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#i love how detailed the tear scars are

slasherhaven · 4 months

Note

Slashers with a significant other who is a cam girl and wants them to be in one of their videos? 💃

2 posts in 2 days who do I think I am? See ya'll in a year! /j

CW: NSFW

You do Cam Work and Ask the Slashers to be in your Videos:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is pretty conservative when it come to sex and such, but he's come around to your cam work, especially since you let him help with the details.

You like when he picks what you were or what scene you might do. You made Thomas feel like a part of it and that made him comfortable with it.

Still, he's very surprised when you ask if he wants to do a video with you. He refuses immediately and you respect that.

You ask again a while later but with more details. Like nobody would know who he was, you would keep his face out of the shot, and the two of you will do whatever he is comfortable with.

Your first video with him is of you riding him. His head isn't in the shot but the rest of his frame is. The size difference goes hard and your audience agrees.

Thomas is a flustered mess when you sit to read with comments with him. Everyone is talking about the new man in your video, gushing about how big he is and how attentive he is. Even with his size it seems your audience could sense his gentle soul, commenting on the chemistry you both have and how they would love to see him again!

Thanks to all the lovely comments, Thomas agrees to do another video even if he doesn't see himself putting his face on camera any time soon.

Michael Myers

Michael honestly does not care that you do cam work.

When you first ask him to be in a video, he pretty much ignores it.

But when you ask again some time later he doesn't see why not.

As long as his face isn't in the video or anything, you can film it, he doesn't really care.

The videos you make with him afterwards are pretty similar to your first video with him.

Usually you bent over while Michael fucks you to tears.

Michael is barely in the shot most of the time. Sometimes it just a close up on you, other times it includes Michael but only ever getting at high as his chest.

Everyone is obsessed with your mystery man. Where did he come from? What was that scar from? Can we see more of him please!!!

Jason Voorhees

We all know that Jason's comfort levels with sex is extremely low and it takes a while for him to become comfortable with physical intimacy. So cam work is certainly going to take some time for him to come around to.

And once he's become more comfortable with that, it's going to take a whole lot longer before he feels comfortable being in a video.

When he does decide to give it a go, he is a real hit!

He refuses to show his face on camera and you do whatever it takes to make sure he is as comfortable as possible.

Before Jason says you can use his name in videos and descriptions, your audience referred to him as 'the gentle giant', which is completely accurate!

No matter your usual content, Jason is nothing but gentle with you when he's in a video.

Brahms Heelshire

Watches your videos over and over again, he loves them. He'll watch you record them and watch them later once you've posted them. He can't get enough.

He's already got his pants off when you ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. You end up fucking even though you're not filming it.

He actually doesn't have much of a problem with having his face on camera. He's still a little insecure about his facial burns but you have alleviated most of that by this point.

And after the first video and he reads all those positive comments. Some are as horny for him as they are for you.

Fully embraces his new pornstar identity. He's insufferable.

He'll be in any video you want and your audience love watching you take care of your needy brat.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is in fully support of your work, it brings some money in and he gets to watch your videos. Even if his possessiveness still often gets the better of him. Whenever he reads comments of people praising you, Bo has an insatiable need to bend you over something just to prove a point.

Gets all cocky and arrogant when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

Needless to say, he agrees to do it.

And he takes to it pretty easily. He knows how to get all of his favourite reactions from you, how to get you pleading and begging for him, and he wants everyone watching to know.

Bo is arrogant and always smirking when the camera is on but it performs well.

He likes to how the camera and film himself entering you. He really does have a terrible ego.

Vincent Sinclair

It gets Vincent flustered, he could admit that, but he appreciates the artistic side of it all. It takes more effort and consideration than one might think!

He likes helping you get ready for a video and taking care of you afterwards.

He's hesitant when you first ask if he wants to be in a video. A part of him wants to do it with you but he's not confident enough in himself.

But he loves making you feel good and at this point he knows he's good at it, so he gives it a try. You can film them without posting them after all, like practise runs.

He may never show his face but he doesn't mind having his body on camera. Sometimes he even just hides his face with his hair instead of keeping his head out of the shot completely.

On Vincent's more self-conscious days, he'll film close ups of him fingering you instead.

He's very good with his hands and your audience agrees. They are very jealous of you.

Lester Sinclair

Lester is pretty neutral on your work, but of course he absolutely loves your videos.

He's mostly just surprised and flustered when you first ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. He thinks you're perfect so he understands why people would want to watch you, but he doesn't really see why people would want to watch him.

But he still agrees to it because he's your biggest supporter!!!

Your audience love the chemistry and intimacy between you both, leaving comments about how real your videos feel.

The videos that perform best are usually the ones where the two of you forgot you were even filming, just giggling together and enjoying each other. Lester gets all nervous and shy when the camera turns on, which is adorable, but forgetting that the camera is there really does help him perform better, the sweetheart.

Your audience love your more thought out and planned videos but appreciate the occasional more relaxed video with your sweet boyfriend.

Bubba Sawyer

Super flustered by your work but he's supportive.

Is super surprised and nervous when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

He agrees to give it a try once you explain that you can always delete it and nobody has to see it if he changes his mind or doesn't like it.

Bubba is just a big sweetie really, and you know just how to turn him into a squirming, blubbering mess.

And your audience love to watch you do it!

In later video's you do, you use the viewers' comments to fluster him even further. Using all the kindest and sweetest comments that say how lovely he is .

Come on, Bubs, they love you, they're being so nice. Why don't you say thank you?

Billy Lenz

Billy loves watching your videos and when you ask if he wants to be in a video with you, he is so excited!

He's completely down to make some home videos but he's a little unsure about putting it online for other people to see.

So you make it so his face isn't visible and let him watch the final edit before uploading it. He thinks it's so hot, he can't say no.

Honestly, you could do really well with just audios alone though. People will go wild for it. Billy unable to keep his mouth shut, all those desperate moans and whines and noises, the sticky wet slapping of skin. Honestly, a video element is just a bonus at this point.

And who gets off to the video the most? Billy obviously!

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Asa monitors your accounts anyway, even if you don't know it. He wants to know what you're posting and how people are responding. Don't want any bullies or trolls, right?

He's probably tried to manipulate you into suggesting it anyway.

He doesn't have much of a problem with your cam work, he's just a possessive bastard and would love to claim you in front of your entire audience.

The mask stays on!

Okay, he designs a new mask to avoid any chance of self criminalisation but whatever.

You two can make it big in BDSM communities.

Ties you up, blindfolds you, gags you. Whatever he feels like, but often seems to focus the camera on your reactions rather than on what he is doing to you. Studying his favourite little specimen.

Your audience already adored you of course, but they also love this new Dom you brought it.

There is no doubt as to who you belong to now.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Obviously Jesse has no problem with being on camera and he already has a pretty big ego, so he'll probably even wear the Chromeskull mask. It's his signature whether it's for his snuff films or your cam work.

Like Asa, you do absolute numbers in the BDSM community. Everyone is very pleased with his fully suited up, masked Dom that you brought in.

He already has his Chromeskull persona all fleshed out so he just brings that energy to your videos.

He's a sadistic Dom and you might have to upload an Aftercare video at some point just to reassure your more loyal audience that you're alright and always well taken care of afterwards.

Otis Driftwood

Is obviously a fan of your videos and isn't going to stop you from making them. You aren't actually fucking anyone else, so he's cool with it. And if he feels particularly jealous or possessive at some point, he knows he's the only one who can actually pin you down and have his way with you.

Oh yeah, he's down to make a few videos with you. He's probably got some old tapes of his own somewhere, long forgotten. He's not shy.

Says the filthiest shit, it kinda becomes his think on your platform.

Otis can be absolutely disgusting but, fortunately, there is an audience for that and they flood to your videos.

Calls you all sorts of names, asks you if you get off on knowing everyone is going to watch him fuck you. That everyone is going to see all the things you let him do to you.

Baby Firefly

Baby loves that you do cam work, she loves performing. She happily does your hair and makeup, she helps you pick out costumes and which toys you'll use in that video.

Hell, she's even filmed a video or two for you!

She's your number one supporter so of course she jumps on camera as soon as you ask if she wants to be in a video.

The two of you are all dolled up and she's magnetic, the audience love her as much as they love you.

The two of you are absolute menaces if you decide to do a livestream, pulling in huge donations because Baby is going to pout and taunt. Why should the two of you put on a show if they're not showing their appreciation properly?

Baby is the type to respond to very low donations with "it's alright, you can just say you're poor". She never promised to play nice and she just thinks you're worth more than that!!!

You end up apologising for her.

People are into it though.

Yautja (Predator)

Your mate doesn't quite get it but he's cool with it.

Is hard as soon as you ask if he wants to be in a video. Yautja's aren't very conservative or prudish when it comes to sex and nudity, so you weren't too surprised.

He loves the thought of taking you, of claiming you, and everyone knowing that you're his mate. That he's a worthy mate for you.

Even when he's a regular feature in your videos, he doesn't completely understand it, he just knows he's into it.

Everyone loves to watch you try to take him fully, the struggle, the determination, the satisfaction when you manage it.

You have cornered the Monster Fucker market. They don't know if it's real, if it's a very elaborate costume, or very realistic animation, either way they are eating it up.

All the other performers who use alien dildos and such are super jealous, obviously.

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keto-keyes · 2 months

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Slytherins with a non!Deatheater S/O

Imagine/preference

The Slytherins are down bad for their partners. So how do they rip off the band aid and break the news that secretly, they're all bad?

Mattheo Riddle:

We all know he's a bad boy with a bad attitude

...except around his S/O

He doesn't try to hide the blood on his hands, but uses the excuse "I was protecting you"

He does actually do it to protect you, don't worry

His dad threatens to end you if he refuses to do his Deatheater duties

So he makes sure to keep you around him whenever he can to make sure you can't get hurt

Our boy stresses the heck out whenever you get even the smallest bit injured

It might start fights sometimes between the two of you, but you KNOW this mamas boy would never lay a hand on you in the wrong way

If you try to join, he discourages it

He doesn't want to psychologically scar you

lots of time together whenever he can kick his dad outta his mind

Then he holds you tight like he's gonna lose you

Don't ever stop loving this man, alright?

Tom Riddle:

It's kinda impossible for you not to know about his...situation

It's all anybody talks about when you're around

But he only wants to protect you

So he makes sure to keep you distracted whenever he must get the job done

He'll take you dancing, or go shopping afterwards

sometimes you might need to clean him up after a scuffle

he lets you, but only if you promise not to ask how he got the injuries

His dad also threatens him with losing you and he could never be complete without his S/O safely in his arms

if somehow you get tangled in his mess of deatheater-ness, he will sacrifice EVERYTHING for you

his only thought is to keep you safe

Theodore Nott:

He doesn't tell you he's a Deatheater until you meet his friends

That's right, he didn't let you meet his friends

not at first

after you meet them, it's kinda like momentum until he finally tells you he's a deatheater

he definitely expects you to hate his ass, but you don't so he's hopeful

he smokes to forget all the horrible things he does.

he does it more once he finally confesses, but tries not to when you're around.

dw, his stoic attitude when you ask him about being a deatheater isn't him being uncaring

he just forgot how to feel remorse after being a human murder weapon for so long.

it's like torture for him, and he hates it

So care for him please, as best you possibly can

Draco Malfoy:

He's probably the most affected by the deatheater thing

If you're dating him, either you're younger than him or your families are close.

So you know all about the deatheater thing

he pretends having a dangerous father is a good thing

like, he can destroy draco's enemies in an instant,

but... he could also force you to join Voldemort, and that's something that can never happen.

you have to either be holding his hand or his cheek AT ALL TIMES,

otherwise his anxiety causes him to start shaking

he'll whisper all his worries as he weeps himself to sleep, and sometime you catch him doing it

his dad only protected him for so long, now it's your turn

Blaise Zabini:

He doesn't talk about it

ever

even when you two have been dating for a while, he doesn't mention it

it's not your problem, it's his

and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible

he's afraid telling you will somehow lead to Voldemort knowing, and holding it against him

especially since the only thing Voldemort's actually threatening him with is death. extremely painful death.

so he doesn't even mention it.

you know though. you know how painful killing and torturing is for him.

it tears him apart, almost to the point where he wants to smoke with theo

sometimes he wishes desperately that he could tell you everything, but he's scared you would be in danger.

so he stays quiet and lets the anguish build

he doesn't crack. ever

he stays stoic and silent. caring

Pansy Parkinson:

she doesn't like to bother you with the gorey details,

but sometimes they slip out

she breaks down all the time. it's traumatising

but she can't really articulate what she feels

so she just cries as you hold her to your chest/side

yeah, idk i didn't really have any ideas for pansy

Lorenzo Berkshire:

he may be a little flouncy at times, but he cares about your wellbeing enough to protect you

its his main goal in life

so he tries to keep himself between you and the others for as long as possible. like theo

its less of a "you don't need to know them"

and more of a "what? other people? who needs people when I'm your cute bf?" while waving his hands in front of you so you focus on him

he lets you wash his cuts for him

and do his hair in consolidation for not being by your side for a few hours.

