV’s were already on the property, no way. It had to be someone else.

Someone had burned our entire fucking family.

“Dad!” I yelled as a bullet whirred past my head.

“Y/N, go! Now!” I could hear him but I couldn’t fucking see him. Marco was beating the shit out of a man dressed all in black, ripping his gun away and firing off a round into his chest. The smell of blood and gunpowder burned my nostrils and I winced.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“Sean!” My father shouted. “Get her the fuck out of here! Get her out now, kid! Now!”

I glanced over at Sean, warning him with my eyes not to touch me, but it was too late. He ripped the gun from my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me backwards.

“Sean, no!” I screamed, trying to pull away.

“We have to go, Y/N.” He dragged me down the hall while I fought him the whole way , dragging my feet and scratching at the suit clad arm wrapped around my waist. He finally stopped at the side door at the end of the hall and yanked it open before tossing me in.

I stumbled across the cold concrete of the garage and caught myself against the car I was supposed to be leaving in.

Sean locked the door behind him and turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “In.” He motioned to the car.

Still the same, bossy man he always was. Without responding, I turned and made my way across the expansive garage, shoving a table out of the way and yanking open the drawers of a metal cabinet.

“Y/N!” Sean was losing his temper and we were losing time.

“You took my gun!” I finally screamed back, practically growling at him as I picked up twin Berettas and tucked them into the back of my waistband. I grabbed a rifle to throw into the backseat, and one more Glock since Sean had unceremoniously stolen mine and left me empty handed.

He was staring at me as I made my way back to the car, his chest heaving. God, he still looked good. A gunshot to the face only amplified how rough and beautiful he was. Dumb fucking asshole and his dumb fucking face.

I grabbed the keys from the wall and tossed them to Sean who caught them with one hand.

Show off, I thought to myself sullenly as I got into the passenger side, my heart leaping out of my chest. I was about to leave my parents to potentially die. My childhood home was being torn apart, half the staff that knew me since I was a child were now lying dead in the same house they’d dedicated their lives to. It made me sick.

“Just focus on driving.” I told him as the garage door began to rise. I could already see the shadows of feet on the concrete leaned halfway out the window, my nine millimeter raised. One shot to the knee and a man fell, a second shot between the eyes and he was done.

The second man was smart, moved off to the side and just out of aim, and Sean floored the gas pedal while I kept watch.

“Your left.” I said quietly and pointed the gun in front of him, sending shots flying out of the driver’s side door, taking out the second man who had been waiting for us.

“Three of them in front of the gate.” Sean nodded towards the gate at the side of the property, all of them holding assault rifles and aiming at us. “Duck.” he commanded with the car still in reverse.

“What?”

“Duck.” I felt his hand grab at the back of my head he shoved me down, my forehead nearly knocking against my knee as he picked up speed. A loud blast blew out the back windshield and then there was a loud, violent thunk.

His wide palm was still resting on the back of my head, grip so tight it made my scalp prickle in a way that annoyed me. My body had no business getting turned on while in the midst of this shit.

When the tires squealed against the gravel and we went surging forward, I sat back up. I could see smoke coming out of the windows, bullet holes in the brick and mortar. It was a fucking war zone and we were on our way out, leaving behind my family and any shred of sanity I had left.

Fuck.

* * * * * *

The ride to Harbor House was almost completely silent. Sean, ever the Brit, would curse out other drivers every now and then even though ninety percent of the mistakes were his own. Maybe I should have insisted on driving, but at the time the only thing I could think about was whether or not my parents got out.

Although we were never close, I didn’t wish death on my parents. Sure, I resented them for bringing me up in a life of chaos and violence and I’m well aware they caused me a lifetime of trauma, but that didn’t mean I wanted them dead. Definitely not murdered.

It was nearly midnight by the time we arrived. Harbor House was in an exclusive neighborhood and every home had a gate. It had been years since I was last at the house, but it held the only fond memories from my childhood. Harbor House and the Wallace house always felt like home to me. Strange that I was sitting next to a Wallace and not a single shred of me felt comfortable or at home. It was strange, when we were kids he was always my safe space.

I punched in the code and black iron gates opened up, promptly closing with a loud clang behind us. The property itself was a sprawling estate with a two floor home as well as a large yard, pool, and separate guest house. It was on the edge of a cliff and overlooked the Atlantic. Isolated. Safe. Private. The kind of place my family relied on to keep us safe.

“Pull the car into the garage, we’ll get a rental tomorrow.” My voice was monotonous. I felt so drained of every emotion other than pure exhaustion. I was covered in blood, my clothes smelled like gunpowder and sweat, I needed a hot shower.

Sean silently pulled into the garage and killed the engine. We sat there quietly for a moment, so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. If he had any blood on him, I couldn’t tell. From this angle he looked every bit the GQ model. It was only when he turned his face to look at me that I got a glimpse of the mauled left half and got angry all over again.

I was angry at my parents for birthing me into this.

I was angry at whoever burned us.

I was angry at Sean for disappearing from my life in favor of violence. But I was so fucking angry that he had let it go so far that the world thought he was dead.

I almost wished he was.

“There’s five bedrooms. I trust that you’ll find one far away from me?” I phrased it like a question but we both knew it wasn’t.

He gave a curt nod.

The house was exactly as I remembered it. It even smelled the same. Hardwood floors, light walls, French doors leading to a beautiful deck. A kitchen so modern it would make Gordon Ramsey cream his pants. It was the homiest home my family had. It was my haven.

Only now Sean was here to cast a shadow over it.

“There’s plenty of clothes in all the guest bedrooms. My parents like to be prepared for every emergency, you know that.”

Sean nodded as he closed the door that connected to the garage. He locked it and was quick to set the code. The code that he definitely shouldn’t have had.

“How did you-“

“Your father.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “My father gave you the codes to Harbor House?”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing. “He gave me the code for the gate too, but I was polite enough to let you do it. That’s something, innit?”

He was being a smart ass, pushing my buttons on purpose simply because he could. Or because he’d had enough of my attitude. Either way, I wasn’t having it.

“You must be so fuckin’ proud of yourself. You still have an in with my father even after the shit you pulled in London. My father, Sean, not me. You don’t have shit with me and you made that perfectly clear.”

He squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sat on the edge of a beautiful cream colored sofa. I couldn’t wait to sink into it tomorrow with a good book.

I quickly fingered at the straps on my heels and kicked them off while mentally preparing for whatever speech he was about to throw my way.

“I’ve really had enough of you talking to me like I’m some shit person. Enough, Y/N.”

I stood back up, hating that I was smaller than him now as I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs. “If you hate my attitude so much then leave me the fuck alone and let me take a shower in peace.”

* * * * *

My shower was hot and relaxing and everything I needed. As soon as the steam surrounded me, I was able to calm down a bit, and once the hot water hit my skin I was able to sigh in relief. Washing off the blood and grime left me feeling like a whole new woman.

So new, in fact, I briefly forgot about the bane of my existence showering down the hall.

Sean. Showering. Sean in the shower with water dripping down his chest and into that perfect V of his hips. Sean’s hot, wet body pressed against mine. Sean’s-

“Can you not?” I said to my reflection as I ran a brush through my hair. Even when I was angry at him, violently angry, it was impossible to deny that he was attractive.

We never hooked up, not even when we were young. But there was always something there. We flirted. We toyed with each other. We got into nasty arguments. People noticed, my friends made comments. I always ignored them and played it off and said it was because we knew each other forever and just connected that way. They all argued that it was more.

I ignored them.

After changing into a comfortable pair of loose cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt, I made my way downstairs. The windows were open and I could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side. My favorite sound. It gave me peace. It soothed me.

The kitchen was empty and I grabbed a bottle of red wine with every intention of drinking the entire bottle. After pouring a rather large amount into the pristine crystal stemware my mother bought, I threw my head back and took a long, large sip.

Ugh. That’s better. I closed my eyes and took another sip, getting lost in the sound of the waves and the dark, cherry taste of the wine. A moment of peace after all the bullshit I had to endure tonight.

It was only when Sean cleared his throat that I realized I wasn’t alone. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing black sweats and a white t-shirt. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. If this had been a few years ago I would have been aching to curl up against him.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” I said as I grabbed my glass and bottle, preparing to go out back.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” His words cut like a knife to my retreating back and it made me pause, not yet turning around. “You fucking told me you were done.”

I knew what he was referring to. The last time we spoke had been over the phone, maybe four years ago. It had been a normal night with normal conversation and normal “I miss yous”. Sean had truly been one of my best friends and closest confidants. And then the conversation turned ugly when he informed me his father was sending him out on a seriously violent, potentially fatal, mission. Our argument had gotten vile and I said horrible things. He did too, including telling me to “stop acting like a girlfriend because you’re so fucking lonely”.

That had been my breaking point. He reminded me so much of Finn then. He dressed like him, spoke like him, became a carbon copy of him, and I was having none of it. So I had told him to fuck off and lose my number, to never call me again, to pretend I was dead.

It was the one time Sean listened to me and the one time I wished he hadn’t.

To this day, I got embarrassed when I thought about what he had said to me. The way he screamed and the way he humiliated me. Maybe I was lonely, maybe it came off as clingy, but my intentions were always good and I never thought I was a burden to him. But after that last conversation I spent years telling myself that’s exactly what I was. A burden. I checked in too much, my double texting him probably got on his nerves. Constantly complaining about our families when I knew how fortunate I was to live such a lavish life made me sound spoiled, he got tired of it. I spent years convincing myself there was no possible way he missed me and I didn’t miss him either.

“Do you even remember our last conversation?” I turned slowly to face him. “Do you remember what you said?”

He took a step forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- you. I’d been out drinking with my father-“

“And then turned into him?”

“Oh, fuck off then.” He shook his head, his frustration evident as he rounded the marble island in the kitchen. An expert, he seemed to know where everything was. The glasses. The whiskey.

“I’m not wrong.” I defended myself.

Sean laughed and the sound was hollow, sarcastic. He took a sip of whiskey before turning to me with a cold look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t wrong that day either. Was I?”

I scowled at him to mask the absolute hurt I was experiencing. My heart ached. He’d known he was hurting me. He didn’t care. He remembered and he didn’t care.

“Oh, fuck you, Sean.” I whispered before quickly pushing through the french doors and stepping onto the deck.

“Oi!” Sean shouted as I slammed the doors behind me, taking off down the steps, wine glass in hand.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Sean was hot on my heels.

“The conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I felt long, thick fingers curl around my elbow and then he was hauling me back against him. “You say what you want to say and then think we’re done. We’re not.”

I ripped my arm back and shoved my finger in his face. “I’ve waited four years to say this shit to you!”

“So have I!” He shouted back, the vein in his neck becoming prominent. The female part of my brain wondered what it would feel like to run my tongue along that vein, feel it pulse against my mouth.

Wrong time, I thought to myself and shook my head. “You fucked off for four years, faked your own death, and now I found out my father has had you following me. I don’t know what kind of weird, stalker fetish you’ve developed, but it’s really not doing anything for me.”

Okay, maybe that last part was flat out bitchy, but at that point I didn’t care.

I drained my wine glass while I waited for his response.

“Would you like to tell me about your fetishes?”

“Sure, they all involve watching you bleed out.”

“Should have been there a year ago then, yeah?”

I didn’t have a response for that. I zeroed in on the left half of his face, the scar on his cheek. His cheekbone curved differently, probably because it was handmade, and his scar disappeared into his stubble. He looked so vastly different from the Sean I used to know. He was hardened by life, by Finn’s life. Thirty and angry and alone and legally dead.

I ached for the Sean I once knew, but this wasn’t him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A little more than three months.”

“Three months?” I was shocked. I’d had a tail for three months and I didn’t even know it? How embarrassing.

“You wouldn’t have known.” It was as though he could read my mind. “I’ve always been better at it than you.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him, so instead I walked past him and back up the stairs, making my way back into the house to refill my glass. I knew he was following me, knew that the alcohol in my bloodstream was making me feel bold, more bold than I was sober.

Sean closed the French doors, the lock clicking with a tone of finality. I was too aware of it.

“You were shit as hide and seek when we were kids.”

“So that makes you a better spy?”

His tone was serious when he responded. “I was never spying on you. I didn’t have access to your flat. I didn’t follow you around with that ugly wanker with gray hair.”

“Leave Beckett out of this.”

“Beckett?” It was the first time his face had resembled something other than anger. He looked amused. “You’re dating a man named Beckett?”

I cocked my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “We actually aren’t discussing my dating life, we’re talking about my stalker.”

“Stop saying that. It was to and from work. Only when you were out in public.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I finally shouted. None of what happened today was okay. Sean, my dad, the shootout. None of it was okay. “You don’t get to keep up with my fucking life when I have to pretend you’re dead!”

“Lower your voice.” Sean took a step forward.

“Fuck off!” I shouted even louder than before. “You don’t get to just come back and bark orders at me. This isn’t London, Sean!”

“Enough.” He took another step forward and I backed up, reaching for my wine glass.

He was so calm, so fucking collected while I was beginning to fall apart. I hated him for it. Fuck Sean Wallace, I wanted him to hurt the way I did. So, without thinking twice, I hurled my glass at him. Sean barely dodged it, whipping his head to the side as it soared past him and landed on the floor in a million little pieces.

He was a blur as he flew across the kitchen, growling as he slammed my back up against the wall. I cried out as searing pain sent shock waves down my back, but I was too angry to focus on it. My hands instantly went into fight mode and my fingers caught the tip of his nose as I swiped at him, but he pulled his head back, out of my reach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He roared in my face. “Are you bloody mental?” His hands circled my wrists and he pinned them at my sides, effectively halting my movements.

Stuck between Sean and the wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Let me go.”

“The fuck I will.” He squeezed my wrists harder.

“Sean.” I shoved myself against him and he did the same thing, his face even closer than before. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. God, he was a sight. “Fuck. Off.”

His eyes zeroed in on my mouth as I enunciated the words, nostrils flaring slightly. My breasts were pressed against his chest and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, because suddenly we were staring each other eye to eye and I couldn’t look anywhere else. I was drowning the way I always imagine I would except this time I didn’t want it. I wanted no part of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” I whispered softly.

“Or what?” Sean’s remark felt snide and childish, something I would have happily said to him had he not leaned down and slid his lips over mine. It was a light touch, so soft I barely felt it. But I still gasped because it was Sean’s lips touching mine and I hated that I liked it so much.

At the sound of my sharp intake of breath, he smirked. “I fucking knew it.” And then he smashed his lips against mine, not letting up on the grip he had on my wrists.

Sean’s tongue pushed past my lips and slid against mine, weakening my reserve just a bit. He tasted good, his scruff scratched against the edges of my mouth and I reveled in it, loving how rough he felt.

He fucking engulfed my mouth, taking complete control of the kiss and demanding that I give him more. Forgetting the position we were in, he let go of my wrists in favor of cupping my face, wide palms against my cheeks.

I should have pushed him away, should have told him to leave, but the simple truth was that Sean Wallace knew how to kiss. He kissed like a man, held my face, stroked rough thumbs over my cheekbones, and swallowed my moans. He crowded me, stood so close our torsos were touching while we made out against the kitchen wall. Our tongues touched, teeth clashed, and when I sucked Sean’s bottom lip into my mouth the groan he let out was guttural. Animalistic.

But the noise was enough to bring me back to reality and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me as hard as I could.

Sean stumbled back and caught himself on the counter. He was just as caught up as I was, his eyes wild, cheeks flushed red.

“You’ve got some nerve.” I cleared my throat and wiped my mouth, still tasting him on my tongue.

“Me?” He had the audacity to smile, still clearly fired up. “You were the one sucking my lip like it was my cock.”

My cheeks felt hot. The way he said cock with the accent and the smirk… it murdered me on the inside. It absolutely killed me how good it sounded. “You wish.”

“Every fucking night.” Sean stepped forward again. “I think about you sucking my cock every. Fucking. Night.”

His admission left me breathless. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. The thought of Sean laying in bed at night and thinking about my mouth wrapped around his dick lit me up. I was hot everywhere.

“Sean-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He crowded me again, this time wrapping one arm around my back and pulling me against him. “For once in your life, please, Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

Cupping the back of my head, Sean kissed me again. I wanted to fight him, wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would only prove him right. I really did have a problem with shutting the fuck up.

So, I kissed him back. I gave it my all, twining my arms around his neck and leaning against him. Sean tongue fucked my mouth as though he’d been dying to for years, and after his admission I wondered if he had. His body felt warm against mine and feeling his fingertips glide along the exposed area of my lower back made my knees nearly buckle.

He smiled against my mouth and before I knew it, Sean was sliding both hands down, gripping my hips and hoisting me in the air. My legs locked around his waist instantly, ankles crossing at the small of his back while he carried me through the kitchen.

Our mouths never stopped touching. I’d been waiting years to kiss Sean. I’d been waiting years to slap the fuck out of him as well, but right now the only thing I cared about was keeping our mouths fused together for as long as humanly possible. I felt drunk on him, on the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

I didn’t realize we were in the living room until Sean sat down on the couch with me straddling his lap. I took the opportunity to pull back slightly, his lips chasing my own, and I smiled at the way he leaned forward. I cupped the right side of his face, loving the way his scruff felt against my soft palm. He truly was beautiful, the red-brown hair and beard, the plump mouth that spent more time scowling than smiling. His freckles, God, when we were young I could have spent hours counting them.