Voldemort really can't touch enzo without hurting you.

So he keeps his mouth shut about it a lot.

sweet boy livin in a cruel world, what can i say

#draco malfoy #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #tom riddle #theodore nott #tom riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #blaise x reader #pansy parkinson #draco x reader

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mandomaterial · 9 months

Text

Jasper Hale dating headcanons

- this man is definitely, definitely still very old school, very chivalrous and a western gentle man. Stuff like opening doors, kissing your hand and leading you on his arm is a must.

- This man loves showing and teaching you new things 100%. Oh you’ve never really played baseball?, hell show you exactly how to hold the bat and hit the ball with precision. Hell stand behind yo, his arms wrapped around your body, his hand pressing to to yours as Alice pitched the ball, it came at such speed and you were a little frightened, but he led the movements with ease.

- He definitely takes you to a ranch to show you how to ride a horse, western of course. You’re sitting in front of him on the sturdy leather saddle as he’s handing you the reigns, his ands moving to your waist instead. He’s giving you detailed instructions as he gives the horse a little nudge with his heel. He tells you to softly pull the leather straps in the direction you want to go and the horse follows, he’s definitely praising you every chance he gets.

- He definitely has a thing for keeping you close, always holding your hand, or resting or around your waist, he wont allow you out of his weight until he bids you good night at your window. By the way, he’s definitely no as creepy as Edward by watching you sleep. Jasper definitely respects your space and leaves the second you give him a kiss good night. Thats unless you ask him to stay, then he’ll gladly lay down with you, cuddling you close but making sure that you’re always covered with a blanket so that you wouldn’t freeze while laying in his arms.

- Jasper will show you his battle scars once he’s sure that you’re ready and of course you’re a little shocked, but at least now you know why he always wears long sleeves. He allows you to grace them with your soft warm fingers as you ask questions about them, of course he answers truthfully, having come to terms with them a long time ago. He even tells you about Maria and her army, but what he didn’t expect was that you’d start crying, big round tears rolling over your chest. He coos and takes you into his arms, comforting you and telling you that he’s alright all while you’re whining about the story being unfair and sad, he cant help but smile.

- He definitely introduced himself to your family as on as your relationship got serious, you couldn’t stop him from meeting your father and making himself known in your family. Unexpectedly, your father actually liked him, he could tell that he wasn’t just going to keep you round short term but that he’d planned his future around you, going as far as to ask your father for his approval of the relationship.

- Jasper definitely knows how to play the guitar, i mean, he’s a cowboy? Hell play anything and everything for you, in his room , at the beach, in school or anywhere you want. He’ll definitely attempt to teach you at least a few songs so that the two if you could duet, but he soon finds that you rather enjoy watching him instead of playing yourself, swaying softly to the tunes and humming along.

- Jasper defiantly takes it slow with you, just like a true old-school gentle man. He’ll kiss your hand whenever he picks you up and he’ll drive you to a secluded romantic spot, the beach for example, hell sit down with you and just bask in your presence, he’ll kiss you, sure, smiling every second and laughing with you at the awkwardness, only to kiss you again. He really does love you.

#jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper hale x reader #jasper Whitlock x reader #x reader fluff #x reader #jasper x reader fluff #jasper hale x reader fluff #twilight fluff #twilight #twilight x reader #fluff #jasper teaching baseball #jasper hale baseball #jasper fluff #jasper x reader #jasper

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fieldofdaisiies · 4 months

Text

Lucien…

Lucien curling his arm around your shoulders, his eyes closing, drawing in a deep inhale, humming, "This is where you belong. Right here. In my arms."

Lucien, leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised teasingly, drawling, "Needy?"

Lucien grinning, "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss too."

Lucien, guiding you by your hips while you are on top, panting, "Fuck, just like that, little fox. Making me feel so good."

Lucien, kissing your hair, saying, "You smell like a breath of fresh air."

Lucien, titing your chin up with his index and middle finger while you kneels on the ground in front in him, drawling, "That’s my good girl."

Lucien growling, "You’re mine and now let everyone hear it," while he pushes into the hilt.

Lucien, his thumb stroking over your chin, the tip of his length positioned at your entrance, saying in a sensual voice, "Open up my little fox, let me make you feel good."

Lucien whimpering and groaning when you give him head.

Lucien yelping when you flick his hear after he teased you.

Lucien laughing from the bottom of his heart, the sound rich and pure, when you say something funny.

Lucien crying when talks about his past or when you share something emotional about your past.

Lucien whispering, "You are my mate," begore kissing you gently but nevertheless deeply.

Lucien, his hand holding your above your head, thrusting into you, growling, "Don’t hold back, let them hear you. Let them hear how good I make you feel."

Lucien, holding the door open for you, politely offering, "After you, my lady."

Lucien pulling out a chair for you, smiling and saying, "My lady."

Lucien, sitting on the bed in a sprawl, letting his gaze roam over you, commanding, "Strip!"

Lucien raising a brow when he scents your arousal, purring, "Is it my cock or my tongue that you want?"

Lucien smiling, "This flower field reminds me of you - never-ending beauty."

Lucien holding you in his arms, squeezing you tightly, mumbling "I love you. I love you so damn much."

Lucien, hoisting your legs over his shoulder, nose teasing your clit, tongue driving deep into you, groaning, "You taste absolutely divine, my mate."

Lucien holding out his hand out for you to grab, "Sunshine."

Lucien, brows arched in an almost cocky way when turning to you, sleeves rolled up, standing in a lake, a fish in his hand, smirking, "Impressed?"

Lucien dragging his thumb over your lower lip, pushing inside, smirking, "Such a pretty little mouth."

Lucien breathing hard and fighting the tears when you trace your index finger over his scar, telling him how beautiful he is.

Lucien kneeling between your thighs, gaze heated and trained on your centre, purring, "You’re always so wet for me."

Lucien thrusting into you from behind, fingers threaded into your hair, tilting your head back, growling, "Grab the headboard, little minx."

Lucien kissing your knuckles, saying, "You’re re perfect the way you are - I love everything about you, every small detail about you. I love you."

Lucien, admiring you and whispering to himself, "Truly the luckiest male alive."

#I escalated a little with Lulu #I just love him okay?#a lot #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #lucien x you #lucien vandaddy #acotar #acosf

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shadowdaddies · 2 months

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Ready for another azriel request??? I’m rereading the series right now so I’m BEGGING for some azriel action😭 I was thinking something a little angsty maybe azriel and the reader (obviously mated) get into an argument or he snaps at her or something like that (you can decide) and so she starts to distance herself and one day she gets attacked or kidnapped or something (again you can decide) and azriel is panicking and stuff. I just really want some groveling or begging or something idk. Ending with fluff obviously. Sorry all of my requests are long and detailed😭 thank you thooo❤️

hey love! I planned this out awhile ago but I've been busy with visiting family; thank you for the request as always💜

There With You

Azriel x Reader

warnings: reader is captured but no explicit torture, miscommunication trope

The rustling of leaves sounded to your right, hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at your hip as you and Azriel looked to the source of the noise.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding blew from your lips at the sight of the crow landing in the tree, dried Autumn leaves drifting to the ground beneath the creature.

Allowing your hand to drop from your weapon, you continued your walk through the wood, the distraction of the bird causing your misstep.

The branch underneath your boot cracked in an echo that seemed to silence the rest of the forest, the world growing eerily quiet around you for a moment. Azriel stood still as stone to your left, hazel eyes simmering with something akin to anger.

“You need to be more careful,” he murmured, voice as soft and cutting as the cool wind that whipped through the air. Holding back the sigh that aimed to leave your lips, you hissed through your teeth, gaze slicing to meet your mate’s.

“I stepped on a branch, Azriel,” you retorted, face growing heated at the awareness of how something as small as a snapping branch could blow your mission. Nonetheless, the condescension with which Az was speaking to you was enough to lead you to dig your heels in for this argument. “A cracked stick in the forest isn’t going to summon the entire Autumn Court,” you muttered bitterly.

A scarred hand took your arm in a gentle but firm grip. “You know well that we do not need to summon the High Court. A farmer looking to gain favor with Beron could see us. That is all it would take to destroy the mission...” he trailed off, removing his hand to drag it over his tired features.

“I told Rhys this was a bad strategy. He knows how much more difficult you make this,” your mate grumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stopped abruptly.

Azriel’s eyes widened, jaw dropping slightly as his head turned to you. Before he could speak, you raised a stiff hand, pausing him in his own tracks. “I make this difficult? I didn’t realize what a burden I am, Azriel.” The words spewed from you in a fountain of anger, welling up inside, hands clenched at your sides.

“Let’s go in different directions. We’ll cover ground more quickly, and we can find the book and get out of here... without making this anymore difficult for you,” you shot over your shoulder, shaking off the shadow that tried to keep you from walking away.

A soft huff sounded from behind you, betraying the feelings of guilt you could feel through the bond before you shut it off. Drawing your dagger, you angrily whacked at any branches and leaves that dared cross your path, stomping through the wood in search of the book Eris had taken from his father’s study for you.

Blinded by your anger, you missed the sound of soldiers being winnowed in behind you until it was too late. The rush of leaves on the wind perked your ears, but by the time that you turned to see one of the Vanserra brothers behind you with his guard, a circle of fire had engulfed you.

Walls of flame surrounded you, a dome of heat drawing the oxygen from your lungs as black spotted your vision. Opening the bond with your little remaining strength, you felt Azriel’s panic before losing consciousness.

~~~

You awoke in a damp room, dark save for the flickering fae light in the center of the cell. Head pounding you force your eyes to take in the cold, wet stone, the wall to which you are chained.

Mouth dry with thirst, your head bobs towards the creaking door, a vaguely familiar figure stepping through it. “Keep this closed. We don’t need anyone above hearing what happens in here.” Dark laughter sounded from the guards as they dutifully closed the heavy door.

The moment the bar slid into the lock, amber eyes shot to you, Eris’s voice laced with concern as he spoke. “Where is Azriel?” he demanded, a soft hand cupping your jaw as he helped you focus on him.

Swallowing thickly, you gazed up at the flaming red hair, burning whiskey eyes that demanded an answer that you wouldn’t, couldn’t give. “We split to cover more ground quickly,” you muttered, a half-truth. “We were struggling to find the book you left for us.”

The last part came out as a hiss, Eris’s hand dropping from you as though burned by your words. Any sign of pity left his expression, the mask of Autumn Lord slipping on easily. “Of course he would struggle with such simple instructions,” he drawled, looking down at you, a cat toying with a mouse.

An exasperated huff of laughter escaped you at the male bravado. “If you could discard whatever issue exists between you two for one moment,” you shot back, “I would appreciate some assistance - perhaps some context - to our current situation.”

Yanking on the chains for emphasis, your expression turned from teasing to paled at Eris’s grim reaction. The Lord’s lips thinned as he blew out a quiet breath, golden eyes searching the thick walls of the room before he dared to speak.

“I cannot let you escape under my watch,” he muttered, a hand running through the deep red of his hair, gears turning in his head. “Azriel knows where you are. I have asked one of my more... inept brothers, to guard you while I arrange a meeting with my father.”

Flames danced in his eyes, searing intensity reminding you of Eris’s power when he turned to you. “If any harm comes to my younger brother, be assured that your mate will regret ever crossing the boundary into my Court.”

Something sparked inside of you at his words, the intensity with which Eris defended his family. Respect welled deep inside of you, breath short as you nodded. “I will keep your family safe, Eris,” you breathed, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips as his features softened under the comfort of your promise.

“Make sure your bond is open so that he can sense you,” Eris directed, turning on his heel to leave. You did as he said, opening your bond as you reached out in any direction for where Azriel might be. Eris’s steps halted for a moment, a sharp catch in his breath before he shook his head, hand lifting to knock on the cell door.

Eris didn’t bother to look back when he strode through the archway, graceful steps leading him from the depths of your enclosure. One guard flashed his yellow teeth in a grin that sent disgust through you, your middle finger struggling to angle in response before he slammed the door.

No sooner had the dust settled from the sliding entryway than shadows swirled in front of you, Azriel materializing in the darkness. Your mate collapsed to the ground in front of you, his knees hitting stone as wings sagged behind him.

“I am so sorry,” he choked out, hazel eyes glowing with unshed tears in the dim light, “I failed you.” Your heart cleaved in two at his statement, shaking your head vigorously as you fought to keep your own emotions in check.

“Azriel, you didn’t fail me. I am the one who left, who makes things difficult...” you swallowed at those words, shame overwhelming at the thought of holding back your mate, your Court.

Panic was etched across Azriel’s features as he reached for your chains, regret and love flowing through the bond. “No,” he ground out, “that is not what I meant.” His forehead rested against yours, slick with sweat as the shackles broke free.

A scarred hand found your cheek, the outside world ceasing to exist as Azriel’s gaze focused on you. “I am a fool,” he murmured. “I meant to say that missions with you are difficult because you are all that I can focus on, you are all that I care about. I am the burden, because I would throw away any mission, any Court, any world to keep you safe.”

His throat worked, voice thick as his lashes wetted with tears. “And yet I still failed you, still nearly lost you because of my own inability-“

Arms wrapping around him, you ignored your wrists, sore from the shackles, in favor of twining your hands at the nape of your mate’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Love and admiration flowed both ways through your connection, and despite everything, you couldn’t fight the smile you offered Azriel.

“You are not, and have never been a failure, Azriel. You are my love, my perfect mate, and I should have stayed to communicate instead of trying to prove myself to the one person who I know I don’t have anything to prove to.”

Azriel nodded, a beautiful smile stretching across his lips as he lifted you into his arms. “You are perfect. And I am sorry that I ever let you forget it,” he whispered, sweeping you into a pool of shadows as he transported you out of the dungeons.

Once more you were surrounded by the crisp air of the Autumn Forest, the moonlight shining down on the babbling brook as you walked hand-in-hand with your mate. “We still have to find the book,” you noted, bumping Azriel’s shoulder in playful reminder.

He laughed softly, hand reaching into the side pocket of his leathers to pull out a small leather-bound journal, waving it in the air. “Found it just as I heard the Autumn soldiers,” he grimaced, eyes shuttering at the memory.

Your hand found his arm, giving a reassuring squeeze as you leaned your head against him, quiet comfort settling over the two of you.

“Let’s head home, then,” you whispered. “I could use a warm bath.” You felt Azriel’s lips press against your hair, strong arms scooping you up effortlessly.

Azriel’s warm breath tickled your neck, shadows dancing as the Autumn Court began to fade around you, darkness swallowing the landscape. “As long as I get to be there with you.”

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bouncybongfairy · 2 months

Note

I really loved reading your Zuko Freezer Burn fic! I wanted to request one where Zuko doesn't believe reader could ever love him until she risks her life to save him. Smut in the end is appreciated

Believe Me Now?

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader

Summary: After narrowly missing getting a scar to match Zuko's after he nearly engulfed the ship, the two of you have a heart to heart. Both of you letting your feelings and insecurities known. The sudden flood of vulnerability and reassurance leads to things getting intense.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Smut.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Zuko was currently in a private meeting with Iroh, trying to calculate the best route for the latest lead on the Avatar. You were sitting in the room the two of you shared on the ship. Cleaning the room, folding clothes among other things. Even though you were a bit ignorant of all the little details of hunting the Avatar, you could see it slowly chipping away at Zuko. He was more ornery, the smallest things setting him off. It was evident that he was becoming impatient, longing for his old life. You resented this at times, why wasn’t the life you were building together enough to satisfy him? Of course it was only naturally from him to want that royal status back. That’s what made you the most insecure; the one thing he wanted more than anything was also the only thing you can’t give him. He bursted into the room, face red and sweat dripping down his forehead.

“I’m so tired of being out maneuvered!” he groaned loudly, slamming the door shut.

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

He sat on the bed, fists balled up and resting on his knees. You rubbed his back, trying your best to calm him down. This wasn’t working, if anything he was becoming more enraged. His mind was snowballing, unable to accept another defeat. Standing up again, making his way out of the room and to the fire room. Where coal was shoved into the furnaces, which powered the ship. Muttering and groaning about how slow we were traveling. Roughly throwing shovel fulls and then shooting fire to ignite them. There were barrels of blasting jelly, normally stored at a safe distance from the heat. Zuko however, shoving large amounts of coal while blasting practically white hot flames was becoming at risk. You were trying to warn him, yelling his name hoping to break him out of this fit. Even you were starting to feel the heat building in the room.

“Zuko stop!” you scream, wanting to get closer but, the heat was burning your skin. You could barely see due to how bright the flames were.

Not being able to stand his self destructive behavior, reaching through the hot sting and grabbing his shoulder. One of the barrels ends up catching fire, sending both of you stumbling back as it combusted. Flames began covering the room, slightly disoriented he grabs your arm and pulls you towards the exit. Soldiers were running in, trying their best to extinguish the blaze. The ship was badly damaged, to the extent of evacuating onto a sister ship nearby. Iroh was pissed at Zuko, especially after seeing the burns on your wrist and shoulder. His uncle was lecturing him the entire boat ride there. You were giving him the cold shoulder, fed up with his anger issues. A bottomless hole that no amount of reassurance and comfort could fill. You could tell he wasn’t listening to Iroh, more just sitting in deep thought. Hopefully regretting his action like the fool he is.

“Are you okay?” he asks as the two of you settle into the new room. Sitting on the bed and thinking about his question for a second. Tears burning into your eyes, preventing you from answering.

“Are you?” you asked.

“Just because I lost my temper doesn’t mean-” he tries to explain.

“No Zuko. I’m tired. You aren’t happy, I’m not making you happy. It seems like this mission is consuming you. I can’t take the way it makes me feel anymore. I want to be enough for- I want to be what you need but maybe I'm just not,” you said through your tears.

“I don’t think that, I just want to give you the life you deserve. I want you to be my Fire Lady, to have a crown and be honored as the royalty you are. I feel like my banishment obliterated our entire future together, and it’s my fault,” he said, sitting next to you on the bed.

“I can’t even believe you’d say that, I love you so much. Why do you think I followed you even after banishment? I chose you over everything because I love you, not being royalty or being honored by a kingdom that worships a man who did this to his own blood,” you said, running your finger tips over his scar.

“But you deserve better,” he said.

“No, I know you think that but you’re dumb for that,” you said, which seemed to lighten the mood a bit. He wrapped his arm around you and inspected your arm.

“It’s really not bad, it doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you reassured him.

He just smiled and started kissing up your arm. Making you giggle, his lips tickling your skin. The energy changes when he moves his mouth to your neck. Climbing on top of you, letting yourself fall back; giving him room to join you on the bed. It wasn’t like you hadn't been together before but this time was different. It felt really natural and organic, like you were both reaffirming how much you care about each other. Pulling at his armor, hoping he would take the hint and rip it off. He does, slowly shedding his outer layers. While he did so, you took his pony-tail out, letting the hair fall onto his face. The kissing becomes deeper, more needy and desperate.

Feeling him get hard while he was grinding against you was making you become inpatient. Your core begins to ache from the lack of contact. Taking his pants off and lifting your dress up. Reaching his hand down to feel how wet you were, dropping his forehead on your shoulder and groaning. His dick twitched against your thigh as he realized how turned on you were. You reach down and line him up with your entrance. Slowly pushing in, moving all his attention to you. Making eye contact, wanting to see your face as he stretched you around his cock. Kissing your nose and cheeks once he was fully inside. They two of you stayed still for a while, rocking your hips every now and again.

There was something so much more intimate about just embracing each other. Enjoying the feelings of being full, watching his eyebrows furrow. Hearing him moan every time you squeeze your walls around him. Whispering affirmations into your ear, talking about how much he loved you. He began thrusting into you, wrapping one of arms around the back of your neck. Pulling you closer to him, becoming more sensitive as he started pounding harder.

'The slaps of wet skin and moans fill the room. Pressing your lips into his shoulder, biting and sucking hickies onto him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, running your hands down his back. Feeling all his muscles harden and contract. He was practically panting into your ear, the sensitivity almost felt like a burning as you came. Raking your nails down his back, sending him into his climax. Rutting and bucking into you at an erratic pace. Collapsing onto after it was done, holding you tightly. Not even bothering to pull out before the two of you fell asleep.'The slaps of wet skin and moans fill the room. Pressing your lips into his shoulder, biting and sucking hickies onto him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, running your hands down his back. Feeling all his muscles harden and contract. He was practically panting into your ear, the sensitivity almost felt like a burning as you came. Raking your nails down his back, sending him into his climax. Rutting and bucking into you at an erratic pace. Collapsing onto after it was done, holding you tightly. Not even bothering to pull out before the two of you fell asleep.

#prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko smut #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko x you #prince zuko x y/n #avatar live action #avatar last airbender #netflix avatar #avatar smut #avatar fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #live action atla #live action prince zuko #dallas liu atla zuko #dallas liu zuko #dallas liu x reader

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ragingbookdragon · 9 months

Text

She feels the warmth flooding down the front of her gear as the frigidness seems to crawl up from her fingers and toes. Her breathing labors as the man pulls her inside the crumbling building under the veil of night and cradles her against his body, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers find their way underneath her vest, and she knows she should feel pain where his fingers press against, but all she feels is a numbness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

“Ghost,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m scar—I’m scared, Ghost.”

He shakes his head a single time. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t wanna die,” she says more to herself than to him, panic setting in. “God, I don’t wanna die now. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not dying,” Ghost growls. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Ghost—”

“You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna fix this. I’ll fucking fix—”

“Simon,” she stresses, shifting enough to see his face from the corner of her eye. “I’m dying.”

He swallows thickly and gazes at her for a moment before the lump returns. “Fuck, I—I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” she smiles, blood staining her teeth, and leans back, her temple to his chin. “Will you…will you stay with me?”

Simon presses harder against her, cursing the tears that sting his eyes. “Yeah, love, I’ll stay.”

She settles then, flightiness stilling in her veins as she relaxes against him. “This isn’t how I imagined going.”

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear all the fanciful bullshit she’s about to spew about how they grow old and gray, but Simon also knows he’d rather hear her voice all he can before he can never hear it again unless it’s through a speaker.

“How’d you imagine it?” he forces his throat to open.

Her smile is like the stars in the night sky. “Old. In bed together. In our sleep.” She shuffles a bit. “Our kids find us, cuddled close, safe.”

Simon grits his teeth, cracking them under the strain, his jaw aches. “How many kids?”

“Two boys. One girl. Simon Junior, we’d call him SJ. Jonathan Kyle, after Price, Soap, and Gaz.”

“And the girl?”

“Aphra Emeline.”

He nods. “Good name. Strong. Built for a fancy lady.”