And then there was that scar. That brutal, obvious scar. The trauma his body must have gone through made me sick and when I reached up to run my fingers over the jagged, raised skin, Sean was quick to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Don’t touch me there.”

But I wanted to. So badly. But it was clear in his reaction, in the stiffness of his body, that he was serious. Of all the limits Sean DIDN’T have, touching the left side of his face was one of them and I had no choice but to respect it.

“Fine, how about you touch me then?”

It was all the incentive Sean needed and he flipped me onto my back, hovering over me with one hand braces on the back of the couch. Our eyes held as I slid my hands down his chest, his heartbeat pulsing under my hand as I slid lower, lower still until I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. He leaned back, only for a moment to rip the shirt off his head and send it flying.

Fair skinned with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I itched to lick the V that disappeared into his waistband. He may have been injured, but he hasn’t been resting this last year. Sean didn’t have the body of a man who rested, he had the Jody of a man who was constantly pushing himself. He was strong in every sense of the word and it made me pathetically, desperately wet for him.

“Your turn,” he said against my lips, fingers playing under my shirt and sliding along my ribs. “You’re so fucking soft.” He whispered against the skin of my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I reached down to cup him through his sweats. Jesus… Christ. “You’re so fucking not.”

Sean laughed then, but I was dead serious. Either Sean was hiding a gun in his pants or his cock was just that fucking solid. And… thick. Even through his pants I could tell. I squeezed once and he let out a guttural groan, the sound sending shock waves between my legs. I wanted that sound on a loop for the rest of my life.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. “Fuck me…” He trailed off, cupping one in his hand and giving a firm squeeze as he settled his eight between my legs. I could feel him against my clit even with barriers of clothing separating us.

“I always wondered what your nipples looked like.” He licked one gently and my back arched hard, my whole body tightening. “They’re so much better than my imagination.”

Sean fastened his mouth against my nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud while I writhed underneath him. My nails scraped through his shirt hair, digging into his scalp and holding him against me. He said he had wondered what they would look like, but I spent the better part of a decade wondering what this would feel like.

Fuck, it felt good.

Sean’s hips ground against mine as he moved to my other nipple, hands roaming felt over my body, gripping my clothes thighs and sliding up my sides. Tracing along my collarbone, fingers tugging at the nipple that wasn’t getting any attention.

I felt like a horny teenager, aching to have him inside me as fast as humanly possible. My nails raked over his shoulders and he gave a delicious growl in return, leaning up and hovering over me again.

“I’ve thought about your mouth on my cock for ages, but right now the only thing I want is to be buried inside you. That okay?”

I was modding before he even finished speaking. Fuck a blowjob, fuck foreplay. I didn’t need that with Sean, not now. Right now I just needed… connection. I was almost desperate for it and it fucking terrified me.

Sean leaned back on his knees and hooked his fingers into my pants, tugging them down in one swift move and leaving me completely naked and sprawled out in front of him. His eyes raked over me and my breath hitched in my throat. He could see… everything.

“Fuck me… this body was fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling my brows. “A bit cocky, yeah?”

“No.” His face was serious, eyes focused as they raked over my breasts, my hips, my legs, zeroing in on the spot between my thighs. Sean slid one long, thick finger over my slit and I cried out, my body stiffening. “I knew you’d be bald here.” He repeated the motion. “Been dying to see that tattoo on your thigh for ages.”

I’d gotten the tattoo when I was 20 and officially moved out of my parents house. It was one of those stupid young decisions, but I didn’t regret it. It was a snake that wrapped all the way around my right thigh, the snake’s tongue permanently engraved on my inner thigh like an invitation. Or a warning.

“And?” I asked inquisitively, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down my stomach.

“And I think this body was fucking made for me.”

His lips came crashing down on mine again and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, loving the way his hip bones pressed into my thighs. He littered kisses over my cheekbone, an oddly sweet gesture, and then absolutely assaulted my neck, licking and biting and nipping at my collarbone until I cried out.

I reached down, yanking at his sweats and pushing them down his thighs with my heels. I was fucking dying for Sean Wallace to be inside of me, I couldn’t even breathe because I wanted him so badly. Needed him, needed to know what it was like to feel him.

“Sean.” I gasped as he braced one hand above my head, the other one gripping his cock and lining it up at my entrance. I gripped his bicep when he pushed the tip in, my nails digging half crescents into his skin.

“Sean.” I repeated his name, this time somewhat panicked because what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to fuck him?

“Remember when I told you to shut the fuck up?” Sean’s eyes met mine and he gave one sharp, hard thrust and was suddenly inside me so deep I swore I could feel him in my cervix.

I didn’t even have time to gasp, my mouth fell open in a silent scream and Sean’s groan was something I’d think about for months. He was so deep I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, looking up at him completely frozen.

“Oh, fuck.” He finally breathed out. “That’s right, so good you can’t even speak.”

“I… hate you.” I finally managed, leaning up and catching his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging so hard he let out a groan of pain.

“You don’t hate me.” Sean pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back inside me, giving me no warning or time to breathe. But the yelp I let out was enough to make him smirk.

Cocky bastard.

Fine, I could play. Tightening my legs around his waist, I raked my nails down his back and watched his face change, jaw clenching tight. I licked his collarbone before sucking the skin there. I sucked hard and didn’t stop until I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and yank me back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re not the fucking boss right now.” He practically growled the words, not letting up on the grip on my hair. He pumped in and out of me, my scalp pricking with a weird, pleasurable pain that left me moaning for more.

Sean’s thrusts got harder and I cried out when he hit that spot, so deep I could feel him everywhere. “Sean!” I cried his name, my breath hitching in my throat.

He let my hair go in favor of those perfect ducking fingers wrapping around my throat. His thumb pressed firmly under my jaw, I had no other choice but to look at him as he fucked me into oblivion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned, pressure on my throat tightening just a bit. “Thought about you every fucking day.”

I was instantly thrown back into reality. Everything that happened that day. The shooting. Sean coming back from the dead, all of it.

“Nope, stay with me.” Sean commanded, sensing my disconnect. He slowed his thrusts leaning down to lick at my lips lightly. It was oddly erotic and I found myself whimpering for more. “That’s it, relax for me.”

“I…” I started desperately. “I can’t. Sean-“

He squeezed my throat harder and I suddenly gasped, my air being cut off. “Relax.” His voice was oddly soothing. “You can still breathe.”

I shook my head.

He paused his thrusts, once again settling deep inside me with my legs splayed. “Yes, you can. I’m not squeezing that hard. Breathe.”

I took in a breath. It was shallow, but it was there. Letting it out slowly, I repeated the motion, Sean catching on and thrusting every time I exhaled. It all felt different like this, barely able to breathe and dripping wet onto the couch. I’d never wanted someone more and I was terrified, I’d never been “handled” the way he was handling me, treating me like I was his.

“Been waiting years to feel you come on my cock.” He groaned when he released my throat, leaning back on his heels and looking down at where we were connected. “God, you’re soaked. Made a proper mess all over me.”

I moaned because at that point words were not possible. My stomach felt tight, I felt like I was going to cry or laugh or scream. I felt like I was going crazy.

And then Sean rubbed his thumb over my clit, watching me jerk, and I knew I was done for. He did it again and again, giving me shallow strokes while he rubbed the little bundle of nerves that were certainly going to send me into a tailspin.

“Sean, please.” My back arched and I shouted, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

“Come all over my cock so I can watch you lick it off after.”

My mouth fell open and I screamed his name, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Sean lean over me and wrap an arm around my back.

He picked up the pace while I clung to him, whispering in my ear about how he’d wanted it forever, how this was his, how I was his. It was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than rake my nails through his hair and whisper his name over and over again in his ear.

“Fuck.” Sean’s groan was long and low, stroking into me one, two, three more times before holding himself still, his climax hitting him as hard as mine hit me.

His arms shook as he held himself over me, eventually collapsing onto my chest in a huff. We sat there silently, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff side lulling us. Sean’s right cheek was pressed against my breast and his dick was still inside me. He was as close as he could possibly be but I somehow wanted him closer. I wanted to fucking absorb him into my body, keep him there forever and enjoy the weight of him on me.

“Sean?” I whispered, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the back of his neck and delighted in his shiver. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

He lifted his head then, searching my face for some sort of emotion, but I forced myself to remain stoic. It took Sean fucking my brains out for me to realize how much I missed him. How much I fucking loved him. But I couldn’t tell him that, I couldn’t give him that much power over me.

“Today was the first time in a year that I was thankful that bullet didn’t kill me.” Sean’s words were honest, quiet.

We didn’t say anything after that, we didn’t really need to. In that moment we were safe, together after years of being apart, and now all we had to do was wait for word from my father. Until then, I was going to enjoy whatever time I had with Sean and I prayed I would never have to pretend he was dead again.

#joe cole #sean wallace #gangs of london #gol #smut #fic

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

Okay but vamp!harry x reader where the reader goes for a late night walk alone because she’s feeling anxious (Harry tries to insist on coming with but she says no) but soon he can sense somethings wrong and goes to look for her and finds her in a dangerous situation! I need protective vampire Harry 🥺

Disclaimer: Reader with ADHD, Vampire!H x fem!reader, cock warming.

Harry's been doing humanly things. Moreso trying for his little human whom he doesn't want to dissapoint when she's making ećlairs or pop tarts for him and all he knows is to eat them despite of being a helping hand. His fingers are magical —--- they relax her in the most livid way while he's feeding from her. Honestly, it's all she wants. Her making sweets for him and him pleasuring her in the most bizarre way.

But. Sometimes she get's emotionally exhausted that the physical activities looks like breaking a mountain for her and all she does is snuggle under the snoozy layers of her childhood blankets cuddling her cat to calm her down.

Now her tranquility is Harry.

It's one of those days. She's been feeling like a failure. An utter dimwit for not getting what's happening in her sociology class, why her neighbours are always grumpy with her and why she isn't able to study anything. It's depressing her.

Harry never left her side. She's like a honey gooed all over him not even letting him bring the pizzas he ordered for them, "Don't!" She squeaks in a weak voice catching his wrists and he sits back cupping the nape of her neck looking straight in her eyes to assure her with his whole existence, "'ey baby . . my sweet girl 'm not goin' anywhere. Delivery boy's been waiting outside -- just a mo', yeah?" He sponges a gentle kiss at her temple stroking her cheek to calm her down.

They've rented a VR receiver and alot of silver movies watching them while eating pizza. She giggles and Harry smiles goofily when he had to hit the receiver twice to make it work, "c'mon you should know how all of this work old man." He strides towards her pulling her up with armpits into his embrace and tickling hard.

"Old man huh!? Ol' ma —" He pretends to eat her whole and she squeals between her laughs, "'m sorry you're my man!" Huffs smugly giving her a breather and pecks her not twice but thrice. If he could kiss her all day. He would. She's his human. It surprises him sometimes when he's alone with his thoughts. He loves her to fucking bits and pieces.

When she's like this everyone and everything feels outta her reach. As if they're miles away from her and she's standing in barren cold. In the amidst of sappy movie she shrinks closer to him stuffing her face into his ribs wounding her leg around his abdomen and he makes her feel warm wrapping his arms around her to push her up on his thigh. Snapping his gaze down at her when the lil sniffs of her reached his ears, "What's wrong kitten . . . hurts to see ya like this baby. Love you so much." He never fails to promise that he loves her to core.

"'M jus . . . thinking tha –-- that when I'll die you'll be still here 'n . . . 'n y'would get so lonely." She hiccups without a break, "Dunno. Can't stop crying 'm sorry." She gives out an ugly sob into his chest. It's breaking his already feeble heart. God he could scream the affection to the moon he have for this girl. In such a tragic moment all she is thinking is about him.

He cups squishes both her cheeks with his calloused palms telling her to breath with slow gestures then when she's way better speaks in his softest voice, "My baby listen to me hmm? We're never thinking of future don't wan'ye to wreck ye'r beautiful brain for stupid deaths --- secondly too bad miss Y/N 'm gonna cling to ye like leech of your nightmares." He wipes her tears away ever so caringly and gives her eskimo kisses while she giggles snorting at the end when Harry brought his big goldfish orbs in the middle to make her laugh.

"'M glad to have you." She whispers smudging her wet lips softly against his's into a heart melting blood warming kiss and Harry shushes her when she whines clutching the hem of his sweater, "bite me? She asks politely rather than being batty as for she was being within past days rilling him upto extreme to get her neck and skin sprinkled with hickeys that turns into bites.

"Don't wanna hurt ye', lovie." He pushes her hair away peering down at her with pleading worried eyes, "you wouldn't. promise." He nods flushing her against his chest positioning her head into the crook of his neck. Making her hug him like a koala bear.

Rubs her back. Pats her hair. Sways her along him rather than the seductive warnings he used to give her. He's afraid. She's too fragile at the moment. He'd never forgive himself if something will happen to her, "'m gonna bite. Stop me if ye' don't want it o' hurts." He runs his palms at her sides making her all squirmy.

He pushes her fangs ever so gently to her sweet spot. If she's made of glass making her moan and tight her grip around him warming up his cock in his trousers. It's not always about you dumber. He scolds himself. Suckling lightly and pulling back in a pinch of moment. It's the first time he has almost pretended to drink from her. She's all sleepy in his hold. He carries her to bed and when tries to untangle himself so he could turn the telly off she whines not letting him.

Despite of these much blankets she's still feeling cold. From inside. It feels empty and she isn't liking it at all. Writhes and squirms causing Harry to ask, "ye okay there lovie'?" When she shakes her head with glassy eyes and a pout he understands.

"Cold." Is all she had to say and he's guessing the next, "in ye'r tummy?" When she bobs her head confirming he sighs softly pulling the elastic of his trousers down to free his dick getting rid of the item woving his calves with her, thighs between thighs and places a firm hand on her back moving his thumb into circles non-stop.

"Oh me lil dovlin' c'mere . . want me cock to warm ye up baby? 'S okay s' okay darlin'." He murmurs against her lips tugging at his foreskin hissing when the head of his thick cock gets pushed between their bellys due to approximty. Precome oozes from his strokes and he takes her panties off swiping his crown over her hole to lubricate her. Wounds his arm around the nape of her neck to lap at her mouth swallowing her whines and cries while sliding inside her compact walls twisting his stomach awfully, "shhh. shhh baby love. I got ya. Gonna take care of ye ---- try to sleep. I'll be waiting fo' ye in the morning." Once, situating himself deep and snug inside her. He keeps on embracing her like a little baby.

Next morning though she woke up happy. Harry made her brekkie. Special smiley pancakes with heart shaped eyes from the little strawberry toppings. He really took advantage of his time while she was snoring her ass off. A peach smoothie and cashewnuts. Fed Meowsie. Gave her his morning lovin'. They had the meal together.

He helped her learn some of her course. Then in afternoon made lunch together egg fried rice and stirred vegetables Y/N went to give some of it to their neighbours. Lady Nat asked her if she's okay cause she has stopped stomping in her flat and it made her feel good, weirdly.

Maybe it's seasonal sadness that she couldn't get out of it. Harry's in the kitchen cleaning up shelves when he hears the rustle of carpet. He peeks from the wall to find her pooling into a big hoodie and slipping into her shoes. He frowns throwing the rag away to walk towards her immediately, "where ye' goin' lovie? Ye' okay what happened?" He runs his hands over her shoulders to her hair making her meet his eyes.

She nods squeezing his wrists, "don't worry just wanna . . . take a walk — clear my head." Hearing this he quickly moves to wear his jacket.

"'M goin' with you." He declares and she knows if that'll happen she wouldn't be able to, "No. Alone." She fumbles with the strings of her hoodie. He sighs not fond of the idea brows knighting together thumbing at her jaw with concern screaming in his eyes.

"Can I mark you then?" He asks knowing what hides in the shadows of outside; creatures evil than his entire existence. He doesn't want to make her feel like she owes him explanations for her each and every movement but gosh does it scare him to his bones. She's the only person who could make him weak into knees and a mesh of puddle at the thought of even the thorn pricking her, "okie." She cranes her neck and it still amuses him she's exactly how she was when he first met her. That gentle rose under the moon meant for Harry to care and water with love.

After adorning her with a crimson mark and little peck he tugs her closer hooking his nose to her hair taking a good sniff of her cocoa scent, "keep your phone in ye' hand and don't walk through the cherry street." There's nothing there but stray dogs that she's afraid of. It's better he advises her.

"Ai. Ai captain!" She salutes him stomping her feet and he chuckles kissing her cheek wet-ly, "Go before I change me mind."

He wanted it not to creep it to his mind but it's not helping AT ALL. He's been restless and it's been fifteen minutes since she has left. He's sitting sunk into sofa with Meowsie snuggled under his chin while he shakes his knees, cracks his knuckles, combs his hair and groans into his palms. In short throwing tantrum like a toddler missing her already and constantly worrying about her. Something doesn't feel right at all. That gut wrenching horror of losing her biting him alive.

He mutters a fuck it going to look for her and bring her back home. He was right. He has always been. Good at instincts. For fuck's sake. He's a vampire!

Y/N was walking along the path which's the lead way to a park when a dark vibe gloomed over her head. The next she knows is she's being pinned to a wall with demonic eyes snatching at her soul: it takes her breath away outta horror.

"No wonder why Harry kisses the earth you walk on." He chuckles darkly accent an old Scottish and she gulps eyes stinging with tears, "I would to . . if I get to drink such sweet ripe blood." Her eyes widens when his fangs pokes out from his gums glistening under the lamp light.

She tries to kick him in balls to get rid of his painful grip when an angry growl echoes towards them loudly and the person who had her trapped wooshes from her sight in a bolt to ground making her shriek.

"She's not a fuckin' feeder stay the fuck away from her!!" Harry grits spitting venom. Choking the person under him, "tol' ya she's my girl and I'll shred everyone alive if they'll even breath in her direction." She has never seen him this furious. Tone harsh and snappy she never heard coming from him it makes her cry.

He had warned his fellows when the news of him spread that he has bonded to human. But well they've thick skulls.

The man under him just smirks pushing him away and coughing into his elbow standing up. "Whatever thought sharing is caring, Styles." Harry glares him resentfully. Fisting a punch at his side but stables himself when a dainty hand wraps around his fingers clutching tight.

He turns ducking down to her level cupping her cheeks and tries to examine her for any kind of injury, "ye' okay? Did he hurt you? Tell me and — " she rubs her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie shaking her head vigorously.

"No. 'M fine sorry should've listened to you." He puffs out a breath of guilt letting his forehead fall against her's, "don't be sorry -- it's none of ye'r fault baby."

"Glad you're safe." He whispers hugging her with the sway of bodies, "I love you." She tells him honestly tip-toeing to kiss him and it unfortunately reaches his silky jaw only.

"And all the things you do for me." He grins down at her. He lives on praises. The cheeky bastard.

"How about eatin' ice-cream while taking swings in the park?" He intertwines their hands warmly kissing her knuckles and she quips excitedly, "sounds great!"

AN: idk why read more button isn't working sorry for the bug.

#harry styles smut #anon request #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurb #harry angst #dom harry #harry styles vampire smut #vamp!h #vampire harry

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anna-justice · 3 years

Text

But We Do - Upstead

Summary: 5 times Jay and Hailey said they were “just friends,” and 1 time they knew they were something more.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, maybe mentions of violence?

Requested: No

…

1 - they don’t cancel other plans, have conversations with nothing but their eyes…

Jay walked out of the breakroom, phone pressed to his ear and a cup of coffee in his hand. They were wrapping up an intense day in intelligence, they had closed a big case involving a tender age victim, all of them were taking it pretty hard.

“Hey man,” Jay said quietly as he approached his desk. He watched his partner sigh, running a hand through her tousled blonde hair.

“Hey,” Will said, “We still on for the game tonight?”

Jay kept his eyes on Hailey, she looked distraught. “Uh…” Hailey looked up, catching his gaze and giving him a weak smile. Jay furrowed his eyebrows at her and she shrugged, her chest heaving as she looked back down at her report. “Sorry. I can’t tonight, something came up. Raincheck?”

“Yeah, no worries man.” Will said, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Jay agreed, finally finishing the last few steps to his desk. He sat down, placing all the reports on his desk in a neat pile. Swiftly, he leaned over the monitor in front of him and swiped a stack of papers off his partners desk, replacing them with his cup of coffee.

Hailey was startled by the commotion, glancing up at the man across from her. He was focused on his computer screen, deep in thought. Hailey smiled softly, taking a sip of the coffee before getting back to work. Jay felt her gaze on him, he avoided it, focusing on the task before him. If he looked up he’d get lost in those bright blue eyes, and then he’d never get any work done.

About an hour later, Jay threw his pen down on his desk, groaning. “I’ve written the word ‘offender’ so many times that it doesn’t even feel like a word anymore.” He said.

Hailey cracked a smile, “You done?” She had been for about 20 minutes, but they were the last ones left, and she didn’t want to make him work alone, especially since he was helping with her work load.

Jay nodded, “Yep, just finished, ready to get out of here?”

“Yes.” Hailey said immediately, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. “Give Will my best.”

Jay stood, “I’m not meeting Will.” He confessed.

Hailey looked at him, confused. “You said you were going to the Hawks game, Jay, you’ve been excited all day.” She frowned, but he just shook his head.

“Will gets tickets for every game, there will be another one.” He jokes, but Hailey doesn’t look convinced. “I’m not really feeling it tonight, not after today…” It was true, he didn’t want to ignore his problems for the night, not when she’d call him out on it later anyway. Plus, Hailey was way more fun than a Hawks game.

She eyed him cautiously, “As long as you aren’t ditching on my account.”

Jay laughed, “I am.” Hailey glared at him. “Not cause you need it, cause I do.” Her expression softens as Jay grabs his keys and coat, “Come on, drinks on me.”

Hailey smiled, falling into step behind him. “You spoil me.”

2 - they don’t call you in the middle of the night, couldn’t even tell you why…

Hailey shot up in her bed, her chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. She held a hand to it, trying to control her breathing. She hated to admit it, but nightmares were a constant issue for her, it was rare that she slept a full night.

It made sense, the trauma of her childhood, in addition to the horrors she sees on the force. When her mind wasn’t actively fighting against the memories, they were all consuming. Tonight though, was a special type of terror. It was often that Hailey dreamed of her green eyed partner, but sometimes he snuck into her nightmares. Every once in a while, she was transported back to that day, the day she almost lost him. And even though he lived, in her mind at night, the fear that he didn’t was overwhelming.

She rolled over, clutching her pillow. All rationality said he was fine, probably asleep in his own bed. Her phone caught her eye, like it was pulling her to it. It sat there taunting her. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, she just needed to hear his voice.

Obviously, she had him on speed dial, only needing to click his contact. The ringing started and after the fourth one, she considered hanging up. Then after the fifth… “Hello?” A groggy voice asked.

“Hi.” She said softly. She had the sudden urge to throw her phone out the window.

Jay sat up immediately, running his hand over his face, “Hailey? What’s wrong?”

Hailey froze, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Nothing.”

“Okay?” He said, not really convinced.

“I just needed to make sure you were okay.” Hailey rushed out. She blushed to herself, thankful that he couldn’t see her crimson cheeks.

That woke Jay up all the way, he sighed, his voice laced with concern. “Hailey, I’m fine.” He waited a few seconds. “Are you?”

Hailey took a breath, she debated confessing everything she had been feeling lately. How affected she was by her dreaming that he was dead. “Uh, just a bad dream.”

“About?” He asked.

“That day.” She said softly. He didn’t say anything. “I’m okay, Jay.” She said,trying to reassure him.

She heard rustling over the line, “I’m sorry Hailey.” He said, “For what I put you through.”

“I know.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe. It was oddly comforting, the constant assurance that the other one was there. “Jay?” Hailey asked.

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay on the phone...until I fall asleep?” She asked, cautiously. It was a strange ask, especially because Hailey knew that there was no way she was going back to sleep, but she wasn’t ready to hang up, and she wasn’t ready to talk.

Jay sat there shocked, there was something so intimate about her request, something he wasn’t expecting, but certainly something he wasn’t upset about. “Yeah, I’ll be right here.”

They both laid back down in their respective beds, phones laying on the pillow next to them. Eventually Hailey heard the sound of soft snores, she smiled to herself. She closed her eyes and just listened: he was alive and he was there.

3 - they don’t almost say “i love you,” when they’re downtown somewhere just a little drunk...

Jay sat in between Kevin and Will at Molly’s knocking back his third beer. They were celebrating Adam’s birthday, which meant they were in for a night full of alcohol. Adam was a bit of a control freak when it came to his birthday, insisting that everyone was at his beck and call for the day. They all let it slide, after all, he acted like their own personal assistant on each of their birthdays.

“Okay boys.” Adam called to the long line of their friends sitting at the bar. “Time for shots!”

Kevin laughed, “Are you paying?”

Adam shrugged, “The party is on me tonight, but you all are responsible for getting me home alive.”

Kevin nodded, looking to Jay, who nodded. “Copy that.” He turned to Herrmann, “I’m going to need two of those badboys and a glass of that fancy bourbon I know you are hiding back there.”

“Make that two,” Jay said, holding up his hand.

Hailey, Kim and a few of the other girls watched the antics from across the bar. Stella came over, carrying a tray of miscellaneous cocktails and bottles. Kim’s jaw dropped and Hailey started laughing. Stella shrugged, setting the tray down. “I heard Ruzek’s buying.” She said, before floating back over to the bar.

“Thank you!” Hailey called.

Sylvie picked up a cup filled with green liquid, “Why is it green?”

“Absinthe?” Kim asked.

Hailey quickly took the drink from Sylvie, “Believe me, you don’t want this.”

Sylvie laughed, picking a different drink. “Yeah, probably not.”

Hailey smiled, taking her pick of the tray. She played it safe, pulling a beer off the back. “Lame.” Gianna teased.

Hailey shrugged, “Someone has to get those losers home.” She glanced at the bar, watching her partner down a shot with Adam.

Kim raised her glass, urging the other girls to do the same. “Happy Birthday Adam.” She said, and they all took a sip.

About thirty minutes later, Jay was more gone than he had been in a long time. The man could hold his liquor, but he could not keep up with Kevin or Kelly. He was handed another shot by his brother, who was right there with him. Jay tossed it back, barely feeling the burn.

He slumped over on his stool and turned to scan the bar, his gaze landed on his partner and it stayed there shamelessly. She was laughing, her head thrown back and her body visibly shaking. He smiled, leaning back against the bar and just watched.

Kevin glanced over, following his friend's gaze. He chuckled. “Jay, man.” He said, nudging his shoulder. “You’re staring.

“No I’m not.” Jay said, his gaze never leaving her.

“Sure.” Kevin slurred, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around to face the bar. Jay glared at him, Kevin held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

“Chuckles is staring at you.” Trudy teased Hailey from across the table. Hailey, not so subtly, snapped her head around, causing the whole table to laugh. “Well, he’s not now.”

Hailey slowly faced her friends again, her cheeks bright red. “Yeah, just checking.”

Sylvie giggled, she had taken a small sip of the absinth anyway. “You like him.”

Hailey shook her head, “What? No.” She stared down her drink, “We’re partners. He’s my best friend.”

“Okay.” Kim said, smirking, everyone else following suit.

Before he knew it, Jay’s gaze was back on Hailey. She was so pretty, he didn’t even understand how someone could be so beautiful. He picked up the full shot glass, downing it quickly. He had spent the whole night thinking about her, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel the way he did anymore.

Jay pushed himself off the stool, stumbling a little, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he made way across the bar. “Hi Hailes.” He said, grabbing her attention.

Hailey smiled brightly. “Hey, having fun?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. She could tell he had been just by the way he was swaying in front of her.

Jay nodded, “Yeah...um...I need to tell you something.”

The whole table watched him eagerly, “Yeah?” She asked, her heart racing.

Will looked over and his eyes widened at the empty seat next to him. “Kev.” He said.

Kevin looked over, “Shit.” He said. He motioned for Will to follow him and they raced over to Jay.

“I-” He started, but Kevin and Will appeared on either side of him.

“Hi Hailey.” Kevin said.

“Bye Hailey,” Will continued, before grabbing his brother's arm and yanking him away from her. Hailey sat there in shock as they walked away, talk about a let down.

Jay huffed, ripping his arms away. “What was that?” He snapped.

“It was us saving your ass.”

4 - they don’t talk about the future, and put each other in it…

Hailey shifted in her seat, turning her body slightly towards the center console. She held up the camera in her hand, looking through the lens. She snapped a picture of the license plate of the car that just rolled up.

“You see that?” Jay asked from the driver's seat, leaning back. Hailey nodded, taking another picture. Jay scribbled down the make and model into his notes before they watched the driver re-enter the car and drive away.

A few minutes went by and they sat in silence once again, they had been on a stakeout for several hours and all they had to show for it was a few license plates. Hailey sighed, “So, the Sergeants exam sign up was posted this week.” She said, bringing up something she’d been meaning to for several weeks.

“Okay?” Jay said, “You planning on taking it?” He asked, chuckling.

Hailey shook her head, laughing lightly. “Me? No way. I think you should.”

“What?” Jay, finally looked over at her.

Hailey looked at him in disbelief, he really hadn’t thought about it? “Jay, you’ve been a detective for almost ten years, don’t you feel like it’s time to take the next step?” She asked.

Jay shrugged, “I hadn’t really thought about it...maybe in a couple more years. Why? You sick of me?” He teased.

“No,” Hailey said, rolling her eyes. “I just want you to succeed, and Voight has always said you’ll take the unit one day…”

“Yeah, one day.” He said, cracking a smile. To be honest, he had thought about the test, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to potentially move on from Intelligence or from his partner.

Hailey turned to face him completely, “Well, when one day comes, I’ll help you study.”

Jay watched her, her smile so genuine. He had just said that he was going to wait a couple more years, and Hailey intended to be there for them. “So, you’re keeping me around?”

“Yeah, you haven’t pissed me off yet.” Jay gave her a look, “Much.” Hailey took a breath. “I’m serious Jay, I’ve got your back, no matter what, no matter when.”

“Thanks.” Jay said, squinting at her.

Hailey scoffed, “You sound surprised…”

Jay shook his head, “I’m not surprised, it’s just nice to hear you say it.” He turned to face her, “We don’t talk like this very much.”

“Yeah, cause you show emotion once every three weeks.” Hailey teased, slapping his bicep.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

Hailey laughed along with him, leaning her head against the window. “Jay, you know I’d follow you anywhere, even to another unit. I’m not losing this.” She gestured between the two of them.

Jay nodded, he knew she was talking about their partnership, but couldn’t help but hope she meant something else. “I know, and you’ll always have a spot, wherever I am.”

“Good.”

5 - they don’t stand around playing with their keys, finding reasons not to leave…

“Jay, can you stop hovering.” Hailey said, turning to face him. He had been following her around her kitchen for fifteen minutes while she did random things. He had brought her home from the hospital a few hours earlier, and he hadn’t left her alone since.

She was tackled down by a suspect earlier that morning and after getting checked out by Will, they learned that she had a few bruised ribs. It was nothing too serious, but it was enough for Jay to have a mini aneurysm about it, which is why Hailey was coming close to stabbing him with the knife she was trying to put away.

Jay took a step back at her harsh words, putting his hands up. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Hailey stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips. “I think I’m capable of unloading my dishwasher.”

“Alright,” He said, admitting defeat. He grabbed his keys off the counter and headed towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, thanks for dinner.” She said kindly, before turning back to her work.

Jay opened the door, watching her for a few more seconds. He was about to leave when heard a thud, followed by a hiss. Within seconds, the door was slammed shut and he was back by her side. “Hailey.” He said, picking up the bowls that fell on the floor.

She huffed, leaning against the counter, hand draped over her stomach to cover her rib. “I’m fine, I just couldn’t reach.” She explained, nodding at the open cabinet.

Jay sighed, “You’re not fine.” He set the stack of bowls neatly in the cabinet before turning to face her. “Come on.”

Hailey rolled her eyes and followed him into the living room, sitting down on the couch next to him. He threw a blanket over her before getting up again. “What are you doing?” Hailey called after him.

There were sounds of rummaging in the kitchen, and then a few seconds later Jay appeared with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Here.” He said, “You should take these.”

He handed her the cup and Hailey took it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” He took a step back, standing next to the couch. He shifted nervously, keeping his eyes on her. “Well, I guess I’m gonna go. Promise me you’ll stay put?” He asked, and Hailey nodded. “Okay, Goodnight Hailey.” He said, before walking out of the room.

Hailey sighed, as much as she hated being fawned over, she didn’t want him to leave. “Jay!” She yelled.

Two seconds later he was standing in front of her again, “Yeah?”

“I’m probably going to need your later…” She said, watching a smile appear on his face. “Do you just want to stay?”

“Yes.” He said immediately, “I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you really need me to.”

Hailey laughed, “I do.” Jay took it as an invitation to reclaim his seat on the couch, pulling the other half of the blanket over him. Hailey leaned her head on his shoulder and stayed put, exactly like she promised she would.

but we do…

Hailey sat with her head resting in her hand as she watched Jay from across the room. She was staring, and it was obvious, but he was too busy chatting up some girl to notice her gaze. Molly’s was crowded, like normal, but tonight she had decided to sit alone. She had been watching the girl flirt with her partner for a while now, and she didn’t want to bring anyone else down with her mood.

She thought things had changed, that maybe Jay felt the same way about her, but the look on his face right now was telling her otherwise. Hailey sighed, averting her gaze and staring absently at her phone, trying to distract herself. It wasn’t working.

“You know,” A familiar redhead said as they slid into the seat across from her, “You could just tell him how you feel.”

Hailey sat up straight, looking at the other Halstead in disbelief. “What?”

Will laughed, “Don’t even deny it Hailey, I’ve been watching you make eyes at my brother for the last hour.”

“I’m not making eyes.” She snapped, keeping her gaze trained on him.

“Okay.” Will said, taking a sip of his beer. “Just for the record, I think you would be satisfied with his answer.”

Hailey jumped off her stool, throwing a ten down on the table. She was glad she had decided to only have one beer, she was sober enough to get the hell out of there. “Goodnight Will.” She said shortly before rushing towards the door, not giving her partner a second glance as she passed.