“She’d run everyone over.”

“With your looks and my attitude?” he jokes. “Of course. She’d strike ‘em dead with one withering look.”

Her lungs are starting to fail her, and she shivers. “Simon, marry me.”

He can’t stop the tears this time and they drop down his cheeks onto her head. “Who’s gonna officiate?”

“Me. All power vested in me.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish, through sickness and health, until death do us part?”

“I do,” he promises. “And even after life, I will.”

“I take the same. I now pronounce us husband and wife.” She turns with the last bit of failing strength she has, pulls his mask down, and says, “Kiss me.”

Simon’s calloused hands are gentle as he cups her face, brushes his thumb over her cool skin and presses his lips to hers, tears mixing on each other’s faces as he kisses her with everything, he has in him. All the things Ghost is not, he gives in this moment to her. All his hopes, all his dreams, all his love for a better ending. He gives it up in this moment as he burns it into his mind that Simon Riley will never live after—only Ghost.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispers against his lips, and he shakes his head.

“I love you too,” he manages between hers. “I’ll stay,” he promises, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, staring at her. “I will stay.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you will.”

He memorizes the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, every detail he can about her, and it’s only when her head tilts forward, forehead bumping his lips that he knows.

Simon inhales and exhales one time, a single, agonizing howl.

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rileyslibrary · 9 months

Note

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

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b00kdiary · 4 months

Note

I love your series with the Bat Boys and the Plus Size reader. Could I request a story where the plus-size Reader is feeling low and unpretty especially compared to the Archeron Sisters and distances herself so she doesn't burden the IC with her issues but Cassian won't let her and shows her how beautiful she is on the inside and out. And maybe they find out they are mates in the process (I hope I made sense lol and sorry for the long winded request)

Mirror, Mirror | Cassian

Cassian (ACOTAR) x Plus size reader

Y/N flees a party where it seems Cassian and Nesta can’t stay away from each other, but when Cassian comes rushing after her, more than one declaration is made and more than one secret is discovered.

A/N: I made a few adjustments to this (wherever my imagination took me) and this might be the best one I've written yet, I was literally so happy re-reading this :)

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and Cass being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady (Hint: mirror-play)

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

Nesta laughed, a wonderful, breathtaking sound and something ugly twisted in me as Cassian’s face lit up, stars twinkling in his eyes as he beheld her.

I sunk back further against the wall, into the shadows, willing them to hide me, to hide the hurt and jealousy that ate and ate and ate at me the longer I watched them.

His hand on the small of her exposed, flawless back.

The sensual curve of her pink lips as she stared up at him.

The shadows that darkened his gaze as he trailed his eyes down her perfect body, over that blood-red dress that clung to every delicate curve and lean expanse of flesh, every inch of her tan and smooth and gorgeous.

A sharp pain stabbed at my chest, directly at my heart, at the sight of them together- they looked perfect. She was everything he deserved: tall, slender body curved like sin in all the best places, and the kind of fierceness that could bring the General to his knees.

And Cassian wanted her, it was obvious, the way he looked at her, the way he laughed with her, the tension between them, it was never like that with me, he was never like that with me.

“Y/N.”

The sound of my name startles me, but I swallow my surprised gasp at the touch of shadows that dance around me, clinging to my shoulder and waist, a soft and sweet greeting and I manage the barest smile as Azriel walks over to me.

“Hey, Az,” My voice is hoarse, strained, and Azriel’s lovely face deepens into a frown at the sight of it, never one to miss any details, no matter how small, “Enjoying the party?”

“I thought I was having the least fun here, until I saw you,” Azriel’s face is contemplative, sad, and I glance down when his eyes move to Cassian and Nesta, inching closer together, “You should go talk to him, you know he wants to see you.”

“He seems perfectly content with Nesta,” I sigh, and I hate how ugly my words sound, how hollow and bitter I sound, “There’s no way I can compete.”

“There’s nothing to compete with,” Azriel furrows his brows, his shadows erratic over his shoulder and I scoff at his words, at the kindness in them, “Truly Y/N, you look lovely tonight, Cassian’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

I feel heat behind my eyes, a sharp pricking sting of emotion that makes it hard to see or even swallow. I tuck my hair behind an arched ear, clearing my throat, and hating the pity in Azriel’s gaze, hating that he felt he had to compliment me just to make me feel better.

“Thanks, Az, but I think the only idiot here tonight is me,” I manage a strained laugh, and Azriel sees right through it, he sees right through me. “I’m not particularly in the partying mood tonight, I’m going to just go back to my room, and have an early night.”

“Let me escort you,” Az steps forward, his scarred hand reaching for my waist, but I stop him, smiling appreciatively, but shaking my head, those treacherous tears rushing to the surface.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” I whisper, and his face turns hard, unforgiving at the sight of my tears, those hazel eyes sharpening as he turns his head back to Cassian and Nesta. “Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

I barely hear his farewell, already stepping away and this room and the people and the music and laughter and joy all dwindle into nothing as I leave, as the tears begin to leak down my face, as my bleeding heart erupts in pain, as I slip out into the silence.

Alone.

***

“Stupid, so stupid,” I mutter roughly to myself as I slam my door shut behind me, the door clicking shut with a resounding thud, strong enough it rattled through my bones and straight to my heart.

I sniff furiously, a mixture of anger and sorrow filling me as I stumble through my room, the distant sound of music and people echoing in through the open balcony, a far cry from the still and deathly silence I was surrounded by.

I kick off my heels, flinging them messily to the side and I sigh at the feeling of the cold floor against my sore soles, at the relief from the pressure on those two thin heels, that burned with every step I took.

Stupid, so stupid to think I could put on a pair of too-high heels and be as tall and intimidating as Nesta Archeron. Stupid to think I could slip on an expensive gown and look as beautiful as she did as if it would hide the fact that my body looked nothing like hers.

I was an idiot to think that the hair and the makeup and the jewellery, that any of it would be enough to make Cassian see me, to make him want me.

“So fucking stupid,” I choke out into the silence, and this time I don’t hold back the pain, I let one tear fall and then another and another, until I can’t make them stop. I gasp on my sobs as I collapse onto my bed, my arms wrapping around me for comfort.

Alone. Utterly alone.

That thought, the reality made me cry harder until I couldn’t see or breathe, until every single atom in me shook with the sobs, until my voice bounced off the walls, ringing through the air as if mocking me.

My hands quivered as I unclasped the tear-drop diamonds from my ears, discarding them easily to the bed beside me and my lip broke as I reached behind my long hair, unhooking the diamond necklace, the stones heavily dropping to my hands.

A gift from Rhysand.

‘Cassian won’t be able to take his eyes off you, especially if you show up to his room wearing only this’ Rhysand had teased me, and like the idiot I was I giggled- giggled, and blushed like I was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

Stupid.

“Y/N?” Three swift knocks against my door and I froze, “Y/N? Are you there?”

Cassian.

“Y/N,” His voice turns worried, frantic and his knocking doesn’t persist, “Are you okay, open the door for me please.”

I groan quietly, gnawing on my lip as I rise from the comfort of my bed, discarding that necklace beside the earrings, something scorched and bitter filling me at the sight of them- and when Cassian calls my name again, that feeling spreads.

I wipe the tears from my face, harsher than needed, my footsteps pattering against the flooring as I march over to the door and somehow the sadness in me has vanished, evaporated into something cold and cruel and angry.

My fingers curl around the handle and I yank the door open, my heart so loud I can hear it thundering in my ears and my face is blanketed, like a sheet of ice as I half-shield myself behind the door, unable to meet his gaze.

“Y/N,” Cassian sighs, and I hear the relief in his voice. I avoid his gaze, a pregnant pause sounding through the room as he stands there, and I see his body go stiff, “You left the party, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I clear my throat, my hair shifting forward to hide my tears and I feel Cassian’s eyes piercing down at me, unyielding and confused, “I was just tired, I’m going to go to bed.”

“Wait, Y/N-“ His voice becomes quiet, and I pinch my eyes shut at the feeling of his eyes on me, at the worry that lingers in the air, “Have you been crying? What- what happened, are you alright-“

“I’m fine, Cassian,” I try and push the door closed, trying to force him out before I crumble again but his large hand comes to the door, halting it in place and I don’t have the energy or strength to fight him. “Please, just go, go back to the party, go back to Nesta-“

“Nesta?” He interrupts, and all amusement and joy has left his voice left his face and when I lift my eyes to him, I see them narrow, hurt flashing through them, “What does Nesta have to do with this, can I please come inside-“

“No, I don’t want you here, Cassian!” I hiss, my words sharp and lethal and honed to hurt him- and they do, I see his face fall, his breath catching at the anger on my face, the anger in my words, directed toward him, “Just go back to her, I wouldn’t want to ruin your night ahead.”

His face falls, and I see the moment realisation flashes through his eyes, and the look on his face, the pity, makes me want to die.

“Y/N, that’s not-“

“Please, Cassian, spare me,” I scoff, and I force myself to be cruel, force myself to be cold and unfeeling because otherwise the reality would consume me and I would not humiliate myself further, not in front of him. “I don’t care who you fuck, just leave me alone, I’m tired.”

I release my hold on the door, my throat unbearably tight as I turn on my heel, ripping my gaze from him, unable to take the hurt in his face, unable to see him looking at me like that- he was my friend, long before I loved him, he was my friend, and I was being so horrible to him right now.

Silence stretches on as I walk away from the door, my footsteps heavy as I move to my bed, my fingers curling around the wooden pillar, needing it for strength, needing it to keep me up.

I sighed when my door clicked shut after a moment, that light dying out and I was utterly alone again. He was gone and I was alone.

I bite my lip hard enough to pierce the flesh as fresh tears brim in my eyes and I curl into myself as they fall, my head falling against the wooden beam, and I clutch it tighter as small cries break through my lips.

“Azriel said you saw Nesta and me together at the party, saw us laughing.”

I flinch at the sound of Cassian’s voice, echoing through the room and running over my skin like a phantom touch, and I gnaw on my lip harder, pinching my eyes shut and keeping my back to him as his feet step closer to me.

“I wasn’t flirting with her, I’m not interested in her, Y/N,” Cassian’s voice was tender, and calm and it made me feel sick, “Nor does she feel that way about me.”

“I don’t care,” I grit out, tasting the saltiness of my tears seeping into my mouth, “You can do whatever you want Cassian, you don’t owe me an explanation, just-just leave me alone.”

“I was with Nesta because I was nervous, I was nervous to see you,” His words turn low, and my entire body stills at the lament, his footsteps getting closer still, “I always get nervous around you, and Nesta knew that she was teasing me about it, about how I felt-“

“Right, I’m sure with Nesta Archeron standing next to you, I’m the one who made you nervous,” I drawl sarcastically, the words tasting like poison on my tongue and again, more tears fall, “Spare me the bullshit Cassian, I don’t need your pity.”

He sighs- no, it’s more like a frustrated growl, irate and furious and a sound I’d never heard Cassian make toward me. I sniff as his footsteps bound closer and my mouth parts in a silent gasp when his hand curls around my wrist and he rips me around to face him.

“Look at me, Y/N,” His canines flash, sharp and deadly, a mirror to the darkness in his eyes as he stares down at me, his wings splaying and that handsome face turning vicious, “Just fucking look at me.”

“I don’t want your gods-forsaken pity,” I tear my wrist from his hold, and I immediately miss the warmth, miss his touch, miss him- but still, I curl my lip and I scowl up at him, “I told you I’m fine, so what do you fucking want from me?!”

“You!” He bellows and the walls shake, the syphons at his shoulder blaring bright red with power and the lament, the strength behind that single word. He shakes his head, his jaw locked and eyes blazing, “I want you- I don’t pity you, I love you.”

My face drops, the blood rushing from my cheeks and I think, no, I know that my heart has stopped dead in my chest.

“What?” I breathe and all the anger and hurt and degradation has turned to ash in my mouth, as I stare up at him, at the lovely face, soft and sincere and real. “Cassian, I don’t understand-“

“What’s there to not understand? I love you; I want you, I have for so long, Y/N,” Cassian sighs, his throat bobbing with the movement, and I inhale a sharp breath when his hand comes to my face, cupping my wet cheek, “How can you not see that?”

“B-but Nesta,” My lip trembles and Cassian’s face falls at the sight, his grip tightening and when he draws me closer to his body, to the warmth and strength of him, I don’t fight it. “You could have her o-or any other female you want- why would you want me? I’m not enough-“

“Stop, don’t say another fucking word, I won’t hear it,” Cassian growls, his eyes tapering and my eyes flutter as he runs his thumbs over my cheek, soothing, wiping away the tears that can’t seem to stop, “You’re enough, you are everything and more- you’re intelligent and fierce and elegant, you’re funny and sarcastic and kind, you are the best female I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“But I’m not beautiful, Cassian,” I mutter and the way his eyes shatter, the way his whole face shatters at my words, it’s like I broke something in him. “I’m not beautiful like the females you’re surrounded by- I’m not tall or thin, I’m not delicate or petite, I don’t look like them.”

“Oh baby, I don’t want them, I want you,” His voice cracks as he draws himself down to me, his face inching toward mine and full of so much feeling it made me breathless, “I want all of you.”

I gasped at the feeling of his lips crashing against mine and I didn’t fight it, can’t fight it when his hands curve around to the small of my back, dragging me flush against his body.

Cassian’s lips move against mine with hunger, devouring me and tasting me in a way that has my whole body reacting, all the way down to my toes. I arch my back into him, my fingers curling into his dress shirt, nails cutting through the fabric for leverage as he slips his tongue against mine.

I taste the bittersweetness of wine in his mouth and a whimper escapes me as he laps his tongue against me, firm and sure, as if memorising the feel of me, memorising the taste of me, of every sound that slips past my lips.

“Cass-“ I huff in a harsh breath when his hands, large and ringed and rough, slip down the rolls at my back, his fingers digging in perfectly as he curls them under the curve of my ass and lifts me up into his arms. “Cass!”

My protests die out on my lips, Cassian dismissing my worried cry by pulling me into another all-consuming kiss and I can do nothing but moan, my legs wrapping around to latch onto his waist and my hands slipping around his neck.

My core burns, sensitive and aching as Cassian begins to walk, every step brushing his hard, toned stomach against me and eliciting the filthiest moan from my lips. Cassian grins, gnawing at my bottom lip, his fingers kneading against my ass with reverence as he moves us.