Jay watched the blur of blonde hair fly past him, noticing that it was Hailey walking out the door. His eyebrows laced together and he stood, “It was really great to see you Marissa, but I need to go.” He said quickly before grabbing his jacket and racing out the door after his partner, he was gone so fast that he didn’t even hear the girl say goodbye.

“Hailey!” He called after her.

Hailey turned around, she was only a feet ahead of him, she blamed her short legs. “I’m fine Jay, go back to your date.” She said a little harsher than she meant to before turning to walk away again.

“Date?” He asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to him. “Hailey, that was Will’s ex-girlfriend, I was friends with her brother in high school, we were just catching up.”

Hailey scoffed, “That little shit, ugh, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to explain yourself to me Jay, we’re just friends.”

Jay ran his hands through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Are we?” He snapped. That got Hailey’s attention, she watched him closely as he took a step forward. “Hailey, I’ve to convince myself that there was nothing here, because you are my best friend. But friends don’t act the way we do, I saw you watching me tonight, that wasn’t a ‘friendly’ look.” He said.

Hailey blushed, looking at the ground. “Jay-”

He tilted her chin up to look at him. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I can’t. I love you Hailey...and I think you love me too.” Hailey swore she stopped breathing for a second, his eyes were locked on her and she couldn't believe what he was saying. She searched his face for any trace of regret or concern for her, because half of her still thought she was hallucinating. “Feel free to say something-” She reached up and pulled him down to her, attaching their lips. Jay arms secured themselves around Hailey’s waist as he lifted her up to meet his height, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Jay held her tightly against him, his lips never leaving hers. Finally, Hailey pulled away, breathless. “For the record,” She said, taking a deep breath, her hand running down the side of his face. “You’re my best friend too.” Jay smiled, but she knew he was waiting for something else. “And I love you too.”

…

A/N: I’ve had the idea for this fic for forever, so I’m glad I finally had a reason to write it. I’ve been a Maddie & Tae (ft. lyrics from “Friend’s Don’t) fan since the beginning and I’ve always thought that this song was the Upstead anthem. It’s perfect for them. Thanks for reading!

#upsteadlovesongs2021 #jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead imagines #chicago pd #one chicago

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caswellprmanager · 3 years

Text

suspended

read it on ao3!

Summary: Ricky is afraid of heights. Nobody knows this.

Notes: This is purely a vent fic in response to 2x10 bc I have pent up feelings that I make Ricky feel instead. Richard Bowen bb I'm so sorry 😩 Anw don't read if you haven't watched the latest ep as there are major spoilers!

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

---

Ricky isn't the most open person – that part he's sure everybody is aware of – and he kind of likes it that way.

Every time Ricky has laid his heart out for anyone, pain follows not too long after. As much as people love to tell him that getting hurt is just a part of life, it does not mean he has to just let it get past him like it was nothing. He's a teenager. He has intense emotions and raging hormones. Shouldn't he be allowed to be upset?

No, apparently.

Because according to everyone else, he's not allowed to be upset that his parents split up. He's not allowed to be upset after breaking up with his girlfriend. He's not allowed to be upset at literally anything because the show must go on, right?

They don't say it out loud. They wouldn't dare. But Ricky feels it deep down that they just want him to get his act together before opening night. They don't know how to help him and he understands that but... it would be nice if they tried.

No one has really tried to get to know him on a deeper level. Sure, he can say that Big Red is his best friend and that Nini is the only other person who gets him but... there are parts of him that he hasn't told either of them. Not for lack of trying – he's tried several times to open up more after all. But being completely vulnerable is still entirely new territory for him.

And one of the things he's never told anyone – not even Big Red and Nini – is that he's terrified of heights.

There was one time when he was a kid, he liked to climb trees like a monkey. And as a kid, his curiosity on how high he could climb got the best of him. One thing led to another and then he found himself crying to his mom about a broken arm and a bruised hip.

Ever since then, he's been afraid of heights.

He tampered it down when Miss Jenn suggested that Troy be suspended in midair for Getcha Head in the Game. She was so excited for it and Ricky was still very much the new kid in the club – so he couldn't say anything. And Miss Jenn has been lovely to him, letting him go home when he wasn't emotionally or mentally at school or rehearsals.

So Ricky just let himself be strapped to the harness and sing his heart out — until he saw his mom with Todd in the audience.

Then, the harness seemed to suffocate him, squeezing at his ribcage despite it being not that tight. Suddenly, the ground beneath him seemed a million feet away and that if the rope broke he'd be fucking dead on impact. Suddenly, the air was thinner, his head was spinning, and he was trying to tell EJ with his eyes that he needs to get down or he's going to die.

There were other things to worry about during the show so he never really did get to bring that up afterwards. Eventually, Ricky forgot about the whole thing after blissfully being back with Nini officially.

Life was fantastic.

Then life suddenly... was not.

The second break-up was hard enough, even if he was the one to initiate it. Now, they're only one day close to doing tech rehearsals and they don't have anything cohesive. Miss Jenn looked like she was about to have an aneurysm, Carlos basically had one hand holding a clipboard and another hand on 911 speed dial, and everyone else visibly cringes every time Ricky speaks his lines.

So yeah. Not a very good time right now. Ricky wants to disappear completely.

And then... they had to suggest that they, once again, suspend him in midair during the transformation. This is essentially Ricky's worst fucking nightmare.

But he wasn't part of the viral intagram clapback against North High, wasn't even there for more than half of act two back in HSM, and everyone just isn't in the mood for any complaints Ricky might have... Even if it's about a fear that brings up one of the worst memories of his childhood. And Ricky desparately still wants to be considered as part of the team.

Yeah. No. It isn't a big deal. Not at all.

Just strap on the harness and wait for the nightmare to be over, right?

Wrong.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion — the snapping of the rope, the screams from his castmates, the sound of hurried footsteps only seconds too late before Ricky lands on the floor with a sickening crunch. Big Red is the first one by his side, followed by EJ, both of whom instruct everyone to stand back and call some medical help. He vaguely hears Nini speak on the phone with someone but the sharp pain that is coming from somewhere on his body intensifies with each movement.

Ricky can't even see straight and the searing pain of what is most definitely a few broken bones is so intense that he can't help screaming when EJ tries to move him.

"FUCK!" He screams when EJ attempts to move his leg. Well that one is definitely broken... Is it supposed to bend like that? Both Big Red and EJ put their hands up, signaling to everyone else not to touch Ricky.

Ricky tries to move his arm and cries out again. It isn't as bed as his leg but it's at the very least sprained. Big Red reassures him that someone is on their way to bring him to the hospital but Ricky can barely focus on his voice.

The next time Ricky is conscious enough to comprehend what's happening around him, he hears arguing from the other side of... wherever he is. He sits up, blinking rapidly in order to adjust to the dim lighting, and realizes with dread that he's actually in the hospital.

"Ricky! You're awake!" Big Red's voice comes from his left and he sees the rest of the gang follow him at his declaration. Ricky's skin crawls ever so slightly at seeing all of their worries faces. He doesn't need pity or guilt right now.

God he just wants to be alone.

But does he really?

"You broke your leg and sprained your wrist in two places." Nini said to him – the first full sentence she's said to him directly since the break-up – and Ricky doesn't know what to do with that. There's a ringing in his ears and he can't get it to stop.

Then everyone else started talking, taking turns about how worried they were before the doctor told them the news. He could barely even make out their words as they sound muffled in his head. He wants to say he's okay. He wants to say that everything will be fine and that he'll be back onstage in no time.

But the reality is that none of this has ever been fine for him.

"I'm afraid of heights."

His voice was soft, restrained, and thick with tears he'd rather not shed in front of all these people. But even just the sound of his voice right now stopped the rest of them mid-sentence. They process this new information with mouths gaping and eyes widened in more white hot guilt.

"You never told me that." Nini says first, almost accusatoy and a little sad. Ricky scoffs and leans back to bury the side of his face in his pillow.

"You never asked." Ricky replied simply and the weight of his words fell on the rest of the group.

You never asked.

They never asked if he was okay with the harness.

They never asked if he was okay even with all that pressure as the lead.

They never asked if he was okay with any of it.

Maybe he can argue that he never spoke up but the damage has been done and all Ricky wants to do now is sleep for a long time.

"I'm afraid of heights." He says again, allowing a few tears to fall down his face at the admission, not even trying to see any of his friends' reactions. "Can you all leave me alone please?"

He doesn't start sobbing until the last person leaves the room.

Ricky isn't the most open person – that part he's sure everybody is aware of – and he kind of likes it that way. He's not always the first to reach out.

But it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt just as much when no one does the same for him.

#ricky bowen #hsmtmts #hsmtmts spoilers #cloud's writing now #hsmtmts 2x10 #i just have a lot of feelings #i was supposed to make ricky pop off but i simply believe ricky is tired #he needs a long nap

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mollysdarkthoughts · 3 years

Text

Types of gamers I think class 1-A would be:

Genre: Sfw headcanon. Generally this is all crack and a dash of fluff, so it’s not too bad.

Characters: Ururaka, Momo, Bakugou, Mina, Denki.

Trigger warning: mentions of sexism, homophobia, racism and general toxicity. Swearing. Mentions of rage and screaming. Generally this is all crack and a dash of fluff, so it’s not too bad.

note: this got a tad bit serious in the end, I don’t know why I divulged.

Ururaka:

She is probably one of the best gamers in the whole class. She didn't have many video games growing up because her family couldn't afford it (Considering the average game price on steam is 60$), so most of her what she plays came from an old school friend who would let her play on their PC and Xbox. This bitch got hooked. She got addicted from the beginning, and since then, she's been buying games and receiving them as gifts. She has a comprehensive taste in games, but generally, she'll fall back on games that give her adrenalin rushes. Horror games, PVP, FPS, high stakes strategy, you name it. Playing PVP with Ururaka is a Nightmare, though. Not an exaggeration; you will have nightmares. Not only is she good, but she's also terrifying. She gets slightly too into it. There will be screams, cries, roars, maniacal laughter. You will go to sleep at night with the image of her rage-filled face.

Momo:

She doesn't get the appeal. At all. The only reason that she began playing was that the others in UA would invite her to join the server, and because she's such a people pleaser, she couldn't say no. Momo doesn't have the same drive as Ururaka, so when things get too loud or too complicated, she logs off. Losing the first time in a game really depletes her ego. She enjoys a few games, like simple puzzle games or just comfort games like Animal crossing. There really isn't any stress to have in games made to make you feel cosy, and she's been doing puzzle's most of her childhood. She loves buying games for the others, though. Seeing them happy when she gifts it to them is euphoric. Overall, not her thing, but it's not for everyone.

Bakugou:

He is shit at games. He will never admit he is shit at games. And because of that, he will talk big and make his opinion known. If someone likes a game, he will find a way to downplay it. If you like animal crossing, It's "Not a real game", if you like dating sims, you're a "lonely perv", and the list continues. This is all to compensate for the fact that he has no idea what he is talking about. The dude thinks hanging out in toxic gamer sub redits make's him a natural (It doesn't). He'll drink his own sweat before he admits it, but he unironically likes dating sims; Not the super pervy ones, but the cute, romantic ones with a side of corny jokes. The dude's a lonely piece of shit who wants to hold the hand of attractive men and women and go on dates with them, and share milkshakes, and go on corny adventures. Don't judge him; he's self-conscious!

Mina:

Has the entire gaming set up! Her computer room is full of glowing pink lights, bright aesthetically pleasing speakers, the cat headphones, the whole shebang! And she rocks it like a champ. She ain't an amateur either, she'll play anything, and I mean anything. Also, definite twitch streamer and is kinda famous ngl. Especially after UA when her viewers just skyrocketed in number overnight. She's been around almost every gaming community, and she isn't a stranger to sexism, racism, homophobia etc. Did this stop her? No. In fact, she takes her joy from seeping it out of teenage boys who think they're tough shit. She isn't going to be nice about it. The kid will regret his entire life choices, and with her big following, he's probably never going to see them hear the end of it. A true connoisseur of being a bad bitch.

Denki:

He's average at games. He wins ten times out of seventeen on a good day with a game he's played before. Honestly, he loves video games. However, he's starting to pull himself back from it. Denki was definitely one of the kids who went down a very toxic pipeline at a young age, and he lived to see the results of it bite him in the ass. It kinda hit him like a train that 'yeah, maybe all the sexist jokes I made weren't justified at all. He's gotten way better since then. Still rockin' the low aesthetic set up, though. All he got is a computer in the corner of his bedroom that has grown grime over the years. (Just an add on, Denki saw that Mineta was starting to fall down the same pipeline as he had and is trying his best to curve that behaviour gently because he knows if he's too rough with him, he'll just get defensive.)

#bakugo x reader #denki x reader #momo #mina #bakugo #denki #uraraka #uraraka x reader #momo x reader #mina x reader #bnha #bnha headcanon #mha #mha headcanons #bakugo headcanons #denki headcanons #momo headcanons #mina headcanons #uraraka headcanons

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

Photo

CALL ME CAT, chapter sixteen

Summer 2018

The only thing worse than being hungover was having to face all of them the next morning. I didn’t remember much between quitting and climbing onto the bus, Jules draped a blanket over me and suddenly the sun was rising.

Now I sat in a hotel room somewhere, squinting at the beams of light through the window and reaching out for a cup of coffee that Leah handed over.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice quiet.

She was silent for a moment, watched me take a sip before she spoke. “Do you really want out?”

I thought about it for a second. Somehow, the entire time the band gained traction and our careers got bigger and better, my life seemed to spiral out of control and I became more of a mess than I thought humanly possible. So I nodded.

The door pushed open, Ian was in the same clothes from the night before, bags under his eyes let me know that I’d created a hellish task for him. Ask about paperwork, call the right people, figure out what the hell was going on.

“Hi,” he said, hands in his pockets, a quick sigh before he made eye contact. “How do you feel?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh, unsure if he was asking to be nice or to rub it in my face that I had been a drunk mess for the umpteenth time.

“Like shit, Ian.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Well, I need to know if you’re actually leaving or if that was just you being drunk and upset. Either way we need to have a whole meeting this morning about what went on and what we do moving forward. Last night was not okay.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, unprepared for his directness. “I meant it,” I told him.

A pause, almost like he didn’t really think it would happen. “Uh, okay,” he looked around the room and pulled out his phone. “I have to call people then. Can I ask you a question, first?”

Hands around the coffee cup, I said: “Shoot.”

“Is this about Harry?”

“No,” I shook my head. “It’s about me.”

It was partially about Harry. I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t stand the constant tug of war or the impossible task of trying to understand him. I figured it was best to not try at all.

The door pushed open again, Niall was on the other side, his lips parted when he saw me. “Already signing shit?”

“Niall,” Ian sighed, hoping to not let things get as rowdy as they did the night before. His voice was tired and the way he said Niall’s name told me that a confrontation was the last thing he needed right now.

“Already dissolving everything we worked for?”

“What’s happening?” Miles popped up behind him, then Harry and Jules.

More nervous squirming on my end. Ian hadn’t mentioned the meeting would be now.

“Nothing is happening, we’re talking,” Ian said when he turned to face them. “And since you’re all here, I guess you can come in.”

They filed in, quiet and angry and unsure what was happening. I tried to focus my gaze on the lid of my latte. Steam had gathered underneath, tiny bubbles of heat were trapped inside--like I was trapped in this room. They sat on a sofa and Jules took to the floor, eyes avoiding mine when I finally had the courage to look up.

“Do you want to tell them?” Ian turned to me.

I shook my head, sipped my coffee again and wished I could sink into the chair. Could they blame me? Did any of them think that this was good for any of us?

“Cat is looking to leave the band,” Ian nodded. “I have to call people and figure out what type of paperwork needs to happen. I’ll have things to sign for all of you--I’m going to have to talk to the label’s lawyer first, though.”

“So that’s just it?” Niall asked again, his eyes pointed at me with a furious stare. “You’re a liar and a quitter?”

“Niall I don’t think you really understand,” I told him, anger rising in my voice. “But if you’d like to make a lot of assumptions, by all means, go ahead.”

“S’my only choice, right? Since you’ve been lying.”

“You guys need to figure out what you’re doing from here. Are you interested in staying in the band?” Ian tried to break up the tension, held a hand in my direction to quiet me.

“Without Cat?” Miles asked, a wrinkle in his forehead when he made eye contact with me. “With no lead singer?”

“Just the four of us?” Jules pulled her legs up to her chest, her voice was quiet and high pitched.

“Yeah, I mean, the four of you can continue on.”

“I don’t know,” Niall let out a breath. “I’m too pissed off to figure out what the fuck we should do.”

“Right,” Ian nodded. “Think about it. But we need to cancel the show tonight, and tomorrow, really. Before we figure out what the next step is.”

Niall looked up at me and shook his head, a sarcastic laugh before he said: “Great, cancel them.”

The swampy landscape of Florida passed by my window, the white lines on the edge of the street blurred as we neared my parents’ house. Heart in my throat when I knocked on the door, the only thing more embarrassing than hiding out in Florida while headlines blew over was realizing I didn’t have a key to my childhood home.

Marta smiled when she tugged the door open, wrapped her arms around me and didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to.

But my mother did. She appeared around the corner, glasses perched on her nose and expecting eyes that grazed over my figure. “You look tired.”

I held back an unsurprised laugh. “I am,” I admitted. “It’s been a busy few days.”

“Quitting your band and coming home doesn’t sound busy.”