But not toward the bed.

I flutter my eyes open as Cassian comes to a stop and the look in his eyes, the feral delight makes my body shiver. He helps me slip down from his hold and I raise a curious brow at him as he places his hands on my waist and then spins me around.

To look in the mirror.

“Cassian,” I frown, catching my own eyes in the reflection before immediately looking away, a pit of dread opening in my stomach as I latch my eyes higher, to where he stood towering behind me. “What-“

“Do you trust me?” Cassian whispered the question, his hands running soothingly up and down my arms, the touch so bare that I craved more. “I need you to trust me, Y/N.”

“I- I do,” I swallow, my voice shaking but I steel my spine and push away any fear at the kindness in his eyes, at the male I’d known for years and trusted with my life. “Of course, I trust you.”

“Good,” He nods, and my body tightens, prickling with fear and anticipation as his fingers begin to tug at the straps on either shoulder, his eyes darkening with something filthy and heady as he stares at me through the looking glass. “Because I’m going to show you how much I love you, every inch of you.”

My breathing turns shallow and burdensome as Cassian gently tugs down each strap, his movements deliberate and slow and making every second feel as long as an hour. I don’t take my eyes off his as he runs his palms down my back, moving to the zip there.

His body is thrumming with energy as he watches me, piercing and unblinking as he tugs down the zip at the back, inch by inch, the sound of it unzipping the loudest noise in the room.

He releases a desperate whoosh of air and I catch the look in his eyes, the carnal lust in them as he slowly drags the front of my dress down. I clamp my eyes shut the second the material falls, revealing my bare aching breasts and the flesh of my stomach.

“Cauldron fucking spare me,” Cassian hisses and I don’t need to see his face to know how he’s watching me, can hear the appreciation and need in every word.

I still don’t open my eyes, can’t open my eyes as his hard body shifts behind me, his touch turning rough as he begins to yank the material down my wide hips, over my love handles and down my thick thighs until it hits the floor.

My underwear tugged down with it.

My body shakes with every inhale and exhale I take, my heart pounding as Cassian trails his fingers across my thighs, hips, and waist, over the sides of my breasts and down the length of my spine.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” His voice is at my ear, soft, coaxing, and my back arches when his rough, calloused hands curve around me, cupping my breasts and kneading them tenderly, “Open your eyes and see how fucking perfect you look right now.”

I suck in a steadying breath, the feeling of his fingers twisting and tugging on my taut nipples distracting me and eliciting waves of sparks and embers through my body. I brace myself and before I overthink it, I open my eyes.

I come face to face with myself- utterly naked, every flaw and imperfection, every roll and stretch mark, cellulite, and bump on display. And yet Cassian was looking at me like I was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As if in his five hundred years of existence this was the closest, he had ever gotten to heaven.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” His voice quivers, emotion clogging the words and tears prick my eyes when he presses soft, loving kisses against my neck and jaw, adoring me, “I wish you knew how much I crave you.”

“Cass,” I moan, feeling his hard length pressing into my back and this time, when my eyes meet his in the mirror, I let him see how much I needed him, how much I wanted him, “Show me, Cassian.”

“Y/N,” He groans, a primitive, male sound as I rub my ass against his cock, his entire body shivering at the touch and his eyes growing heavy as I press my bareness against him, “Are you sure-“

“I’m sure,” I whisper, and Cassian’s eyes turn wholly black as I lean forward, bracing my palms against the mirror before me and spreading my legs as I press my ass back into him. I glance back up, to the feral need on his face and I smile, “Take me, Cass.”

A low, terrifying grumble reverberates from him, from somewhere dark and unsatiated inside him and my core throbs when he cements himself to my back, turning my head to capture my lips in his and he tastes me like he’s addicted.

I pant as he plants one of his hands beside mine on the mirror, our fingers interweaving and the sound of him unlacing his breeches, his fingers tugging and yanking and ripping at the material makes me clench with anticipation.

“Are you ready- I don’t want to hurt you,” His face buries into my neck, biting and suckling on the flesh but I hear the concern in his voice. I grab his free hand from behind me, bringing it down between my thighs and he moans as I drag his fingers through my wetness, messy and leaking.

“I’m so ready, Cass,” I plead, my nails digging into his arm as he pulls his cock free from his trousers my eyes meet his through the mirror and he smiles at the desperate pout I wear, “Please, please-“

His head runs up and down my folds, collecting the wetness and when he stills at my entrance, teasing my hole, I go weak at the size of him.

“How could I ever deny you, baby?” He hisses in my ear, his fingers curling around mine against the mirror and a roguish smile stretching across his face- one that promised to ruin me.

“Cassian!”

He shoved his cock into me, hard and fast and unforgiving and the shriek that escapes me echoes through the whole building as he sheaths himself all the way, forcing me to take it.

I choke on my cries as Cassian moves his hand to my hips, his fingers holding onto the flesh for leverage as he drags his thick, pulsing length out of me, the stretch so far and wide that it hurt more than I ever knew it could.

But then he snapped his hips forward, stuffing it all back in and I moaned, my body wrecking with the intensity of it, with the intensity of him.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby,” Cassian gritted out, nudging my thighs apart with his knee and pressing a hand down onto my lower back so that I was leaning forward, my face inches from the mirror and his cock slipping in so deep. “So fucking tight.”

“Cassian, oh- Cauldron-“

My tits bounced and my thighs shook as he fucked into me, his pace brutal and merciless, pounding me hard and deep, my pussy sucking him in and clenching, my eyes rolling at the mixture of pleasure and pain that throbbed through my core.

He didn’t give me any time to adjust, didn’t give me time to get used to the size of him- and I fucking loved it.

“Does that feel good?” He muttered, fingers curling into my hair and yanking my head back so that my eyes met his in the mirror and I whimpered at the pressure on my scalp, at the sound of my wetness and his skin slapping mine as he slammed his hips to meet my ass again and again.

“S-so good,” I blubbered, my words slugging together as I watched his face tighten, watching him sweating and panting and grunting, those dark eyes sliding between our bodies, watching his dick slide in and out, coated in my juices. “Don’t stop, don’t stop- please, please-”

He snarls, the sound animalistic and the electricity in my core intensifies when Cassian’s hand releases my hair, his hand slipping around to grip my throat and the angle shifts as he brings me back to his chest, our sweating bodies melting together, his fingers around my neck tight as he keeps me there.

“Look at yourself, baby,” He croons, his voice like sin as he nibbles against my cheek and I cry out when he drives into my pussy faster, his eyes watching every reaction, every movement through the mirror and it drives him on. “See how fucking perfect you look, taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“Cass, Cass,” His name is a prayer on my lips, the head of his cock slamming against a point in me, deep and untouched, a point that has every nerve ending setting alight and he laughs, like claws running down my spine, delighted at how close I was.

“So beautiful,” His fingers tighten around my throat and my eyes flutter open, latching onto the sight of us in the mirror, his body against mine, the sweat coating my skin and the absolute adoration in his eyes, “See how beautiful you look? Say it baby, say you’re beautiful.”

A command, a raw and final command.

“I’m-oh,” My head tilts back against his shoulder, my back arching as Cassian’s hand slips between my thighs and he begins rubbing brashly at my clit, fast and messy and forceful, and my knees start to quake. “Cassian, I can’t I’m- I’m-“

“No, no- You can’t come until you say it,” He growls, and I mewl when his fingers circle harder, his hips driving into me so perfectly that I can feel how red and bruised my ass is getting. “Say you’re- shit- say you're beautiful, say it, baby-“

Every word is emphasised with a snap of his hips, again and again, and the sound of him panting and moaning in my ears, his fingers ruining my clit it’s too much.

“I’m beautiful,” I moan, tears trickling down my cheeks at the tautness of my body, that bubble in my core starting to expand and expand and it hurts so good, “I’m beautiful, fuck-fuck-“

“Come, baby, come,” Cassian chuckles, dark and sinful and when my body gives out, his arm wraps around me, keeping me up and fucking me so good, sliding against my walls and ripping apart any control I had, “Make a mess of my cock for me.”

“Cass- Cass- Cassian!”

He hits that spot again and again and again, not stopping, not giving me even a second to breathe and that bubble bursts, explodes, and all I can do is chant his name over and over as releases rocks through me.

“Shit, Y/N,” Cassian curses, and my stomach clenches and unclenches, moans falling endlessly from my lips as I come, wrapping around Cassian painfully tight, and I know he’s close, know he’s barely hanging on.

I pant, damn near hyperventilating as my orgasm shatters me and my body starts to ache and burn as Cassian chases his high, his hips stuttering and his body hard against mine, curses falling from his lips as I clamp down around him, again and again.

“Shit, baby,” Cassian groans, eyes clamping shut and I watch through the mirror, enchanted as his fingers curl into my hips, his head falling to the crook of my neck as his body goes utterly still and he releases inside me.

The sound he makes, that devastating rumble of power that emits from him, is muffled into my neck and I whimper as his hips come to a jagged halt, the feeling of his warm come spreading through me making my head spin.

I can’t look away from him, not as he clutches onto me like a lifeline, canines scraping against my neck and his wings arching up high and spread wide, trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Cassian pants, the both of us sagging forward with exhaustion, and as he slowly slips out of me, he groans at the sight of his seed leaking out from me and down my soft thighs. “Fuck Y/N.”

I suck in greedy gulps of air as I lift my head, my heart pounding in my chest and a sense of clarity wrecking through me, waves of release fading into oblivion and the silence settling around us. Cassian smiles, tenderly, as I meet his gaze in the mirror.

But then something happens.

I freeze, my body jolting the second my eyes meet his, the second I see those hazel orbs and melt into their serenity, into their comfort.

Something clicks into place.

“Y/N?” Cassian’s worried voice greets me, pushing through the haze and fog and disorientation and I feel his hands pushing back my hair, trying to gain my attention, “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?”

Tears burn my eyes, strong and overwhelming and maddening and when my eyes lift, when I see Cassian through the looking glass, his face pales in worry.

“What’s wrong-“

“You’re my mate.”

He stills, his entire body stills, and I release a shaking, astounded sob. Cassian doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe as I turn on my weak legs, finally face to face with him.

“You’re my mate, Cassian,” I choke out, half-laughing, half-sobbing and my hands shake as I bring them up to his beautiful face, watching him melt into my embrace, “My mate.”

“It only took you fifty years to realise,” Cassian muttered, tears brimming in his eyes and my mouth went slack at his words, at the broken teasing in them, “Made me wait long enough I think.”

“You-you knew?” I gasp and Cassian’s hands fall to my waist, drawing me closer and the feel of his hands, his touch, ignites something raw and dangerous in me. “How-“

“I knew the very day we met,” He whispers, voice hoarse and lip trembling and more tears leak down my cheeks at the sight, at his words, “I knew you were my mate from the second I saw you, and I have loved you in silence every day since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I croak out, my fingers curling around his cheek- I wasn’t angry but it hurt, my heart hurt for him, for the years he spent knowing and being able to do nothing.

“I wanted you to realise on your own,” Cassian says, and something breaks in my chest at the tear that streaks down his face, sinking into my hand, “I wanted you to be ready for me, for us.”

“Cassian, I love you, I have loved you from the first moment you smiled at me, from the first moment you spoke to me, from the first moment you looked at me,” I smile, rising onto my tiptoes and pressing the softest kiss to his lips.

Sparks. Utter sparks.

“I have always loved you,” I laugh as his hands cascade down my back, curling around my ass and this time, when he lifts me with ease, I wrap my arms around him, hooking my legs and bringing his face close to mine. “My Mate.”

“I’ve prayed to hear you say those words,” He muttered against my lips, his eyes fluttering at the tender touch, and I sighed as we pressed our foreheads together. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Cassian.”

____________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Comment to be added to the tag-list >3

#acotar #acotar smut #cassian acotar #cassian smut #cassian x reader #cassian x plus size reader #rhysand acotar #azriel acotar #sarah j maas #sjmaas #acotar fanfiction #plus size reader #plus size smut #plus size y/n #smut #acotar x reader

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highttowers · 10 months

Note

Hello i am requesting for Carmen from the Bear!! Something sweet and heart warming about Carmen being worried about the reader and just the whole kitchen seeing how in love he is ❤️ thank you

yes to heaven.

pairing(s); carmen “carmy” berzatto x gn!reader

fandom; the bear (fx on hulu)

w/c; 758 words

trigger/content warnings; brief sexual implications, brief mention of past injuries, language, richie (he’s a warning all by himself), tina n richie being mean to carmy lol, tina and reader chisme together, is this another fic with an ldr song title????, brief touches on carmy’s trauma (not in-depth cuz this is a fluff fic), not-proof read, lmk if i missed anything.

stella speaks! i need him biblically. at first, i was like “mmm, jeremy allen white” as a joke. but bro. i don’t think it’s a joke anymore…

Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto who’s always watching you. Who has his eye on you, if you will ;)

Carmy, whose eyes are trailing your figure when you first meet. Not in a sexual way, just taking in every detail. The way you stand, the way you move your hands when you talk. Any time you wear a shirt more than once, the nervous tics you have while he tries your food, if you have any visible tattoos, freckles, or birthmark. His eyes snag on every little thing you do for a split second.

Carmy, whose gaze is locked in your hands while you demonstrate your abilities. He’s taking in every scar, every cut, every tear, every burn that was once fresh in the skin of your hands and committing it to memory. He doesn’t know why, he just is.

Carmy, whose eyes will flicker to your face every so often as you cook, lingering in the scrunch of your brow, the purse of your lip, the muttering under you breath, every curve and divet on your cheeks.

Carmy, whose brain short-circuits the first time he sees you in anything other than your lose white tee, black pants and blue apron. Logically, he knows your body has always been shaped that way, so why is heat crawling up his neck in the biting Chicago air?

Carmy, whose new favorite thing is watching you cook. Especially the recipes you know by heart, when every lovely movement your body makes is muscle memory. Seamless and smooth.

Carmy who appreciates the habit you have of cleaning your station as you cook. Those pale blue eyes locked in you as he exits his office, watching you dumping veggies in a crock pot before scooping up the cutting board, knife, and any food waste and making short work of it.

Carmy who is personally offended by Richie watching you cook. Richie and his Richie-esque comments making him roll his eyes, or warning a scoff. “Makes you wanna know what other moves they can do, eh?” “Shut the fuck up, cousin.”

Carmy, whose habit of paying microscopically close attention to you has whispers from Marcus to Tina to Sydney to you. He appreciates the way you wave them off, using the new kid excuse.