“Well, it was a lot of paperwork.”

Marta tried to ease the tension. “Do you want a snack? A drink?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, a reassuring nod before I looked back at my mom. “Thanks for letting me come home.”

“Well…” she made a disapproving sound with her tongue, a shrug of her shoulders as if she always knew the band was destined for failure. “What happened?”

I tilted my head and looked at her for a second. She couldn’t really care--her question was more likely a nosy way to put the puzzle pieces together. I wasn’t stupid enough to think her book club wasn’t asking questions.

“I think I have a drinking problem.”

Her eyes went wide for a second, but she regained her composure in a quick beat. I kept talking before she could say anything.

“And I think you do too, to be honest, but, that’s really none of my business.” I shrugged my shoulders and picked up my suitcase, turned on my feet to head for the stairs.

“Catherine,” her voice was frantic. “Did you just say you think I have a drinking problem?”

“Yep,” I said over my shoulder. She was now a few steps behind me, heels clicking on the marble floors.

“That’s absurd, you’re absolutely out of your mind.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, lips parted when I turned around to cut her off.

“Maybe I am, mom. Maybe I’m completely fucking neurotic at this point because of you.”

“Me? What are you talking about? How could I possibly have anything to do with your--band mess?”

“Because while you were too busy pouring glass after glass of Chardonnay, I was upstairs having panic attacks and nightmares and developing PTSD. But you didn’t give a fuck.”

She let out a short noise, maybe one of shock or even frustration. “I was grieving, Catherine.”

“Me too, but I guess this house wasn’t big enough for the both of us.”

She didn’t reply, her eyes blinked a few times in a robotic way before I lugged my suitcase up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door shut.

My phone was buzzing every few minutes--messages, DMs, people contacting me in every way to figure out what went wrong and where I was.

But none of my friends. Niall and Jules had no clue where I was. I boarded a plane the night I signed paperwork, only 23 hours after I told them I was out. Landed first in New York to meet with my lawyer, then one with label people to finalize an arrangement. They were free to go on without me if they chose.

Went back to my apartment, poured out the bottles of Tequila and Champagne that had been a mainstay. Threw some clothes in a suitcase and took a car to JFK. Now, here I was, standing in my childhood bedroom with open balcony doors that let in a nice breeze.

Whether or not I felt good about how it came out, the fact that everyone knew was a relief. I didn’t have to shrink away from pictures of Cameron in the bathroom or ignore the memories that still floated to my mind every once in a while. It still hurt, but now that the hurt was out in the open, it could finally breathe.

When I sat on the balcony that night and looked out to the Lagoon, a buzzing from my phone beside me lasted longer than I expected. One, then two, then three. A phone call.

From Lila.

I stared at the screen for a minute, momentarily convincing myself that it was a butt dial, a mistake. Maybe she hadn’t heard what happened.

But then I answered and I didn’t expect her to be so nice.

“Cat! Hi! I was just calling to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alright,” I said it with a nod, unsure if the words were true or just my automatic answer. “I’m in Florida--at my parents.”

“I figured,” she sighed. “I would need a minute away too.”

“Lila--you’re not mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?”

“Well, I quit the band and I was lying to them for a while and--”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay,” I nodded again. “Are you okay?”

She let out a laugh, not a sarcastic or angry one, but one that let me know the question was ironic. “Well, yeah. But, it’s been kind of wild back here. I just--uh--wanted to let you know that me and Harry broke up.”

“What?” I asked this with more force than I intended. “Wait--when?”

“Yesterday--he was a mess after you left and everything was really stressful, and--”

“He was a mess after I left?”

“Well, he was angry. I mean he’s pretty mad at you and he feels betrayed and--”

“Okay,” I held up a hand even though she couldn’t see me. I didn’t need the details.

“Well you asked.”

“I know--I just, I thought things were going well with you two.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah, they were. I mean, we were fine, but, I think he’s always going to like you.”

I felt my own eyes go wide, head tilted to the side in the glow of the Palm Beach moon. “Me?”

I didn’t know the right response. Act surprised? Act disgusted? The news was already putting my system into overdrive, the flutter in my heart at her most recent confession made me dizzy.

“Yes, you, Cat--don’t act like it’s such a shock,” she laughed at this like it was silly. “He told me that it wasn’t just once.”

I blew air out between my lips, trying to slow my pulse. “It wasn’t when you were together--he didn’t cheat on you, I promise.”

“I know,” she said. “I told him to call me if he ever gets over you,” she laughed, her voice was sweet and sincere through the phone. “So maybe I’ll hear from him one day, but probably not.”

“Lila,” I breathed out her name and for once, I was at a loss for words. Did I apologize? Did I make some excuse about the tension--whether or not she seemed mad?

“It’s alright, Cat,” she laughed. “Maybe the point of Harry being in my life was so we would find each other. Maybe we’re friend soulmates,” I could hear her smile through the phone, likely from the knowledge that her words would pull an eye roll from me.

But instead I felt my lips turn upward--just a little--when a boat motored by and the leaves of the palm trees danced in the wind.

Out of all of them, Lila was the one to reach out first. Something about it felt ironic and annoying and somehow still completely serendipitous.

And for weeks there were people staked outside the front gate. July slowly bled into August and I prayed that the media coverage would fade with summer. My mom seemed to bask in the glow of flashing cameras and my dad had slowly resigned to the fact that his drives to and from the office were now bookended by questions about what I was doing and if the band was breaking up.

But none of use knew the answer until three weeks in, when my phone rang one night and Niall’s voice was short on the other end.

“D’ya have a minute?”

“Yeah,” I nodded quickly, sat down on my bed and folded my legs beneath me. I didn’t mean to sound eager, but I’d been hoping for an update on their decision: move forward or disband. I’d yet to hear from him at all and was hoping he’d cooled off since I’d last seen him. “What’s up?”

“Well, we, uh--we’ve been meetin’. We talked to Ian, talked to Ron and some label people. We’re not sure we’re going to stay together.”

“You’re not sure?” I repeated his words for clarity. The decision didn’t sound like something that could be left in the gray area.

“We’re not. We’re not going forward.”

Silence for a second. “Oh,” I said. “Are you--how do you feel about that?”

“Weird, honestly. Mad, upset, confused.”

“Yeah.”

“I just don’t get it, Cat--I don’t get how things were going so well and yet everything between us got worse and worse.”

“It’s my fault,” I said the words quietly, more calmness laced between them with some salty air and sunshine now a part of my daily routine. “I should have been more honest with you.”

Another pause, and for a second I wasn’t sure if he’d hung up, angry and let down my by half-assed apology.

“I just wish you hadn’t let Harry get under your skin so much.”

It was a blow I hadn’t expected, I pulled at a thread on my duvet. “It wasn’t just about Harry, Niall,” I tried to not sound angry, looked up at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My wet hair was up in a towel, fresh out of the shower and fresh out of patience to talk about Harry.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?”

I stared at the wall, unsure of how to answer his question. On the other side of the sheetrock was the bathroom I’d spent so many nights in. Feet on the cool tile, silently sobbing about the nightmares or wishing it was me and not him.

If he wanted the truth, I would give it to him.

“It was my first chance to not be the girl with the dead brother,” I said harshly. “My parents are shitty people, Niall--and when my brother died,” I paused. The thought had been circling in my brain for so long, but putting it into words for the first time made it hurt more. “To them I just became a reminder of him. And my friends from high school and the people in town--I was just one of two, part of a whole.”

“But you told Jules and not me?”

I grew more impatient. “I was drunk, Niall, and I opened my mouth because Harry was being an asshole.”

“Harry? I thought she found out years ago.”

“Yeah--right after I met Harry.”

“Freshman year?”

I rolled my eyes at all of his questions. “Yes--he was being a dick because he was calling me Catherine when we first met and I hate that name because my mother and my brother are literally the only two people on the planet who call me that.”

Another pause. “Oh,” he said, almost like a puzzle piece had fallen into place. “But you didn’t tell him why you didn’t like that name because you didn’t want to bring up your brother.”

It wasn’t a question, he said the words with conviction, informing himself of the rock and hard place I had been stuck between.

“Telling people within the first two weeks of meeting them that you have a dead twin brother is kind of a vibe killer.”

He let out an awkward laugh, my shoulders felt less tense and I took a leap of faith. “I guess I have PTSD from his death, I mean, I was there. I’ve been googling the symptoms and reading stuff online. I think that’s why I drank so much. Harry constantly calling me that name made all of the memories worse and feel so much closer.”

Quiet again, then he sighed. “I just wish you’d been honest with me.”

I blinked a few times, disappointed that he’d brought it back to the dishonesty and the perceived betrayal when I’d just blurted it all out. I wasn’t left with much in Florida--plenty of time and space to think about the things that had gone wrong and the way I’d reacted. After a few weeks of piecing it together and accepting that maybe there was something wrong with me, maybe I did have a problem--Niall’s lack of response or acknowledgement felt like salt in the wound.

“I know.”

“I just think I need some space, Cat.”

My heart sunk--not that I didn’t know leaving the band would result in this. I was ready for the awkward phone calls and the fumbling to figure out what we were now: friends? Bandmates? Former roommates?

I just hadn’t considered that we’d be nothing, potentially, if he was too hurt.

But after talking to him that night, I wasn’t shocked when Jules wouldn’t answer my calls. At first she’d text back and say she was busy, running an errand or reading Tarot. But after a few weeks of no contact outside of my parents and Marta, reading news articles in my bedroom about the break up and the next steps and the rumors of why it all happened, I called Leah.

“I need to move out,” I told her. “I need to be somewhere other than Florida and other than New York.”

“Okay,” she said, I could hear typing on the other end. “Los Angeles sounds like an option, then.”

“Do you think that’s weird, though? For me to suddenly buy a house in LA?”

“I mean--Ian called me the other day. Said a lot of writing requests have still been coming in since people don’t really know why you left. Los Angeles would be a good place to do that.”

“I’ll write,” I nodded, something in my gut pulled me towards it. “Who’s been asking?”

“A bunch of people, apparently. Ian said there have been more requests since the split. I guess people figure you’re still doing that--I don’t know.”

I paused for a second, thought about what would happen if word got out to Niall or Jules that I was writing for other people. Would they be angry? Would they care?

It felt unfair for me to have to factor them into a decision when they wouldn’t answer my calls. For so long they’d been the people I could count on, no matter how much I fucked up or how bad things got.

But now I didn’t have Niall, I didn’t have Jules, I didn’t have Eddie or Miles. I didn’t have Ian and I didn’t have Harry. I didn’t have a record label and I didn’t have shows to put on. I’d lost almost everything.

And after all of the uncertainty in my life, the only constant was music. I figured I deserved to keep that.

Summer 2019

The knocking sent my heart to my throat, one that I’d been waiting for all morning. The California sun was warm through the windows, and when I opened the door, Jules’s hair was blonder than I remembered and Niall’s was darker.

“Hi,” Jules said, her lips curved up in a small smile. Niall nodded in greeting, I stepped aside, hoping that I didn’t look or sound as stupid as I felt.

“Come in--I can make tea, or coffee or something.”

They stepped inside, took a look around the foyer. Jules hit Niall in the stomach when he didn’t reply, he grunted in response. “Yeah, tea--that’d be lovely.”

I rolled my eyes at his nervousness, let my mouth quirk into a smirk. “We don’t have to act like strangers, you know.”

They both nodded, awkward smiles in return when we stood, frozen in place.

“Does it really feel that way?”

Jules relented first after a tiny giggle. “No--we’re not strangers. We just--it’s been a while.”

Nine months, to be exact. Texts and phone calls and even emails in between, fall turned into winter and by the time Christmas came, I lived on a tree lined street with other celebrities who could afford this level of privacy.

I led them into the kitchen and sighed, put the teapot on the stove. “Well, I kind of had some shit to get together.”

When I turned around and let my hands rest on the counter, Niall took a breath before he spoke. “Glad we’re here, you know, just--I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

We hadn’t. First we just sent funny videos, memes back and forth and eventually I got added to a group message with both of them in it. Eddie and I would facetime every once in a while, Miles and I would check in every few weeks and I’d send him some songs I was working on.

I nodded, I hadn’t talked much about it with anyone--except for Lila. She visited for the New Year and brought me sparkling cider, it’s without the alcohol, but with all of the bubbles and fun.

“You were too angry to hear me out,” I shrugged my shoulders. True, but also probably not what he wanted to hear.

“Can you blame me, Cat? We worked so hard for that band and that success and it felt like you were throwing it away.”

Jules tensed at his volume, looked at me for a reply.

I nodded, remembered what Lila had advised. Hear them out, validate that they were hurt.

“I know--I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

This apparently caught Niall off guard--maybe he’d expected me to fight him on it, defend myself or my actions and make it seem like it was his fault.

But it wasn’t. The drinking was my fault. The running from my emotions was my fault. None of them made me behave the way I did.

“I get that you had stuff to figure out with your family, but why didn’t you want to try to work it out with us?”

I sighed, Jules pulled out a stool and sat, her eyes on me as she waited for an answer. I knew the question was coming. I knew they’d want to know and I knew that they probably still felt confused and unsure about what had transpired almost a year ago. I had finally given Niall more information about Cameron, but I’d left out the pieces back then that I hadn’t yet found.

The band had been pulling me down, whether or not I wanted to admit it. Staying in the band meant sacrificing my sanity, and when the moment came to choose one or the other, I had to choose myself.

Fonder couldn’t exist if I wanted to be okay--and if I wanted to be okay then Fonder had to come to an end. I couldn’t have my cake and eat it too.

I shook my head, I didn’t know where to start. “I don’t think I would have been able to do it with all of you guys right there.”

“All of us?” Jules offered a knowing smirk.

I bit at my lip and then admitted: “Harry.”

Jules nodded, Niall dropped my gaze.

Back in the spring Jules finally called me, the flowers had started to bloom and news of my signing with a new publishing company had started to break. I told her I was sorry for how it all played out and she told me that Miles was doing session stuff at New Trick. Eddie was working with other artists and she hadn’t heard from Harry.

So now, May in my Los Angeles kitchen, almost a year after I left them on the road and almost a year since I’d seen or heard from Harry, his name echoed against the granite counter top when Niall met my gaze again.

“He’s been asking about ya.”

I counted to three, play it cool. “You’ve talked to him?”

He kept my gaze, sat beside Jules and I wondered if this was a test. They’d planted the seed about visiting me in February, they opted to stay at a hotel and Niall told us he’d been in the studio working on a solo project. I think he expected me to be mad, but I was just proud.

“He might lay some bass tracks for the stuff I’ve been doing.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know if he was still playing or what he was up to.”

“Did some stuff with Vince, actually, did some session stuff with them for a while, continues to be a heartthrob, the usual.” He cracked a smile at that, Jules rolled her eyes when the tea kettle whistled.

“Actually, Cat, there was something we wanted to talk to you about.”

I poured the water into three cups, kept my back to them when I replied casually: “what’s up?”

I had no clue what it was. No idea what they wanted to discuss and no idea if they were using this visit as an opportunity to corner me.

“My birthday’s soon and I wanted to have a party in New York. We wanted you to come.”

It felt too soon for a reunion. Didn’t this type of thing come years later? When one of us was married or when someone had a baby? I turned around and pushed the cups towards them, offered a few options for tea before I replied. “With, like, everyone?”

Niall pulled a bag out of it’s sleeve and dunked it into the steaming water. “With Harry, is what she’s asking.”

“I know what she’s asking,” Jules retorted before she turned back to me. “And yes--he’ll be there.”

“Is this some kind of intervention?” I joked. “Cause I’ve already been sober for almost a year.”

“No,” Jules shook her head. “But we’re extremely proud of your sobriety. I know things got fucked up, but I want us all to be okay, even if Fonder is over.” She looked over to Niall, waiting for him to add on.

“S’also our first party we’re hosting together,” he leaned over to pat her on the knee, his tone casual when he dropped a metaphorical bomb. “As a couple.”

I had to choke down the tea that I’d just sipped, I set the cup down and blinked a few times. “You guys are dating?!”

“We spent a lot of time together when the band split up,” Jules said, a wriggle of her eyebrows in my direction. “Turns out I’m not that annoying after all.”

Niall rolled his eyes, turned back to see me. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” I smiled. “It’s amazing, I’m really happy for you guys.”

“You are?” Jules asked, her voice smaller now.

“Of course,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Niall shrugged his shoulders, his eyes met mine when he spoke. “Well, I wasn’t exactly the most on board for you and Harry gettin’ together.”

“That was different,” I waved a hand, “and stupid.”

“Was it, though?” Jules’ question was pointed, apparently she still wanted us to be together as much as she had back then.

“Yes, Jules--it was different. It was us being dumb and horny.”

“I think you should come to her birthday party, chat with him.”

I watched Niall for a second. “And why is that?”

Another shrug. “I think it’d be good for you two to reconnect.”

“I’ll come,” I said, “I’m not against coming.”

“But you’re against reconnecting with Harry?” Another prod from Jules.

“I don’t know,” I let out a groan. “It’s been so long! I don’t even know what he’s been doing or who he’s been seeing or--.”

“No one,” Niall said. “He’s seeing no one.”

“Well, whatever,” I ignored him. “Whether or not he’s seeing someone I’ll still come.”

“Right,” Niall smirked, “but him being single is probably a good pull, right?”