Carmy, who’s been reduced to a stuttering mess when you confront him privately about it. He’s spilling out excuses, until you quietly ask him if he wants to grab coffee with you sometime.

Carmy who, the more and more he arrives to work either with you or with a dumb smile on his face, is getting endless teasing from Richie and Tina. Sydney quietly smiles at him, but mainly sticks to talking about the nature of y’all’s relationship with you.

Carmy, who admittedly fears anytime you let sitting with Tina, exchanging words that have her yelling curses or exclamations in Spanish.

Carmy, who has a retort ready for Richie when he asks you if that means he has a chance now, only to clamp his mouth shut when you wordlessly flip Richie off, bringing another soft look into Carmy’s eyes and a dumb grin on his lips.

Carmy who has to kiss every scar, every mark, every little thing in your body when given the chance. It’s a love language, remembering and worshipping every little thing about you.

Carmy who has his eyes on you so much, regulars at The Beef are silently questioning if there’s anything going on. (there is, but Carmy would sooner be Richie’s personal chef than admit it to customers.)

Carmy whose new greates comfort is you. Any fleeting fragment of you. Maybe you washed his clothes once and now they smell like you. Maybe you hugged him so much your scent lingers in his nose. Maybe he’s got a small piece of jewelry from you or reminiscent of you. Anything that has to do with you can bring him out of the deepest panic.

Carmy who swears up and down and to the ends of the Earth that he’s never gonna lose you. It’s not even an option anymore. He would actually just fall to pieces on the floor.

Carmy who shows the uglier parts of him slowly. You actually have to peel back the first layer and stare it directly in the face without fear before he shows you more. He’s just so scared.

Carmy who’s so so grateful you don’t try to fix him. You just leave him as he is, just giving extra love to those broken bits.

Carmy who used to hate love songs before you arrived.

Carmy who was losing faith in the very idea of love until you arrived.

#how many ts/lana del rey references can spot???#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #headcanon #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear on hulu #sydney adamu #🖋️ — my writing #🪁 — requests #🔪 — the bear

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somnambulic-thing · 4 months

Text

page 622 read on ao3

Eddie Munson x afab!reader E +18

summary: It's the middle of the night and you just can't find sleep. Eddie wants to help. He wants to help so bad.

Words: 3k

||reader has insomnia, smut, fluff, pinch of angst, LOTR references, domestic, nerds in love||

A/N: This is for all of us who haunt the nights. <3

Page 622 is graced with not one, but two dog ears.

That’s nothing unusual for the thick heavy paperback in your hands. A copy of The Lord of the Rings, all three parts united in one book and littered with battle scars like a gnarly old Orc of Mordor.

It belongs to both of you, bought on that whimsical fleamarket by the side of the road with spare change collected from the nooks and crannies of the van. It hadn’t mattered that you already owned a box set each, it had been clear that this book wanted to go home with you. Once integrated into your shared collection, it became the copy that was pulled out when Eddie and you had an argument about the most minuscule details to settle. It wasn’t a rare occasion that someone got tackled before they could claim victory over the matter. That brave book had been ripped from victorious hands more times than you could count and flung over shoulders, into corners or behind furniture.

It was also the copy Eddie used to ponder ideas. When he was writing a campaign and the atmosphere he was eager to create didn’t feel quite right, he would go down into the Mines of Moria or deep into the thicket of Fangorn forest and seek inspiration between the lines. There he left marks with the heavy tip of his pencil, elbows catching on the edges of pages as he reached for his notebook, creating new dogears, sometimes small tears.

You loved those marks and never grew tired of discovering fresh traces of his adventures. They kept you company on those days you wouldn’t get tired at all.

The world between the worn covers was familiar, the motions of the adventures committed to memory in many places, the adventurers friends that comforted you on restless nights.

You chose this copy over the others you own because it’s an intimate object, because you could trust it to catch you should you fall asleep on its pages, trust it to be more beautiful in the morning with more kinks and wrinkles.

But there were days when even the unhastiness of Treebeard wouldn’t do the trick to coax you into slumber. Today was such a day; stuck on the sofa on a dark, restless sea and no sleep in sight.

You hadn’t heard him coming.

“Just flopped around the mattress like a fish out of water looking for you.”

Eddie’s voice is deep and raspy and a little cranky around the edges. Your eyes shift from page 622 to where he stands in the doorframe, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes. There are lines on his right cheek, a shallow relief in the mirror image of his pillowcase. His boxers sit dangerously low on his hips and it tickles in your fingertips to follow the trail of soft hair and tuck them further down.

“That’s an amusing image,” you say with a smile as Eddie rubs one eye with his flat hand, nose scrunched up and wrinkly. “Can you demonstrate that to me?”

“Do not mock me. I awoke all cold and lonely…” he waves the other hand through the air. “Forsaken by my love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the mirth in your tone slipping just slightly, but Eddie catches it.

“How long have you been up?” he asks, banter put aside in exchange for worry and makes his way over to the nest of blankets and pillows you’d made on the sofa.

You frown, not sure you know the answer to that question, feeling like you’ve fallen out of the stream of time; trapped in endless night, doomed to read the same three sentences on page 622 again and again with nothing but your thoughts for company. Until now.

You turn to check the thin green digital numbers on the VHS recorder while Eddie lowers himself to the ground in front of you. “Almost two hours.”

“That’s no good,” he says softly and fumbles with the blanket draped over your legs in search of your skin, nudging the book off balance. It slides down your lap with a soft rustle. Dark, heavy eyes search your face for clues he knows you’re reluctant to give him and a warm palm finds your thigh moments later, an epicentre for violent goosebumps. You shiver and he smiles. “What can I do?”

“Nothing—“

“You underestimate my relaxing properties.” He places a kiss on your knee. “It’s pretty annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “Don’t want to keep you up—“

“Want me to take over the reading? You just rest and listen—” He lowers his voice to a soft rumble. “—let me hypnotize you.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“Shhh… would you please just let me help?” Without waiting for an answer, Eddie slides the blanket off your thigh and covers it in soft, slow kisses.

“Can’t—“ kiss “go—“ kiss “back to sleep—“ kiss kiss “knowing—“ kiss “you’re out here alone. Suffering.”

His hair is soft between your fingers. You loosen a few small knots while you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Eddie… I…”

It’s exhausting being a ghost, to haunt the wee hours of the night unable to find rest. It was also lonely. There was a hazy barrier isolating you from the people around you. From the man whose company you craved so much but struggled to accept in this circle of hell.

Eddie has had his fair share of sleepless nights, had done plenty of haunting himself; but not like this, not without a trackable cause that offered some degree of sense. And you’d never wish this on him no matter how lonely you get, but sometimes, you find yourself envying him for the way he just falls asleep on any surface most days and with the envy, there comes resentment. The disconnect between resentment and longing a rope binding your hands behind your back, keeping you from reaching out.

Dark eyes are staring holes into your body as Eddie is waiting for you to continue, to give him something.

“You what, sweetheart?” He’s rubbing circles into your skin. “You want me to leave? Like, actually?”

“I don’t want to take my mood out on you…”

“Why not?” he grins. “We could make it fun. Tire you out, air out some of that—“ his hands leave your legs to gesture wildly through the air. The cold creeping in where his warm palms had just rested feels unbearably cruel. You don’t want him to leave. “— some of that pent-up… whatever it is.”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s brows vanish under tousled bangs. “Okay? Shit, I had this whole speech planned about how we’re a team and that you’re being so stubborn is a waste of time—”

“You complaining?”

“No… no…” he smiles and runs his hands up your thighs. “So, you wanna be a little… mean to me?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Don’t want that.”

He hums and nods, leans down and licks your skin; from your knee right up to the hem of your shorts. It’s the slightest touch, just the tip of his tongue, but the sensation sinks into your body like warm summer rain falling onto dry and dusty ground.

“Let me love you,” he mumbles against your thigh, running the tip of his nose along the border of fabric you hide behind. “I hate it when you feel lonely while I’m right here and fucking crazy about you…”

“You’re right here,” you repeat like in a trance. Eddie looks up at you, so soft and wild at the same time and so sincere and you feel the last layer of resistance melt as if it had never existed.

“Right fucking here.”

“Fuck me.”

Warm gentle hands begin to free your legs from the tangle of blankets and you marvel at how much of Eddie’s essence resides in his touch; soft but rough around the edges where his fingertips have put on tough skin over the years. There’s so much love, so much passion lingering in those points where you end and he begins.

Accompanied by the soft rustling of fabric, Eddie runs those storytelling hands up and down your thighs, from the inside to the outside and up to the round of your ass where he ever so slightly puts his nails against your skin and runs them down down down to the back of your knees where he holds on and pulls you further down the cushion. You yelp a little and then you both laugh a little and you lift your hips to aid him rid you of your shorts and underwear.

“M’ gonna try a thing,” he says and spreads your legs just wide enough to fit in between.

“Try w-what?” you ask around a hitching breath as you watch Eddie slide two fingers into his mouth. They glisten with spit when he pulls them out and you can hear a few drops hit the floor as he lowers himself down.

“You know how I sometimes take ice-cold showers to shock spiralling thoughts out of my mind?”

“I… what? AH!”

One long finger enters you swiftly, moves in-out-in-out and is joined by the other. Heat expands like a shockwave through your pelvis as all the blood rushes to greet the pads of Eddie’s fingers. He moves with precision in quick pulsing motions against that soft erogenous spot deep inside you, watching you closely.

“Good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Not too much?”

“No,” you grit out as your hips start to twitch.

There is no smug little smile, no told-you-so grin, only deep concentration and a bright red blush high on his cheeks and you desperately wish he’d kiss you. That thought is gone and forgotten as that penetrating pulse quickens, deepens and Eddie’s mouth inches closer and closer to your clit. There’s a sharp tingling in your cunt, not quite a sting, not quite pain and it’s hot and delicious and as it spreads out into every corner of your body, the world gets smaller and smaller, shrinks countless miles each second until this sofa is the only place left in the universe.

“Holy shit, holy shit, those noises, sweetheart.”

You can’t hear a thing over the rush in your ears and as Eddie’s lips close around your confused, prickling clit, your eyes roll up and close.

And for an infinite moment, there’s nothing left but ecstasy.

When time starts up again, you’re re-entering the world shaking and gasping. Eddie is quick on his knees. One hand closing around your wrist and the other pressed into your back he pulls you into an embrace that you collapse into like a dying star.

“I love you I love you I love you…” he whispers into your hair and holds you holds you holds you until you feel solid again. “You good?”

You nod and hum.

Hands find your face and guide you up and you remember how badly you need a kiss when Eddie’s lips form pretty words so close to yours. “Now, let me take you to bed and—“ You interrupt him, pressing your mouth to his with desperate, sloppy urgency. He chuckles softly, catching your lower lip with his teeth for a gentle tug before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Really wanna continue this.”

“Can’t move… you broke me.”

“Oh, well, pretty sure you broke my fingers with your pussy so we’re even. Get up.”

You laugh and reach for the hand cupping your left cheek; you kiss the palm, run your tongue along his fingers and kiss the tips. “Better?”

Eddie’s brows shoot up and he takes a sharp breath. “Bedroom!”

He scrambles to his feet and pulls you with him. In motion like that, you can feel drowsiness settling in, slowly taking hold of your muscles. Your legs still feel shaky, almost heavy, and Eddie wraps an arm around your waist for the moment it takes you to steady yourself.

“Looks like it’s working,” he says softly.

“Feels like it, too.”

Finally, there is the smug smile you have been waiting for. “And it took me less than two minutes. ”

“You… checked the time?”

“For science,” he says proudly and the smile turns into a grin.

“Ah, science. Alright, Doc,” you reach down, hook a finger into the waistband of his boxers and let it snap. “I’m ready for the next experiment.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrows his sleepy eyes and hums. You can hear the cogs in his mind take up speed and then he sidesteps you and begins to rummage through the mess of blankets and pillows on the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a sec, you gave me an idea— ha!” He whirls around and shoves The Lord Of The Rings into your hands. Your reaction is tardy and you feel the cover catch on your thumb and bend in a way that probably leaves a crease but you have not time to check because Eddie is quickly maneuvring you to the bedroom.

He sits you down on the bed and swiftly pulls your shirt over your head and you have no choice but to let go of the book. It drops somewhere on the mattress and out of your mind when Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and strips out of his boxers.

“Never gets old”, you marvel at the sight of him, pale and lean but soft and the smile you just conjured with those words seems nothing short of diabolical with the way the light catches his features from below.

You recede onto the mattress and he follows you like you’re magnetic, crawling after you until he’s back between your legs, kissing his way up your body, taking his time to caress your breasts with his hands and lips. Only when you yawn he stops and comes up to face you, to kiss you and you drink in the sigh of relief that he places inside your mouth as he slides his hard cock against your folds, you hold on to goosebump-covered shoulders as he pushes inside you.

“Never gets old,” he moans as he rolls his hips against you in deep, slow thrusts and kisses your nose when you have to giggle.

You’re not chasing ecstasy now, but wholeness, you’re not searching for a high, but for refuge. All your thoughts slow down while Eddie occupies all your senses.

“How do you feel?” he asks into the soft spot below your ear.

“Good… Sleepy.”

“M’ not saying I told you so—“

A chuckle tickles your skin and suddenly, a bolt of guilt and fear flashes through you. “But we can’t do this every time—“

“Hey!” He lifts his head to look at you, presses a finger to your lips. “Shhh… Don’t go there,” he says and puts his forehead to yours. “Come back… come back to me. I got you.”

“I’m here.”

“You just have to let me in…” He kisses you like he’s sacred you could vanish from beneath him and you swear you can feel his heartbeat reach out for yours, swear you can feel it pound against your chest like it’s begging for entry.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper and sling your arms around his shoulders. “I’m trying.”

And then he moves, slowly pulling his cock from inside you—

“Eddie?”

and stretches long across the bed to grab the book right off the edge.

“On your side,” he instructs and manhandles you into position before you can comply on your own and slides back into your cunt before you can process what’s happening.