“Don’t make this a thing,” I warned, another sip of tea through the smirk that took up residency on my face.

“Every single thing between the two of you has been a thing,” Jules said. “Maybe your souls have met before.”

“Enough with the reincarnation stuff, will you?” Niall looked over to her like she was crazy. I mean, maybe she was, but the look in his eyes was different now: less judgmental, more loving.

She waved him off, her focus back to me when she sighed. “You don’t have more questions about him?” She rested her elbows on the counter, offered a look that told me she didn’t believe my nonchalance.

“None,” I said.

“You don’t even want to know what he’s been asking about ya?”

I let my tongue slide against my teeth, a willful attempt to not take the bait.

“He knows we’re here,” Jules said--again, a casual admission and a curiosity on her end about how I’d react.

“Are you going to call him up and give him a full report as soon as you leave?” I eyed Niall playfully, giggled when he rolled his eyes.

“Probably,” he teased. “Tell him that you seem happier than I’ve ever seen ya.”

“Make sure to allude to the fact that it’s cause he’s finally not in my life,” I cracked.

“Just as mean as ever, though,” he laughed.

I smiled at them, a sense of relief to learn that peace could come after change, after heartbreak, and after hurt. But it was mostly nice to know that even if everything else had changed, Niall’s ability to poke fun at me and Jules’ affinity for cosmic conspiracy theories had remained exactly the same.

So I flew to New York a few weeks later, my hair shorter than the last time I’d been there and the sky a brighter blue. My apartment had been empty for a year--dust had gathered on the counters and the artwork I’d left on the walls felt out of place now.

I’d been in and out a few times, once for a meeting with my lawyer, another time when I flew in to write with Adam Levine. When I pushed the door open and tugged my suitcase inside, the emptiness felt all consuming.

It felt like I was sneaking into someone else’s house--pulling back the curtains in someone else’s bedroom and slipping into the shoes of someone I would never be.

Being back felt weird--different than I expected and somehow more nerve wracking than facing my mother or facing the truth: I was different.

The worst part about it was that the piano faced the same window and the same chairs sat on top of the same carpet. It had been frozen in time, a sad and stark reminder of what used to be.

But I didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity, though--soon enough whisked off to meet up with Jules and Nialls. I was excited to see Miles and Eddie despite feeling like an absolute idiot. Did they blame it all on me? Did any of them recognize how toxic Harry and I had been?

My nerves were palpable, leaving beads of sweat on my forehead when I walked behind Jules and Niall and the security detail that would spend the night by our sides.

A whole year of sobriety, not one drop in 362 days--and tonight was my first time in a bar.

Jules had offered something else: a restaurant, their new apartment, anywhere but a place that’s sole purpose was to get you drunk. But I declined. The Bitter End was the only place that this reunion could happen, and instead of using tequila to calm the thumping in my chest, I was left with breathing techniques I’d learned from a mediation app and my 1-year coin from AA in my pocket.

I had no idea if he’d even show up. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t nauseous all day when they were texting in a group, just like we used to before things exploded. Before I exploded.

So I decided that Harry’s presence tonight wouldn’t make or break me. His presence at all throughout my time in New York wouldn’t break me.

I didn’t want to be the bomb that someone needed to diffuse. I kept watch of the door and acted as if I wasn’t checking my phone for an update, simultaneously hoping he’d show up and hoping that I’d never have to face him.

But when the clock ticked closer to closing time and I stifled another yawn--apparently being sober in bars past midnight just made you exhausted--a feeling of disappointment was left circling in my chest. Maybe he didn’t want to see me. Maybe he just couldn’t do it.

Around 1am I climbed into the back of the car behind Jules, settled into my seat when she drunkenly giggled into Niall’s shoulder. I stared down at my phone screen and opened the group message from Harry.

I’ll try to swing by.

It was the feeling that had hovered inside of me for a long time, knotted in my ribs and tangled in my lungs. The feeling that used to have me reaching for a bottle: Not good enough.

But I noticed it, I knew it now. This was the moment I would have gone home and popped the champagne to let myself fall asleep without the echoing in my head: not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

It felt good to know I was on the other side, more insight, more awareness and friends from AA to text if it really got dark again. But I looked to the middle seats in front of me, Nialls and Jules laughed between themselves, the streets of Lower Manhattan passed by the tinted windows and somewhere back home my mom was pouring another glass and my dad was ignoring her.

And yet I was okay. Something about time away from the band and time away from alcohol had taught me how to swim, no longer dragged beneath the surface by the uncomfortable emotions that tried to drown me for so long. I could fall asleep without the TV on and I wondered that night where he was, but I stayed afloat.

I hyped myself up the next day to show up to Jules’ party an hour early. I tucked flowers in a vase and rolled my eyes when Niall blasted songs from our first EP over the speakers, can’t believe we thought this shit was good, we sound so young! Jules obsessed over which shade of lipstick she should wear and I just tried to keep my hands busy.

Maybe he wouldn’t show up here, either.

But people spilled in and their roof deck was the perfect spot for a summer birthday party. By dinnertime I pretended that I didn’t hate small talk and made nice with people I hadn’t seen in years. Nice to see you, I’ve been good, yeah still writing. This wasn’t about me--this was for Jules.

He slipped in at some point, blended in with the crowd until I did another scan. My eyes caught his figure, a loosely buttoned shirt and a bracelet around his wrist that glistened in the sun when I stood frozen in place.

Sunglasses shielded his eyes and his hair was longer than before--he moved with ease, after all, he hadn’t disappeared and cost people their jobs.

Ian laughed by my side as if this wasn’t a monumental moment, he joked with Miles and Vince about something unrelated when I blinked a few times, looked around to see if anyone else had noticed his arrival. Okay, the sudden change in the atmosphere was apparently only noticeable to me.

I looked down at the red solo cup in my hand: cranberry juice, seltzer, a splash of lime. I excused myself quickly and weaved through the other people until I could slide the door to the master bedroom shut. The music was muffled on the other side of the wall, laughter from the party bounced against the door and now, I could breathe. In, out, inhale, exhale.

I walked over to the living room, met face to face with the bottles of liquor on the counter. It pulled me in, their labels and fancy names made my cheeks tingle. But instead of walking over and uncapping the tequila like I may have wanted to, I turned left down the hall, found myself in a room where they kept all their instruments.

A piano in the corner, one Niall saved up for our sophomore year after his birthday. I went and looked at the words scribbled on note paper beside it, an old glass of water--did Jules bicker with him like a true girlfriend about leaving his dishes out?

Beside it was a guitar, the one I’d gifted him after we signed the record label, the year we moved out of our first apartment. I plucked a few strings, a melody coming out when I let my fingers fumble through a progression.

Maybe this is how I’d been doing it. The desire to drink was usually quelled with a song, the outpouring of whatever emotion I wanted to run from--just like I’d hurried inside to avoid Harry.

He had the same hold over my heart whether I was drunk or sober, busy or bored. I’d been avoiding the vulnerability that he brought out of me, like the time he let me cut his hair and giggle in his sheets. I didn’t know what it was about him, something I felt I’d never fully capture in a song or in a sentence out loud.

There are things that I sing

that I'd never have the confidence to say

There are things I believe

that I only figure out when I sit down to play

The door creaked, a figure on the other side of the room when I looked up and stopped singing.

“Hi,” he said, his lips in a thin line like he didn’t know if he should smile or frown.

I put the guitar back in its stand and stood up. “Hi--sorry, I was just messing around.”

“Sounded good,” he nodded, a cup in his hand that he sipped from when he broke our gaze. “You can keep going, if you want. What’s it about?”

He took a few steps closer to me, set the solo cup on the piano and then picked up the guitar. He pulled the strap over his shoulder and tuned it a bit, looked up at me when I didn’t reply.

“Just a song,” I shrugged, unsure if the smirk on his face meant anything or if I was just reading too far into the dimple in his cheek.

He plucked what I was playing, easily able to recreate the song when he sat on a stool.

Nervousness in my words when they floated between us. “Shouldn’t we be outside?”

“S’been a minute since we wrote something together,” he shrugged. “Don’t think anyone will mind. Sing it again?”

I sat down, smoothed out the skirt of my dress and cleared my throat. I ran through the verse again, suddenly self conscious to be this real in front of him. This time I went on, eyes closed when it felt like the song had always existed.

The truth don't scare me in a melody,

immortalizing my sincerity

There are things that I sing that

I'd never have the confidence to say

Like that song about my parents that I'll never show 'em

I paused, laughed a little when I didn’t know where to take it. He hummed for a second, knew we were almost at the hook. He filled in the rest like it was easy.

And the ones about my exes that they don't deserve

But when it comes to you, I'm still trying to find the words

“Hey,” Jules’ voice was at the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, yeah,” I stood up, Harry let out a laugh at my quick reaction. “Sorry--we were just--”

“Messing around,” he stole my words from earlier, looked up at me when he set the guitar back down.

“I was just coming out,” I said, walking over to Jules.

“Me too,” Harry followed behind me quickly.

“You guys can stay,” she laughed, “you don’t have to come out.”

“S’fine,” Harry said, my words muffled between: “we were done.”

Jules rolled her eyes but headed back for the living room. “Glad you two are reacquainted,” she smiled over her shoulder.

I ignored her comment, Harry got pulled off by an old classmate and I fell into conversation with Eddie when he introduced me to the girl he’d started dating. I pinched his cheek and felt like a proud parent to learn he’d moved on from his crush on me--a true marker that time could heal all.

I ignored the melody that burned in my head, stole glances at Harry and tried to make sense of the encounter we had shared. If nothing else came from tonight, at least I had the start of a new song.

I caught Ian up on the writing I’d done with other artists--he’d been in the loop and even given me a recommendation for a new manager when I moved to LA. But when the sun started to set and people started to get drunker than they’d been, I found myself sitting off to the side, tracing the pink skyline of the city that still felt like home.

Niall kissed Jules on the cheek when she welcomed late arrivals--commotion on the other end of the roof deck--it felt reassuring to know that everyone’s world kept spinning without me at the center.

“We’ll have to finish that one, eventually,” Harry sat down next to me, folded his arms across his chest when he smiled. “Might already have half the hook written up here,” he pointed to his temple.

I shifted down on the patio furniture, careful to keep enough room between us.

“Pretty sure that’s my song,” I eyed him. “And now you’re writing it for me?”

He pushed his lips out in thought. “Could be ours, if you wanted.”

I rolled my eyes, tilted my head to the side. “Still just as annoying as I remembered.”

He smiled at that, quiet for a second when he held my gaze. “S’good to see you.”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I nodded my head. “Ditto.”

“Sorry I couldn’t make it last night, I was working and ended up staying late at the studio.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, looked at the glass in his hand. Clear--ice cubes that swirled around in the summer heat. “Is that vodka?” I changed the topic. “I thought you were a beer guy.”

“It’s water,” he shrugged. “Figured you shouldn’t be the only sober one here tonight.”

I bit at my lip, nodded at the sweet gesture but felt like words were stuck in my throat. “I didn’t know you knew.”

He let out a short laugh, “Jules isn’t great at keeping secrets.”

I shook my head, pretended to be annoyed when I teased: “never had any privacy in that band.”

“Yeah, well--we fucked a lot of things up.”

“We?” I eyed him suspiciously for a moment, certain he meant me.

“I’m the one who couldn’t figure out how to not be a dick to you, so--yeah, we.”

“I think me being a liar and drunk all the time takes the cake, but I appreciate you saying that.”

“I didn’t say you don’t take the cake,” he laughed, knocking his knee against mine. “But I should have done a lot differently.”

I twisted a ring around my finger, pulled for more information. “Like?”

He smirked, rolled his eyes at my nosiness but then let out a sigh. “Fought with you less, called you out on your drinking sooner, not dated Lila,” he trailed off like maybe there was more, but I cut him off.

“I don’t regret you dating Lila.”

“So I’ve heard,” he smiled. “So typical of you to steal my girlfriend.”

“You broke up with her!” I laughed. “We bonded over both going through big break ups. You dumped her, I broke up the band--it was a very healing experience for us to have each other. She’s a good friend, she always will be.”

He laughed, looked out at the sky and shrugged. “Yeah, she just wasn’t for me, I knew it all along,” he teased.

I pulled my head back. “Wait--if you knew that then why did you make me be so fucking nice to her?”

“I needed her to stick around,” he said this with a smirk, a dimple appeared in his cheek when he dropped my gaze and then looked down at his hands.

“Spill it,” I said, angling myself towards him. “You’re not telling me something.”

He let out a sigh, looked over at me and then rubbed at his eyes, almost like he was embarrassed. “I needed her to stick around because I wanted to make you jealous.”

“Make me jealous?! Of her? And being with you?”

He fought off a smile for a second, but when I let out a belly laugh and leaned back, he cracked. “It was stupid--we were in a constant push and pull back then and I didn’t know how to admit it to you that I was hurt when we broke--when we stopped sleeping together.”

I bit at the inside of my cheek, let his words float in the evening air high above the East Village. But then I nodded, voice small when I said: “yeah, it sucked. I’m sorry I made you keep my secret.”

He looked at me, almost surprised by my words, but then he let out a breath. “I’m sorry I held it over your head for so long. And tried to make you jealous.”

I watched a blinking light in the sky, a plane landing at LaGuardia or a star fizzling out. “I guess I deserved it.”

His eyebrows arched at that, a silent request for more information when I shrugged.

“I was basically always buzzed and lying to the most important people in my life. A hot mess would be an understatement.”

He bit back a laugh, nodded quietly. “I get it, though.”

My heart did a somersault, an uncomfortable feeling that lingered when the sky became a hazier orange. “You do?”

He nodded again, more confident this time, like he knew exactly how I felt without the slightest of explanation. “Grief does crazy shit to people. And I don’t think you ever got to heal yours.”

I clenched my jaw inadvertently, his words were true but plucked at something in me so deep and real that I didn’t have the words to reply. Luckily, he knew that.

“We were both different people back then, I think.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And a lot has changed.”

“Can I admit something?”

“Shoot.”

“My feelings haven’t.”

I looked over at him quickly, Jules’ words perched overhead like mistletoe. Twin flames--a soul connection that typically made me gag. This time, my heartbeat slowed and the anxiety I’d had about running into him seemed to dissipate, I nodded. I knew they hadn’t, I knew mine hadn’t, either. His words weren’t shocking, and when the last three years played over in my head, I wondered what would have happened if someone else had joined the band.

I smiled, an unstable attempt at honesty and vulnerability. “I just wish we could have a fresh start, you know?”

He laughed at this, angled himself towards me when he smiled. “Nice to meet you, I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

I eyed him for a second, trying to decide if I thought his ploy to start fresh was stupid or romantic. I let my hand reach forward to shake his. “Cat,” I nodded, lips twisted into a smile before I could even meet his gaze. “Call me Cat.”

He tugged me closer to him, paused for a second before he let our lips meet. “Cat it is. But I think we have a song to finish.”

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do.

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there.

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could.

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

448 notes · View notes

hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Harringrove April Day 16- Nostalgia

On just about every flat surface in their mansion, Steve’s mother had put out some fancy Tiffany light fixture.

Steve’s room was the only place in the whole house he got to have any day in the interior design, and his lamp, well it didn’t quite have a stained glass shade, or ornate detailing to fancy up the mansion, his happens to be an old nursery lamp from when he was six and still had a themed bedroom.

At the peak of his too cool for school teenager bullshit, he’d attempted to throw it out, sent it away to the curb with a bag of stuffed animals he claimed he didn’t need anymore, but the very same night he started having nightmares again, so he scrambled to get it back before the raccoons found it first.

That dusty old lamp had saved him from countless nights spent awake and terrified, and he wasn’t one to say he was ashamed of that.

Except, now Billy Hargrove, the pinnacle of badass, is in his room, and there it is, still plugged in on the nightstand.

Of all things too, it couldn’t have just been a generic race car lamp or something he could play off as not really being for kids, it had to be stupid Bambi.

There’s a story behind it, that when he was a toddler, his first venture out of Indiana was to go see his gramma over in Maryland, and, after one look at his big brown eyes and his fluffy brown hair, she immediately nicknamed him Bambi.

After that the name just sort of stuck with him, his parents using it when they wanted on his good side, to make up for forgetting his birthday, or as an apology for leaving him alone so long the babysitter left, so of course his mom thought it would be adorable if his bedroom was themed around it.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of the attic, he still had the curtains and the quilt and the wall hangings, and under his bed was a pillow embroidered with his name and a picture of the clumsy cartoon deer made by his gramma. And of course, there was the brightly shining lamp.

He would never admit that he kept them there for when he was at his most frightened, clutching the pillow to his chest during a nightmare, or wrapping the soft material of the tiny old quilt around his shoulders when he felt an imaginary pair of eyes watching him.

Because Steve had seen some shit, he felt that after witnessing a ten-foot tall faceless monster come through the ceiling and try to kill him, and having a herd of baby versions of that same monster charge at him with nothing but a baseball bat to protect himself and a group of defenseless children, he had earned the right to use a damn nursery lamp in his bedroom.

But, that ass-backwards swell of pride at still using his childhood comfort items at 19 years old is definitely crushed by the fact that, after being in his room for a grand total of five minutes, that’s immediately what Billy drifts to.

A drunken apology at a New Year’s party might have made up for the concussion and proved he was probably not going to beat his face in again, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in Steve’s bedroom with the edge of the printed lampshade pinched between his fingers, and a contemplative look on his face.

It was a little while after their truce was reached, that Billy just started showing up at the Harringtons’ door unannounced. Sometimes it was to borrow Steve’s first aid kit. Sometimes he’d steal some of his weed. Once he’d come over just to watch something on Steve’s TV. Whatever his reason, Steve had let him in every time.

In this particular instance, it had been Steve who had called Billy, because he had a math project and an essay due first thing tomorrow morning, and Nancy was too busy to help him.

At first he’d considered just not getting the work done, but he decided Billy would do. He was smart enough that the co-ed teacher in the math class they shared had begged him to switch to the advanced classes, so Steve figured his help wouldn’t be so bad.

But his desk where all of his school stuff is is upstairs in his bedroom, where he’s left out the dumb baby lamp, and of course that would be exactly what Billy goes straight for. Steve feels himself start to panic a little, unsure if he could trust Billy’s reaction, and convincing himself that Billy might beat his ass for being a fragile little fairy or something.

It never comes, Billy just sits down all casual on the bed next to Steve, pulling one of his legs up so he could cross it over his knee, and nods over at the lamp again. “Wish I still had something from when I was little.”

The weight of the entire universe is lifted from Steve’s chest, knowing that Billy isn’t going to tear his head off. He lets out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah?”

Billy nods and looks down, fidgeting with the pendant he always wore around his neck. “My dad threw everything out. All I have is one little picture of my mom.”

Steve knew he lived with his step-mom, but had never even thought about what happened to Billy’s real mother. He realizes the pendant was probably a locket, the very one that holds the aforementioned picture, and asks “Can I see it?”

It looks like Billy has to think about it, as he keeps twisting the locket between his fingers, before he nods and opens it. Steve leans towards him, putting his hand up under it and holding it in his palm, straining to see the tiny, aged picture.

Even though he’s never seen this woman, it makes Steve incredibly sad, seeing her little face all worn out in that locket around her son's neck. He wonders if she was dead, or if maybe she’d lost custody for some reason, or if maybe she had just left, but whatever happened, when his eyes flicker back up to Billy’s face, the tears shining in his eyes and the way he avoids his gaze, he knows better than to ask.

Steve lets the locket fall and watches Billy snap it shut quickly, and he realizes he has no idea what the right thing to say is.

What he wants to say is that he’s sorry, for him losing his mother and having nothing but one yellowed and tear stained picture to remember her by, but that seems too much like prying, somehow not really appropriate.

Instead, he remembers what Billy said about his dad throwing his stuff out and says, “Your dad must be a real asshole, huh?”

Billy scoffs and blinks away the last of the tears in his eyes. “You’ve got no idea, Harrington.” There’s a long awkward pause, until Billy asks, “You know how I’m always coming over here with like, all kinds of shit wrong with me?”

Steve thinks he knows where this was going. “Sure.”

Chewing on the corner of his nail, Billy takes a moment to get his thoughts together, his eyes flitting nervously across the room, focusing on pretty much anything but Steve, mostly the picture frame behind him. “I lied. It’s not, like, fights or whatever I say. At least not with other kids.”

Steve himself was no stranger to conversations like these, he himself had to confess something of a similar calibre to Nancy, when they were still dating, because his father had come home from a business trip pissed off about something, and slapped him across the face just a little too hard. The sturdy silver ring that he wore on his middle finger had split the skin on Steve’s cheek, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to cover his tracks.

Admitting to it out loud was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, so he decides he won’t make Billy say it. Maybe they weren’t on the best of terms, only here to do homework or whatever, but if he was going to open up about this, he definitely wasn’t going to make him experience that same humiliation he had.

“Is it your dad? That does that to you?” Nancy hadn’t been kind enough to spare him, forcing him to tell her once that the scar he so proudly sported wasn’t actually from a fist fight with Tommy like he said, and he wouldn’t do the same to Billy.

In lieu of a response though, Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands starting to shake ever so subtly, and Steve knows he’s got to keep pressing. “Do you need help? I can call the chief-“

“No.” Billy shakes his head and makes eye contact with Steve for the first time since he started talking. “Cops only make it worse.”

Steve could understand that, had tried once when he was about eight or so, with the assistance of one of the housekeepers, to call the police when his father twisted his arm so far behind his back his shoulder popped out of place, but they wouldn’t dare arrest a public figure like his father, especially not for a little corporal punishment. The first thing they’d asked was what Steve had done wrong, not why his father had felt it fitting to beat on his eight year old for a tiny mistake. He never asked for help again.

“Well is there anything I can do?” Despite their differences and the fact that he only called him here to cheat on his homework, he truly did want to help Billy. Something about repeatedly surviving horrific monster attacks made him a lot more protective of those around him, and now that they were over their dumb pissing contest, Billy was included in that too.

“Think you’ve done enough letting me into your mansion, unless that’s not good enough for your hero complex.” It was a pathetic jab, there was no bite behind his broken tone, and Steve would almost rather have him at his worst than see him so vulnerable and sad.

Steve tries to reason with him softly, “You know it’s not like that, Billy.”

“Do I?” Walls had been put up as Billy made his last ditch efforts to protect himself from being weak in front of Steve. “Cause where I’m sitting, it seems like you get off on charity cases like mine. You tryin to swoop in and save me, King Steve? Feed your ego so you can feel like the savior you were always meant to be?”

He was baiting him, trying to pick a fight so he’d push him away, Steve had seen it all before in himself and wouldn’t fall for it. “Listen. I just want to help you.”

Everything about Billy suddenly seemed to make a whole lot more sense. That whole part animal, tough guy thing was just an act, and Steve knew because he had done essentially the same thing.

Before Nancy Wheeler had taught him to be better, he and Billy really weren’t so different. He’d let high school bullshit bother him, beat up the nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders and mocked anyone lower than him on the social ladder like he was supposed to, but it always made him feel off.

In the end, it had been so easy to get him to the other side, to show him what to do instead, he supposed all he needed was a little push to help him actualize what he already believed.

And then it hits him, in that moment, that this was Billy’s push in the right direction. That he was Billy’s Nancy.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything and I’m not doing this for me, just,” It became extremely important to him to not set Billy off, to say just the right thing to keep him on the right track. “my door is always open, Billy.”

At first, it seemed to have worked, Billy sat staring at the floor, his lip quivering as he mulled over Steve’s words, but, when he stood abruptly and snatched his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of Steve’s desk chair, Steve knows he messed up.

“Where are you going?” He stands up fast enough to give himself a head rush while Billy shrugs his jacket back on and yanks the door open.

“Need a smoke.” That’s all he gets before the door slammed in his face, and he hears Billy's heavy boots stomping down the stairs and the sound of him slamming his front door.

He waits with bated breath and tears pricking the corners of his eyes for the sound of Billy’s car starting and tearing out of his driveway, but it never comes.

Still, he feels immensely guilty and selfish and stupid as all hell for not just biting his tongue. He should’ve just fought back, argued with him like was expecting him to instead of trying to be comforting like he was his fucking therapist or something.

Because this was Billy fucking Hargrove, stereotypical meat head bully. Why he even felt the need to help him, other than their similar upbringings and coping mechanisms, or the fact that Billy had obviously been reaching out, hoping for someone to care, was beyond him. Or maybe it really wasn’t, he knew exactly why, he just felt weak and stupid for trying, and especially so for failing.

Apparently he’d been so caught up in his little pity party that he missed the sound of the door opening back up, and didn’t notice Billy had come back until his bedroom door was open.

Steve was so relieved that Billy came back, that he hadn’t pushed him too far or fucked everything up, even if he reeked of too strong cigarettes, and growled at him when he came in, “Don’t we got fucking work to do, Harrington?”

They don’t end up finishing the essay. Steve was hopeless with numbers, and they were too busy goofing off, so the math project didn't get done very quickly. It was okay though, Billy wasn’t much help at all when it came to English anyways.

Steve walks him outside when he has to go, beating a curfew of midnight. He stops on the porch, immediately crossing his arms against the frigid cold of the night air. Billy stops too at his car, his fingers through the handle, and turns around, calling across the yard. “Hey Harrington?”

He hardly waits for Steve’s response, a quick “Yeah?” to tell him, “Thank you.”

There isn’t time for Steve to respond before Billy’s yanking open the door of his Camaro and backing out of the driveway, but he knows he’d still made astronomical progress tonight.

It makes him feel incredibly dumb, laying in his bed that night, illuminated by the warm light of that very same Bambi lamp and trying to put his thoughts of Billy to rest like he was some cheesy teenage girl, but he’s just happy to have found a friend, to have made a difference in somebody’s life, and he knows that on the other side of town, laying in own bed with his locket left open on the pillow beside him, Billy feels the same way.

#harringrove #harringroveapril #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#love how I had something completely different planned but ran out of time and had to dig in my drafts for this fic #and it still took me forever to edit it

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Nightmare- (13)

Warnings: mentions of abuse and domestic violence. smut, again. emotional sex, outdoor sex, v. slight degradation, fingering, oral (m. receiving), possessiveness, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, light pregnancy kink.

Wc: 5.5k

As soon as you finished crying, you sat up, sniffing as you grabbed the bottle of water on your bedside table, chugging the liquid down. Wiping your lips, you slipped off the bed. Maybe you overreacted earlier...

You told yourself you had every right to be angry at him. He was playing with your feelings, driving you crazy.

Sometimes, he looked at you in ways that made the tiniest bit of hope bloom deep within you. But every time you let yourself hope, he let you down cruelly, unknowingly. Hope was a dangerous thing. You had to accept it would never happen.

Were you being selfish? You frowned as the thought settled itself in your head. He needed a best friend, but you had to ruin it by confessing...you knew things could never be the same now, even if the two of you somehow managed to make up for the 100th time. There were unspoken emotions crackling between you, the tension so tight and painful. It was tiring, frustrating.

When you lied to him, telling him that you didn’t love him after all...you’d noticed the disappointment in his eyes. It had made you curious. What if...what if he did like you? The way he seemed almost jealous during your short-lived relationship with Juyeon...

No. You shook your head. You wouldn’t allow yourself to hope again. Minho was a good best friend. And that’s all he’ll ever be. You knew you had to apologize for your outburst.

Standing, you wiped your eyes, making sure your face was dry before opening your bedroom door, only to be greeted with an empty living room. Frowning, you walked over to his door, knocking.

No response.

***

Minho sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Everything had to be perfect. This was his last chance to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up...if he didn’t get to confess this time, he might as well give up.

He turned his head as his phone pinged, eyes scanning the text message he’d just been sent. Perfect.

***

Two days had passed, and Minho still hadn’t returned to the apartment. You felt empty. You couldn’t really blame him for leaving...but how long would he be gone? Was he out of your life forever? What if when the doorbell rings, it’d be him, coming to gather his things and move out?

The thought made you want to cry again. Your eyes were red, tired. Over the past few days, you’d thrown yourself into your work, finishing a lot of assignments in a very short time. All you wanted to do was apologize to him, have him back.

Your phone rang, and you sat up to take it, hoping it was him. Your heart dropped when you saw it wasn’t. Sighing and shaking your head, you lifted it to your ear.

“Hi, mom...”

“Hello, dear. I hope you’re doing well? How’s Minho?”

You swallowed, fiddling with the hem of your blanket, your mouth open and ready to lie.

But...you just couldn’t. It came out before you could even think about it.

“I’m in love with him, Mom.”

“And?”

You frowned, sitting up a little further. “What?”

“Honey, we know. We’ve known since you were 12.”

“B-but-”

“None of that matters. How are you guys?”

“Mom...”

You gulped, starting to spill. You told her everything that happened over the past few days, the heavy weight in your heart lifting slightly as she listened patiently.

Once you were done, you panted, rubbing your eyes. “Yeah...I don’t mind, Mom. I don’t care if he doesn’t like me back. I can’t lose him...but I think I just did. I haven’t seen him in two whole days.”

There was more silence, before your mom quietly spoke. “Darling...how about you come over this evening? You can have dinner here, maybe stay the night.”

“It’s an hour-long drive...and I don’t have a car. Minho’s gone, so I can’t make him drive me there either.”

“Take a bus. Surely you’re not that broke.” She chuckled. “Come on, I wanna see my baby girl...”

You sighed, smiling despite yourself. “Okay.”

You hung up after a few minutes of small talk, buzzing with excitement to go back to the place where you grew up. You realized belatedly that everywhere you looked, you’d be reminded of Minho.

You stood up to go change, digging through your wardrobe. There was still a slight ache in your heart, but you pushed it aside for now.

***

This was the longest the two of you had ever spent apart. Two days, and Minho was already feeling like he’d spent an eternity away from you. He sat on your bed, eyes scanning the walls of your childhood home.

The posters on the wall remained the same, the walls still painted a pale pink. His eyes drifted to the polaroid collage on the wall, some of the polaroids missing. He knew you’d taken your favorite ones when the two of you left for college...he liked seeing them whenever he was in your room. Each one brought back a different, wonderful memory from your childhood.

He stood up, walking over to the wall and scanning the pictures with a fond, sad smile on his face.

You hadn’t taken his favorite one, though. It was a selfie you’d taken under the willow tree years ago, one in which you were making a goofy face to the camera, the necklace snug around your neck. It was a day after your 13th birthday...and probably the day he realized you were the only girl for him. He was gazing down at you in the photo, the way he usually did when he thought you weren’t looking. He still remembered the way he’d felt that day...his dad had been particularly aggressive when he’d gone home. It had been so scary. He had had a restless sleep that night, his heart torn and his brain hazy even as he woke up the next day, walking to your house.

But seeing your face had gotten rid of all that.

***

You lifted up the wicker basket, waving as Minho walked over to you.

“Finally! You’re here!”

“Yeah...”

“What’s wrong? You look sad...” Your expression turned concerned, smile disappearing as you took in his dark features. He felt his heart quiver, cocking his head to the side. He didn’t want you to be sad...and you would be, if he told you what happened. Your happiness was more than enough to make him forget all his worries.

“Nothing. What’s that?” He pointed at the basket.

You frowned. “It’s a picnic baske- never mind that. You’re not fooling me, Minho. Tell me what’s wrong, or I won’t share this with you.” You warned, hiding the basket behind you. He chuckled, coming closer to ruffle your hair. “Yeah yeah, okay. I don’t want to do this in the middle of the street, though.”

You nodded, walking down to the tree, Minho following you silently. You sat down, pulling the plate of sandwiches you’d made out of the basket, and handing one to him.

He took it with a sad smile, sighing and looking down at his lap. “It’s just...the same old, you know? Last night, he was screaming. I heard glass breaking and things being thrown around. I checked on her before coming here, and she seemed fine, but...” He glanced at you, trailing off. Just as he’d expected, you looked like you were trying hard to not look as distressed as you were.

He sighed. “I don’t know.” He took a bite of the sandwich, closing his eyes and humming. “This tastes goo-”

He was interrupted by the feeling of your arms wrapping around him. He opened his eyes, looking down at you as you pressed your cheek to his chest, mumbling. Breathing in deeply, he used his free hand to pull you into him, leaning back onto the trunk and patting the small of your back.

A comfortable silence followed as Minho stretched his hand out to grab your sandwich from the plate on the grass, giving it to you. The two of you ate quietly, tangled up in each other, your touch conveying what your words couldn’t.

***

The photo was a reminder. You always knew just what to do, always made him feel at home in a world where he felt like he didn’t belong.

He belonged to you. You belonged with each other.

It might have taken years for him to realize, but now that he knew, he wasn’t going to give up.

***

You left the bus-stop, making your way to your childhood home. You pressed your lips together as you neared it, a heady mix of sentimentality and uneasiness fueling your exasperation with your decision.

It’ll be okay. Seeing your parents would make you feel better. Just...don’t think about him, for now at least.

You unwrapped your scarf from around your neck as you reached, tapping your foot as you rang the doorbell. You waited for your mom to open the door, exhausted, having spent the whole bus ride standing.

Your eyes widened as the door finally opened.

The last person you were expecting to see was standing right there, the familiarity of his face springing tears to your eyes.

“Minho?!”

“Y/n.” He smiled sadly. You frowned. Confusion, anger and relief filled you, as your brain fought between wanting to hug him, or kill him.

You chose the former.

Surging forward into his arms, you cried into his chest as you hugged him tightly. He stroked your hair, shushing you. “I’m sorry...” You apologized brokenly, sniffing.

“No.” He said firmly. ‘You’re not allowed to be sorry, because you had every right to be angry at me. I’m the one...I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“You’re my best friend, Minho. We’ve been through too much together to let things like this faze us.”

He bit his lip. “Things like...love?”

You paused, looking up at him and frowning. “W-well, yeah. Our friendship goes past silly things like love.” You laugh nervously, trying to hide the emotions bubbling up in you.

He blinked, swallowing. “Y-you think love is silly?” He asked, his tone as even as he could manage.

“W-well...I mean...” You trailed off, shrugging.

He sighed, shaking his head as he pulled you away from him.

“No more of this.”

“W-what?”

“No more dancing around the subject.”

“What subject?”

He remained silent. Grabbing your hand, he led you to the willow tree you knew the way to all too well. His grip around your wrist was too tight as he walked quickly.

Confused, you let him pull you along, squinting as you tried not to fall over from how fast he was pulling you.