“Fuck… oh fuck…” you moan as quick deep thrusts hit just the right spot over and over. You can hear the rustling of pages behind you and Eddie’s chest retreats from your back. “W-what are y- ah you…?”

‘It was not much more than a tall man’s height now…’ he reads the first line from page 622. You try to turn to look at him but he pushes you back. “Nu-uh, relax. M’ going to read to you and I’m going to fuck you till you pass out and maybe then you’ll think of waking me sooner the next time you pick up this book in the dead of night.”

You moan and laugh and there are tears in the corner of your eyes. “You trying to condition me?”

There’s no answer, he just keeps reading; shakily, punctuated in the quick rhythm of his thrusts and laced with moans of his own. You just close your eyes and let go and soon enough you’re close to the edge again.

’We are famisshed, yes famisshed we are, precious,…” he croaks in a toned down, breathy Gollum impression that’s highly confusing and you clutch the sheet, pulling it loose.

“Shit… you gonna make me come…”

After a few more lines he stops reading and you hear the book drop. Eddie presses close to you, softly bites your shoulder while a hand wanders down between your legs to play with your clit.

‘Yess, yess, nice water,’ said Gollum,’ he continues from memory.

“Oh, you asshole,” you groan.

‘Drink it, drink it, while we can! But what is it they’ve got, precious? Is it crunchable? Is it… tasty?’

One strangled moan falls from your mouth and then your insides tense violently. Eddie mercilessly fucks you through it and beyond and doesn’t slow down until he coaxes another orgasm out of you. He follows you this time. You feel him pulse and twitch deep inside of you, feel his hot breath on your shoulder and neck and one stray tear escape the corner of your eye. It runs down the side of your nose while you listen to both your mismatched breathing slow down again.

“I fucking love you,” you babble groggily. “So much… so much…”

Eddie places a kiss on the back of your head and picks the book back up, resuming where he left off. He stays inside you while he softens until he slips out. The distinction between characters fades, the gaps between words grow longer but you barely register it; it’s the sound of his voice that pulls you under into the depths of Morpheus’ realm and you’re finally ready to descend completely…

‘Look here!’ Sam whispered to Frodo, not too softly: he did not really care whether Gollum heard him or not. ‘We’ve got to get some Sleep—' Eddie pauses. “Precious? You asleep?”

Your slow, even breathing is all the answer he gets. He carefully reaches over you and drops the book on the mattress before he turns off the light and wraps his arm around you.

“Gonna find you in my dreams,” he whispers into your shoulder and follows you into sleep.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fanfic #my fic

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tender-rosiey · 10 months

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“AND MY HEART SCREAMS: IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU”

— the moment dazai, chuuya, kunikida, fyodor, nikola, ranpo, and fukuzawa knew they wanted to spend their entire life with you

DAZAI OSAMU: the moment he revealed his scars to you—scars that told of the past, details of the past, details that he thought he would never reveal. there were multiple outcomes, but his lonesome heart forced him to expect only one: you getting disgusted and perhaps even refusing to stay any longer. he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

so imagine his surprise when your eyes held nothing but sympathy and the utmost tenderness as you gently kissed his scars and whispered only one sentence, ‘I just wanted to be able to be by your side then’. what was he supposed to do other than pull you close and embrace you tightly, burying his face in your hair to hide a face that failed this once to master the mask?

NAKAHARA CHUUYA: when you went out of your way to prepare an unwinding night for the both of you. chuuya loves his with his entire heart and trusts with his entire being. and he sometimes doesn’t know just what to expect from people. so seeing you put so much effort into ensuring his happiness and your own had a certain hold on his heart.

he loves you unconditionally so when you responded to that love with the same intensity, he couldn’t help but gravitate towards you even more. he falls harder, but you’re there to catch him a smile. he approaches you, unaware of what will slip out of his mouth—a desire that has been on his mind for far longer that he thinks, “marry me,” he whispers, gentle and hopeful eyes looking at your own.

KUNIKIDA DOPPO: he is a man who sticks to his ideals and those ideals are to protect others not himself. it pained you, seeing him so ready to sacrifice himself to try and follow up to said ideals till the end. so you held his hand, crying about how you don’t want him to be so careless with himself and that your heart can’t handle seeing him choose his own death as a solution anymore.

he found himself breaking down and pulling you into a tight embrace, constantly murmuring ‘I am sorry’ with kisses pressed on top of your head and reassuring that he will always stay with you. your hold on him doesn’t falter as you feel his tears and he feels his heart getting even more fond of you, his dear true love.

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY: entertainment is something he loves, but it surprises him when he can’t handle entertainment at your expense. when he goes through his plans, even when the most ‘fun’ option involves you, he doesn’t choose it. he finds himself unable to put you in danger he knows he can avoid.

he doesn’t fight the place you have acquired in his heart; instead, he goes to you and his head finds home on your lap. his hand caresses your own and he looks at you with longing like you’re the epitome of what he truly wants for himself. a gentle whisper of your name and you look towards him and he finds sanctity in your gaze. the true form of purity: your love that he succumbs to and accepts as a part of his being.

NIKOLAI GOGOL: when you showed him that you truly understand or even try to him. you don’t call him a maniac or a monster; instead, you smile patiently, heart open for him, and ask him to tell you more. and he does. words spill out of his mouth in an unbelievable speed, thoughts—a jumbled mess—are thrown into the air and you listen.

emotions—the shackles of humans—overwhelm him in a way that he is surprised that he doesn’t hate. His legs grow weak and he falls at your feet, screaming, crying, and repeating a mantra of I love you. when he does calm down, he takes your hand and puts it on his face. he is now held back by love, shackled by you. he knows and he—somehow—doesn’t mind. he just sinks deeper.

EDOGAWA RANPO: when you slept in the office, beside him, while he was planning their next move. it is not often that ranpo actually works. so, it wouldn’t have made him upset if you left because with all his confidence, he values your smile the most. but you stayed, you always did. ‘y/n, you can go back home you know,’ he had murmured, patting your head with a small grin, but you just told him to shut up and you cuddled closer to him.

it’s not the first time you hugged, but, for some reason, this certain hug had him tightening his arms around you before shouting about how he needs to get done quicker so his sleeping beauty can rest properly with an undeniably lovesick and joyful grin on his face.

FUKUZAWA YUKICHI: when you patted his head with a murmur that you trust him. in the eyes of others, it is ultimately meaningless and silly. yet, to him, that single gesture meant the world. and behind closed doors, he rests at ease, knowing his heart is in your hands.

he dotes on others like a strict father, yet when the same affection and trust is thrown at him, he can’t help but smile helplessly while you stroke his hair and pull him close. he also feels his heart set ablaze when he sees you laughing and pulling on his hand, wanting him to join whatever fun you’re having. and he follows you, like he always did and always will—with a smile so serene it tugs at your own heart.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @waosobii @nanamikentoseyebags

do not copy or plagiarize or I will dislocate your shoulders

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whoreforhorror · 1 year

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Slasher with an S/O who self-harms

Included: Billy Loomis, Hannibal Lecter, Rusty Nail, Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair

Tw: Mentions of self-harm and blood

Billy Loomis

Billy had been out with Stu as Ghostface quite late into the night. He figured you would be asleep. Still, on the off chance that you weren’t, he made his way to your house. Realistically, even if you were asleep, he was just going to join you in bed.

He got to your window to find you were up, sitting on the edge of your bed with your back to the window. He was happy to see you up because he wanted to spend time with you, but it wasn’t really usual for you to be up quite this late. He snuck in quietly, planning to try and give you a scare, and got about halfway to you before he noticed a few more details he had missed.

You were incredibly quiet, the silence of the room feeling a bit suffocating at the moment. Your head was hung low and you had a blade in one of your hands. Your arms were bleeding. You were… bleeding? What the fuck?

Billy closes in on you, achieving his original goal of giving you quite the jump scare in the process. He didn’t care about that right now. Before you really know what was happening, you’re in the bathroom, sitting while he pulls out medical supplies. Billy was silent and methodical as he cleaned each wound, making sure they weren’t too deep before wrapping your arms in gauze and medical wrap. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at you.

He’d sit you back down on the edge of your bed, standing in front of you in silence. Even considering he didn’t really like to talk that much, he was too quiet. It put you on edge and made you worry. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or worried, and his face wasn’t giving anything away.

You avoided eye contact for what felt like an eternity before you came to the conclusion that you’d have to be the first to talk. “Billy-“ You couldn’t get anything out before he dropped to his knees in front of you and hugged your waist, burying his head in your stomach. You could hear him sob quietly into your shirt, and his hold on you was tight.

He cried for a while before he could gather himself enough to talk. Even then, all he said was “Why?”. He’d kill anyone responsible for making you feel this way. Point blank. No Stu, no Ghostface, no teasing or foreplay. It would be him, them, and his knife, and it would be messy. If it wasn’t that simple, he’d listen to everything you told him, anything you’d be willing to share. When you finished, he’d stand up to hold you properly and to talk in your ear. He couldn’t bring himself to talk anywhere above a whisper at the moment.

“I can’t lose you. You’re all I have. I love you so much-“ It was the first time he had told you that and you couldn’t ignore the sting created by having him say it in this moment rather than during something happy and romantic. “I need you here with me. Anything you want I’ll help you with. I’ll do anything to make you feel better, just say the word.”

Eventually, he’d get you to lay down with him and he’d hold you tight as you both slept. From now on, he’d keep a closer eye on you and anything your body language would tell him about how you’re feeling. Sometimes, when he’s really tired and you’re asleep, he’ll run his thumb over your scars and think to himself about how he’d missed the signs and what he can do to keep this from happening ever again.

Hannibal Lecter

The dinner party really wasn’t supposed to start like this. Hannibal had bought you an outfit he’d seen while he was out, and it had reminded him of you. It was a sweet thought, and you couldn’t deny it looked amazing, but there was one issue. It had short sleeves. You’d been able to get away with wearing long sleeves up until this point because of the weather, which was cold, but each day was just a bit warmer and it was to the point where it was too warm to add a jacket to an outfit. So here you were, looking at the outfit laying neatly on the bed, tears in your eyes as you thought about your arms and how Hannibal was going to react. Would he think you’re weak? Imperfect? Valueless? Would he think you were trying to damage his image?

Hannibal, who had been around for nearly twenty minutes, was growing concerned about how long it was taking you to get around. He knocked on the door, calling out to you and asking if everything was alright. You responded, saying everything was ok, but he could hear the distress and shakiness in your voice as you spoke. Of course, he could. He thought about his options for a second before announcing that he was coming into the room. You didn’t want him to but there was no way to keep him out. You knew that.

“What’s wrong, my love? Do you not like the outfit?” He knew it wasn’t that, but he’d rather you tell him what was really wrong rather than him having to figure it out himself. “I can take it back if it’s not to your liking.” You’d have to choose between acting as if you hated the outfit he’d gifted you or telling him about your self-harming. You hated sounding ungrateful, especially when Hannibal was always so gracious. You had to tell him.

And when you did, he goes quiet for a moment. He’d known something was wrong but he certainly hadn’t been expecting that. He hadn’t noticed. How hadn’t he noticed? He’s panicking internally but refuses to let it show at the moment. For the first time in a very, very long time, he’s feeling fear, sadness, confusion, and anger toward himself.

He’ll do whatever is needed to make you feel comfortable. If you want to cover them, he’ll figure it out. If you don’t want to, he’s more than supportive and will shut down anyone who would dare say something about them.

Once dinner is done and the guests have left, he’ll question you. In that moment, you don’t have Hannibal, you have Dr. Lecter. He will want to know how long you’ve been struggling with mental health, how long you’ve been self-harming, what triggers you, how can he help, etc.

He’ll pay close attention to you after he knows. You and sharp objects, that is. He won’t lock away knives or anything of that sort. He knows that will only make you feel worse, but he’ll make sure to remember exactly where sharp objects are and how they’re positioned. He’s going to know if you do it again. Once he knows, it’s impossible to hide it. Point blank. Still, he’ll be gentle about it. He doesn’t think you’re wrong or damaged; he just thinks you need a bit of structure and help.

Rest assured, you’ll get the best care with Hannibal. He’s a psychiatrist after all, and one of the best at that. However, he might use this as a way to subtly manipulate you into sharing his… unique food tastes. After all, why harm yourself when you can take all of your emotions out on others?

Rusty Nail

Rusty is gone A LOT, that’s no secret. But, that means you’re left with a lot of time to think, and thinking leads you to, well, the predicament you’re in now. You didn’t think he was supposed to be home for another day or two, but he’s early. He’s early and your arm is leaking fresh blood. If that wasn’t bad enough, you also hadn’t heard him (you were too wrapped up in your thoughts) until he was opening the bedroom door.

“Darlin’?” He’s walking towards you slowly, like you’re an animal that could lash out if he moves too quickly. Gently, he takes your hands and holds up your arms to give himself a better view. He wipes his thumb across a drop of blood to convince himself that this is real, and not a sort of twisted hallucination. “Darlin’.” He says it softly, this time.

He’s incredibly gentle as he guides you to the bathroom to tend to your wounds, quiet too. You’re sat on the side of the tub and he’s kneeling before you. As he finishes, he lets out a deep sigh, looking up at you before circling his arms around your waist and burring his face into your stomach. His hold is tight, and this lasts for quite a while.

When Rusty gathers himself enough to look at you again, he’ll pick you up and carry you to bed. You don’t feel like arguing. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he was right, you were tired and you weren’t going to fight him on it. Even if you wanted to, the shattered look in his eyes acted as a foolproof deterrent.

As you nap, he cooks a meal for you. He wakes you up after a while to eat and draws you a bath after you’re done. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t know what to say. For every moment he can, he’s going to take care of you like your royalty. Gradually, as the tension loosens, he’ll talk more and so will you but there is still a heavy sadness and tension in the air around him.

He’ll ask you quietly in the morning, as you two laze in bed, why you do it. Whether or not you tell him, he respects your choice. If you do tell him, he’ll want to talk through the issue. If it’s a person, he’s already thinking up ways to draw as much suffering from him as possible. If you don’t want to tell him, that’s ok. He’ll hold you close and whisper things about how much he loves you and what he would do to prove it.

When he’s on the road, he’ll call you every afternoon. Talk to him about anything, he just wants to hear you speak and get insight on your day. He wants to make sure you’re ok, as well.

He’d take you for a drive if you wanted. He absolutely loves having you in his passenger seat, riding alongside him in his rig. It makes him feel happy and possessive. One night, when he’s not on the road, he’d stock his truck with snacks, drinks, and blankets. He’d drive you out a field and stargaze with you late into the night, possibly until you fell asleep. If that happened, he’d carry you back into the truck so he could drive home.

Michael Myers

Micheal knew something had been off for a while, but assumed you’d come to him when you were ready to share. He’d grown impatient though, and decided to watch you while you thought he was away, to see if he could figure out what was wrong.

He’d caught you in the act and was shocked. Well, he felt as much shock as he was capable of feeling, which is far more than he is used to but not like a person might normally. Still, the pang of emotion was something he didn’t feel often. He’d suspected something was up but he hadn’t suspected this. Not in the slightest.

Of course, he’d seen people self-harm before. He had his time in the hospital to thank for that. He remembered how the doctors would react. Restraints, heavy surveillance, taking away anything even slightly dangerous, frequent and consistent check-ins, and medication, loads of medications. He also remembered how much the patients hated it. He had a few hours before you expected him home, which meant he had a few hours to think.

When Michael came home, you greeted him as you always did. You were cheery and excitable. It put a weird taste in his mouth and a feeling like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It didn’t sit right with him and made him very unhappy.

He was still for a moment longer than normal, catching your attention and causing you to ask if something was wrong. He responds by pointing to your arm, confusing you. He grabs your wrist and pulls up one of your sleeves, and you freeze, looking at him in the eye holes of his mask in shock.

Michael would give you the materials needed to take care of your wounds and watch as you patch yourself up. He’d teach you if you didn’t know how. After, he’d lay on the couch with you and watch movies until you fell asleep. Only after you’re asleep would he leave a kiss on each arm. A promise to you and himself that he’d do what he needed to make you happy.

Michael will be around more after he finds out. Not in an overbearing way, but he realized that he doesn’t spend as much time as he should with you. He’ll bring home little gifts that he thinks you’ll like and will make you masks that he thinks fit your personality. You might even sucker him into cleaning the house or cooking from time to time.

Bo Sinclair

It was WAY too hot for long sleeves in Louisiana. It was the middle of summer, and mid-day at that. Bo thought you’d knock more than a few screws loose to be dressed for late fall at this time of year. And to be outside on top of that?

Bo had asked you to come to the church to help with some minor repairs, and you’d been more than happy to come along. Problem was, you’d had a relapse the night before and your arms were covered in fresh wounds. You were practically dying in the summer heat, but you’d risk the heatstroke to avoid Bo finding out.

“What’re you doin’ with them sleeves? You look like you’re fixin’ to go out in winter, not the Louisiana summer.” You hadn’t really thought of a cover story, which was coming back to bite you in the ass. You’d decided to say you just weren’t feeling too great, causing Bo to look back at you.

“What’s wrong sugar?” You’d responded and said you felt cold and you were tired, and you could tell he wasn’t sure if he really believed you. He put a hand on your forehead as you looked up at him. “Well, you’re burnin’ up but that’s probably because of them sleeves. Why don’t ya take it off? Certainly wouldn’t mind the view to give me a lil’ work encouragement.”

You turned him down and suggested that you’d go get some lemonade, to which he agreed was a good idea and wanted to join you. He was at a good stopping place anyway. While you were washing up to serve the lemonade, you’d had to push up your sleeves a bit to avoid getting them wet. You hadn’t accounted for Bo coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you.

He was about to say something when he saw them. When you felt him tense up, you tensed up too. You froze and waited for him to say something, to do anything that gave you an indication of how to respond. After a few seconds, he took his arms away from your waist and grabbed your shoulders gently, turning you around to face him.

“You know… I’ve got some scars too…” It was the first time you’d seen the scars on his wrist. It was the only thing he could think to do in the moment. You started fretting over him, asking what happened, if he was alright, who did this, and other things along that line in a continuous stream of worry. He had to interrupt you and raise his voice to get you to quiet down. He agreed that he would tell you what happened if you told him why you’d harmed yourself.

In the end, you both wound up having an hours-long conversation about both of your histories and troubles. You both talked until you passed out, holding each other close and feeling leagues closer to him than you had before. It was a rare, bittersweet moment to bond and it would result in a permanent, noticeable shift in the interactions between you two.

After the conversation, you two held each other closer. You were softer when speaking to each other, and arguments often got resolved much quicker and with fewer tears than there used to be. You both understood each other more than anyone else had, and it shows.

Bo would do the best he could to make you feel comfortable showing your arms, no matter what stage of healing they were in. Bo would even show his scars more if it helped, granted that there was no chance of visitors. If tourists said anything about it, they wouldn’t get to be a sculpture. Vincent wouldn’t be able to reconstruct them well enough if he tried. No, they’d wind up in the pit with Lester’s roadkill.

Bo would kiss your scars in intimate moments if you’d let him. It’s his way of showing that he loves every part of you, regardless of how much you like it yourself.

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kingminie · 4 months

Text

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader

genre: angst, exes au.

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth.

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you.

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really.

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day.

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing.

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets.

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?”

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back.

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?”

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.”

Ah, there it is.

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it.

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.”

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?”

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue. You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder.

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.”

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.”

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.”

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?”

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.”

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine.

“Am I right?”

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.”

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work.

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it.

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.”

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.”

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.”

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.”

Wait.

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister.

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?”

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night.

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like.

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over.

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases.

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god.

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up.

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today.

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more.

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.”

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.”

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it.

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what.

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you.

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee.

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.”

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter.

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car.

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so.

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions.

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving.

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.”

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips.

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun.

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs.

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go.

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead.

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good.

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day.

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow.

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this.

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.”

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.”

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you.

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way.

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open.

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—”

And you stop.

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung.

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung.

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung.

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed.

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth.

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.”

Oh, you know.

So, you do.

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung.

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you.

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t.

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?”

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.”

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.”

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—”

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then.

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why.

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.”

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned.

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try.

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river.

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place.

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know.

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain.

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing.

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today.

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled.

Now, this is where you make the second mistake.

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees. It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it.

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward.

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this.

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager.

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it.

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale.

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks.

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again.

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes.

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.”

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again.

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents.

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that.

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?”

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos.

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—”

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless.

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably.

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you.

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands.

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale.

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention.

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things.

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think.

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?”

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe.

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way.

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face.

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells.

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths.

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand.

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space.

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture.

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move. Had been on you all this time.

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t.

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there.

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute.

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?”

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too.

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow.

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him.

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all.

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers.

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight.

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes.

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars.

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?”

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?”

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.”

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.”

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made.

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.”

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep.

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this.

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up.

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden.

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off. A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him.

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened.

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here.

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake.

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.”

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?”

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.”

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this.

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.”

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?”

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then.

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.”

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out.

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.”

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do.

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same.

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung.

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away.

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight.

“I’m not.”

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years.

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours.

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world.

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening.

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”