He stopped suddenly as the two of you reached, slowly letting go of your wrist.

You panted. “What are you...” your voice grew faint, eyes still fixed on him. Your heart throbbed as he leaned in a little, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

He looked away from you, smiling slowly. You followed his line of sight.

A small gasp left your lips.

He’d strung fairy lights from the willow tree’s branches, the space below it bathed in soft gold. There was a checkered picnic blanket on the grass, a familiar wicker basket lying on top of it. It looked beautiful.

The tree looked different from the last time you saw it...but it was still somehow the same. A wave of nostalgia washed over you, making you even more emotional as you glanced up at him, then back in front of you.

“When did you...why-”

“Shh.”

He dragged you over, sitting down on the blanket and tapping the spot next to him. “Come on.”

You hesitated, your heart beating loudly as you sat down. “Minho, I...I don’t know what to say...”

“So don’t.” He sighed, blinking as he inhaled, psyching himself up. It was time. There was a potent mix of fear and trepidation in him as the weight of what he was about to do dawned on him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/n. I can’t stay friends.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head. You felt a sharp pain in your heart as you nodded, discomfiture settling on your face as you tried to smile. So, this was it. You’d really fucked everything up. “T-that’s...okay. I can understand why-”

He groaned in frustration, his heart a mess of emotions as he watched you look at the grass, blabbering as you tried to hide your heartache. “That’s not what I meant.”

You looked back up at him. “Then what did-”

He scooted forward, grabbing your cheeks. “I...”

He sighed, tearing up at the sight of your face. Seeing you cry always made his heart weak.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He brushed your hair out of the way, lip trembling as he felt the tears keep coming. He opened his mouth, heart pounding.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

As soon as the words left his lips, your face turned blank, your brain unable to comprehend what he had just said.

It felt like fire had just been set to your heart. You’d just heard the words you’d been yearning to hear from him for years...and you were unsure how to react, your mind still trying to digest it.

He...he loved you? Was this another one of your dreams that ended with nightmarish twists?

Minho exhaled, smiling, his teary eyes sparkling. God. it felt good to finally tell you that.

He looked back down at you, smile slowly dropping as he saw your expression.

“Look...I’m okay if you don’t like me back.” He said, his heart slowly breaking as you stayed quiet, your expression still shell-shocked. “I’m fine with staying b-”

You interrupted him, pressing your lips to his.

Tears were still streaming down your face. You just couldn’t take it anymore. He emitted a soft sound of surprise before melting into the kiss, his tears mixing with yours as he fell back, pulling you on top of him. The very real feeling of his mouth against yours confirmed that you weren’t in a dream, after all. This was real.

He kissed you like his life depended on it, breathing heavily as you gently deepened the kiss. His lips were soft, nipping at yours as he pulled away just a little.

Minho held your cheeks, inhaling as his eyes searched yours, the raw emotion in them blowing you away. You wondered why you’d never seen it before. Stroking the side of your head with one hand, he pulled you into him once more, his lips finding yours again as he closed his wet eyes.

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips, nudging your nose with his. “I love you I love you I love you.” Breathless, he swallowed. “I love you...”

The dam had been broken, and now all he he wanted to do was say what he’d been holding back for so long.

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as you stared at him, his grip on your waist growing tighter as you felt yourself shake.

“P-please, don’t play with my feelings. Minho- Please, I can’t take it. Do you...do you really mean it?” You choked out, still in disbelief, even as he cupped your cheek, eyes boring into yours.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You shook your head, wiping your wet cheek as you sat up a little. Getting off him, your eyes drifted up to the river as you turned around. The water was still, the moonlight reflecting off of it.

He sat up as well, watching as the light breeze tousled your hair.

“I...Minho.”

“Mm?” He said, heart still pounding. He knew it was selfish of him...but he wanted to hear you say it, too. Yes, it was hypocritical, considering how long it had taken him to finally confess, but he couldn’t help it.

“I lied before. I mean...I lied about lying.” You groaned, struggling to formulate your words. “What I’m trying to say is...I’m in love with you too. And I have been for the better part of two years.”

A torrent of emotions rushed into him as he blinked rapidly, unable to comprehend it for a second. It should have been happiness, mainly, but there was also this heavy sense of hurt and guilt gripping him. So all the pain that had been caused over the past few weeks...it was all for nothing. The two of you had hurt each other over and over again, unaware of your true feelings. If only either of you had the courage to say something...all the heartache could have been avoided.

“Y-you are?”

“Yeah.” You sniffed, back still facing him. He watched as your body quivered, slowly realizing that you’d been through the same anguish as him...and for longer.

Shifting a little closer, he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. For...for everything.”

“I am, too.”

You turned slightly, breathing in as you made eye contact with him. Staring at each other, you felt the weight on your heart disappear completely. Calmness filling the two of you as the once-unspoken truths lingered in the air around you, electricity sparking as you turned to face him completely.

You watched as his gaze drifted down from your eyes to your lips, his tongue darting out ever so subtly as his gaze turned heavier.

He leaned in, lips hovering over you.

“Tell me. Again.” He whispered, bottom lip brushing against yours as he surveyed your face, eyes turning darker.

“I l-love you.”

He growled in satisfaction, his lips claiming yours quickly. You whimpered as he pulled you onto his lap, his insistent lips parting your shaking ones as his tongue gently met yours.

Neither of you could help it. He was consumed with an ardent need to show you just how much he loved you. Minho had never been good with words...but there were other ways to prove one’s sincerity. Slowly making out, the two of you completely forgot how to breathe as the sweet fear from before melted away, surrendering completely to the passion. His hands were all over you, squeezing your skin, touching you as if you’d disintegrate at any moment.

“Minho...”

He gazed up at you, the ardor in his eyes catching you off guard as you opened your mouth to speak, hesitating.

“Promise to me...that we won’t ever hurt each other again. That we’ll...we’ll spend the rest of our life together, no matter what happens. Please.”

“Y/n...I don’t think I can let you go. You’re mine and I’m yours. We’re meant to be. I just wish it hadn’t taken me this long to realize. I wish I hadn’t turned into the one person I’m most afraid of. I’ve always feared history repeating itself...tried my best to avoid it. But here I am, hurting the girl I love.”

He sucked in air, eyes closing as he tried to drive away the bad memories.

“I won’t deny that you hurt me, but it’s not like I was much better. We both made mistakes, Minho. I’m prepared to make up for them, though. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, if you’ll let me.”

You traced your finger over his cheek as he spoke. “I guess neither of us are perfect.”

You nodded. “I love you, Minho. All of you, including your flaws. I wanna take every part of you, and...I w-want you to do the same for me.”

He gave you a weak smile, kissing you yet again. He just couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your soft, wet mouth moving against his own...the feeling of being able to kiss you without any residual apprehension. It made him feel light-headed, your hot tongue sliding against his...the sensation causing him to groan against your lips as he adjusted you on his lap.

You pulled away to breathe. Minho’s eyes were already too far gone...and as you shifted slightly, you felt his thick bulge brush up against your core, softly gasping.

“N-need you, Y/n.” He breathed, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes welled up further. “If you’ll allow me...please, wanna claim you as mine...”

He really didn’t have to beg. Just the sight of him, breathless and wanting, sent sparks shooting through you. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

You let your lips trail down to his jawline, kissing along it. You hoped you could convey every inexplicable emotion you were feeling through each kiss you laid on his skin.

He caressed your back as you continued your ministrations, relaxing slightly. However, after a few minutes of you sucking tenderly down his neck, his impatience grew, and you could tell by the way he kept bucking his hips intermittently.

In a second, he rolled over so he was on top, admiring the way your face shone in the dim glow of the lights, hair splayed out on the grass. You looked so beautiful under him. He wanted to appreciate you even more, but the hardness between his thighs was making him increasingly aggravated.

Needing to be inside your warmth, his hand founds its way under your skirt, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clothed clit. He let out a moan as he felt how wet you were, delighting in the fact that it was all for him.

He stroked you through your underwear, eyes fixed on you. Your mouth was slightly open, eyes fluttering closed as you whimpered, needing more.

“Minho, please...” You spread your thighs apart a little more, hoping he would give you what you wanted. He leaned in, nibbling on your ear as he pushed your panties to the side. His fingers dragged through your slick folds, collecting as much wetness as he could before lifting his fingers to your mouth. You immediately parted your lips, sucking on his fingers as you squirmed, his tongue laving your earlobe.

“Kitten...” He whispered in your ear, the breathy neediness from before replaced with a cool confidence as he settled into his role. “So needy for me, even though we’re just a few minutes away from your childhood home...are you that desperate for my cock?”

You mewled, his words turning you on even more as he groaned, lifting off of you to scan your face. Your eyes drifted downwards, the sight of his concealed erection making you lick your lips.

“Wanna...wanna taste you...”

Minho’s eyes glinted, burning with fervor as he observed you, incandescent with desire. He’d never seen you like this before.

“Alright, kitten...”

He got off you, moving so that he was leaning against the tree’s trunk next to you. You turned slightly, fiddling with his zipper as you took his cock out, almost too eagerly. You got on all fours, pulling down his boxers to free his length.

Holding his girth in your hand, you admired it for a second before bending down and licking his slit tentatively, the taste of his pre-cum making you shudder. His hand smoothed down your back, lifting your dress and pulling down your panties just enough for him to access your core. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, shivering as his middle finger circled your puckered rim a few times before drifting down to your pussy.

You sucked on his tip, loving the way he tasted. You were glad you were fully sober this time, and in the right head-space to truly see, feel and taste him. Swirling your tongue around him, you moaned as he slid two fingers into your heat.

Minho grunted, the feeling of your warm walls clenching around his fingers combined with your wet tongue running repeatedly over his slit making him snap. He shoved his cock into your mouth, catching you by surprise. Groans left him as the pleasure washed over him, the speed of his fingers driving into your pussy increasing in time with his thrusts into your mouth.

You whined as he took his fingers out of you, pulling you gently off his cock. His eyes darkened even more as he admired your fucked out features, strings of drool and pre-cum connecting his tip to your mouth.

“You’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to finally be able to call you mine.”

You blushed, heart palpitating as you got on his lap again, hand wrapping around his cock. Minho placed his hands on your hips, pulling you forward a little so that your clit was pressed right up against his shaft.

“Wanna fill you up.” He mumbled, mouthing at your neck. “Make you mine.”

He lifted you up slightly, aligning your entrance with his tip.

“He didn’t...didn’t fuck you, did he?”

You shook your head, watching as Minho’s eyes flashed, satisfied with the answer. He entered you steadily, his cock filling you up deliciously. You let out a soft moan, feeling him slide deeper as you lowered yourself completely.

His fingers came up to your waist, pulling you against him, your cheek on his shoulder as he muttered obscenities.

“Good. This pussy belongs to me, and only me. Along with the rest of you.”

You whined helplessly, inaudibly agreeing as Minho chose that very moment to thrust up into you.

“You’re so beautiful. So breathtaking. Nothing- fuck, nothing can compare to this...” He mumbled, hiking your skirt up and clutching at your ass as he started making love to you, his pace steady yet deep.

It was different from the first time.

For one, this time you were fully aware of each other, senses flooded with love and pain and relief. He took it slow, loving the way your pussy sucked in his cock, plunging his length into you powerfully, each thrust sending rumbles of pleasure through your body.

Minho took his hands off your ass, gripping at the hem of your sweater as he continued rolling his hips into yours. He slid it up your torso and over your boobs, making you blush as his eyes fixated on your chest.

“Gorgeous.” He whispered, eyes darting up to meet yours as he leaned in to suck on your nipple, tongue dragging over your bud. Pressing kisses all over your chest, he kept fucking up into you.

“M-Minho...you feel so- fuck,”

He let go of your nipple with a pop, making you shudder as the cold air hit your wet bud.

“Are you going to cum, baby?”

“Mm.”

“Cum for me.” He purred, suddenly standing up, still inside you. Turning around, he pressed your back to the tree trunk gently, driving his cock slightly faster and burying his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel wetness against your neck, realizing belatedly that they were Minho’s tears. You couldn’t blame him...there were tears filling your eyes as well.

“I love you so much, Y/n.” He breathed, pulling away after a while to look at you. You nodded, hands drifting to tug at his hair. “I love you too Minho. In a way that words can’t express- ah~”

You whimpered, feeling the pleasure build in your lower half. Minho’s eyes instantly turned darker, any vulnerability in them lost as he focused on making you cum.

You felt the head of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot, each thrust drawing out long, breathless whines from you. You felt so full, his cock so thick inside you, filling you up the way it was meant to.

“Angel- I’m c-close...” He grunted, twitching inside you as he pressed his lips to yours once again, biting on your swollen bottom lip as he pinched your nipple gently. The sharp pleasure caused the final wave that pushed you over the edge- you hit your high with Minho’s name hot on your tongue.

He followed not long after, pounding into you now. You clenched around him, still in the throes of your orgasm as you incoherently repeated his name.

He slammed into you one last time before filling you up with his cum, throwing his head back as he came.

“You feel like...like heaven, Y/n...” He gasped out, supporting you with one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

Eyes drifting down, he noticed the way his cum was leaking out from around his cock with a groan. Unable to control himself, he fucked his cum back into you, head dropping as you whimpered at the overstimulation.

Satisfied, he pulled out, tucking himself back in. He set you down, chuckling as your legs wobbled. He caught you before you could collapse, dragging you down to the grass with him.

“I take it you can’t walk back home right away.”

You laughed weakly, shaking your head. “No. Wanna stay here with you for a while.”

He hummed in content. “Okay.” He wrapped his arms around you. “Oh...I almost forgot about this.” He grinned, grabbing the basket from your side and pulling out two sandwiches.

Your eyes widened in recognition as you took one from him.

“These are the same ones I made that day...though I thought we agreed peanut butter and apricot jam just doesn’t cut it.”

“Shut up, it’s for nostalgic purposes.” He laughed, taking a bite and immediately screwing up his face in disgust. “Blegh. Okay, fuck nostalgia...I should just have made Nutella.”

You giggled, watching as he dropped the sandwich back into the basket. You put yours back in too, twisting to face him.

“So...when did you do all this? Was that why you were missing?”

“I’ve wanted to confess to you for a while...I just didn’t know how to. It was just so scary.”

“Yeah. Trust me, I know.”

He stroked your hair, sighing. “The day after your thirteenth birthday party, we came here like we usually do. I realized that day, my feelings for you went beyond what one should typically feel for a best friend. I just...chose to repress them, because I was scared you didn’t feel the same.” He cupped your cheek, exhaling.

“I thought if I recreated the scene from that day, I’d finally have the confidence to confess. The fairy lights were a last minute addition, though. I just thought it’d be more...romantic.” He smiled awkwardly.

“Well, it really is.” You returned his smile, tilting your head as you took him in. “I’m still sorry about the things I said to you.”

“I am, too. I hate myself for all the pain I’ve caused you...but I’m ready now. Ready to be someone who deserves your love.” He tucked your hair behind your ear again, smiling at you.

“Your mom helped a lot.” He laughed. You gritted your teeth, snorting. “Yeah, I could kinda tell. She doesn’t usually invite me over this spontaneously.”

You were interrupted by Minho’s stomach growling.

“I guess we have to go home...I think I feel a little better now, actually.” You sat up a little, getting to your feet shakily. He got up with you, hands steadying you.

“You sure?” He smirked, holding onto your wrist.

You nodded firmly. “Come on. I’m craving homemade food.”

***

You sat in your too-small childhood bed that night with Minho, who was flipping through one of the scrapbooks the two of you had made years ago.

He pointed to a picture of 8 year old you with a baby doll, chuckling lowly. “I bet your mother would love for you to recreate this one, but with an actual baby instead of a doll. I could make that happen.”

You glared at him, shoving his shoulder.

As soon as you’d walked through the door, holding hands with Minho, your mom had been all over the two of you, cooing and asking about grand-kids already. You knew she meant well, but it was still so fucking embarrassing.

You looked up at Minho, pausing as you saw his eyes turning darker.

“Why not, though? You’d be a great mother. I know I’d love to fill you up with my seed one day and get you pregnant...see your belly all swollen with my child...”

You meekly avoided eye contact, his words affecting you in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“M-maybe one day. I don’t know how I feel about having a mini-you running around, though. I already suffer with just one of you.”

He laughed, slowly trailing off as his face turned serious, a sadness settling itself in his eyes as he turned away.

“We’d take such good care of it...” He gulped. “I d-don’t know how good I’ll be at parenting...but I know I’d try my best to be a good father. The kind a child deserves.”

You looked at him, heart clenching as you took his hand.

“You’ll be an amazing father. I know it.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, placing the book on your bed side table, and getting under the covers with you. He turned off the table lamp.

Pulling you close, Minho kissed you for the last time that night. You felt the warmth in your body spread...your heart finally content, safe in his arms.

“It’ll be okay...” He mumbled, fingers gently running through your hair, watching as you drifted off to sleep due to the soothing action.

“As long as you’re by my side, everything will be okay.”

***

( Note: Ah, finally. This series is over. :’( I’m so thankful to everyone who stuck with this till now, and enjoyed it. There were times when I wanted to scrap it, especially because I was getting hate for it at one point? Anyway, I hope those anons are happy now. And my lovely readers, I hope the ending was satisfying enough. Love you all. )

***

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