#Anyway my memory straight up cuts out not too long after writing on the ceiling I think I remember going back inside the main venue bit?

[carrotpiss]

Wall of text time wall of text time (hello tumblr I use u like a diary time) just gotta get some words down innit

[technowoah]

THESEUS - a dsmp story ( DreamSMP x Queen!Reader)

CHAPTER FIVE : AND I REALIZE THREE FUNDAMENTAL TRUTHS AT THE EXACT SAME TIME.

Chapter Summary: You had gotten what you wanted, but at what cost? Nightmares ensue, and Dream’s true colors begin to show.

pairing: c!wilbur x queen!reader

an// IM BACK!! hopefully yall like this chaper cause this is the last one that I wrote in the past, Im writing chapter 6 rn so it might take a while. Also sorry for not posting requests I really wanted to get this chapter out there

⚠︎ swearing, dsmp spoliers(?), angst, arguing, smoking, explosions, gaslighting(?), not proofread.

Series Masterlist 

"Good job you two! This is all yours now.”

Dream had led you and Eret back to the castle, all of them still battered and bruised from the war they recently had. You had already taken off your armor and now you were wearing underneath your L'Manburg outfit that was torn and burnt showing some of your skin which was also burnt or cut. You had noticed on the way to the castle that Dream had kept on looking at the outfit that Eret and you had on with disgust, like a taunt.

You could finally relax in the huge castle that you apparently deserved because you and Eret had taken the first lives of the citizens of L'Manburg. In your heart you knew that L'Manburg was still a country. They all have two more lives and they will build the country up again with those two lives. You sighed then kept walking into the throne room. you looked at the two big thrones that sat next to each other. One for a king and one for a queen.

"Why are you standing there? Sit down! Relax!" Dream patted one of the thrones.

You and Eret had sat down on the thrones next to each other looking around the huge throne room and Dream smiling right in front of them. Once you both sat down you tried to sit up straight, but you wanted to slump down into the comfy, plush, velvet and gold chair. The two of them sat on velvet and gold thrones while in burnt and torn L'Manburg uniforms. It was a sight to see, and if someone didn't know the context of what just happened, this scene would've made sense to them.

"I'm happy you did this. You deserve all of this." Dream said while walking along the marble floor.

"It's beautiful, but I'm exhausted." You let your head fall to the side. You sighed wanting Dream to leave so you could finally get some rest.

"I bet."

"Eret are you okay?" You spoke up after Dream.

Eret had a look that you couldn't make out. He just stared off into space in his own mind. He shook his head after you called for him again.

"Yeah, yeah I am fine. I'm just thinking." Eret quickly responded.

"What are you thinking about?" Dream said in a monotone voice.

"If we did the right thing." Eret sighed.

You slowly nodded because you were thinking the exact same thing. They were traitors, you had built somewhat of a connection with those people you helped kill. And now what? you're living in a huge castle and apparently you "Shouldn't be feeling this way", Dream claimed.

"You two are overreacting. They are fine." Dream said bluntly while staring at them with a straight face.

That was a huge lie, their lives were taken today. They're not just “fine”.

"You two were never a part of that place anyways. This is your home! Why would you need to wear those hideous colors? They look bad on you, it's unflattering. There is no need to go back." Dream explained.

You hang your head not knowing what to say to the man, there wasn’t really anything to say but you spoke up hoping the words will come to you.

"I don't-"

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay. You're safe now. Did you get hurt?" Dream asked.

The bruises and scars said differently.

"Remember when I said that?" Dream pushed the question.

You rubbed a burn mark on your wrist and laughed a bit. "No! Actually I don't. We're safe now, but that doesn't mean we aren't hurt." You chuckled in disbelief.

"Well maybe if you listened to me you wouldn't be so anxious. If you listened you wouldn't have been so hesitant. You're safe." Dream said sternly.

"Maybe you're tired, Dream. We're all tired. Shall we go to bed?" Eret stood up and held out his hand to help you up from your seat.

You accepted his hand and started to follow Eret through the huge castle making your way through the huge, high ceiling halls. The three walked towards the king's and queen's room in the castle, Dream kept a slower pace and walked behind the two wanting to get one more word in before leaving the castle.

"If you two are ever in doubt just remember that you are on the right side of history." Dream said then turned around to leave the two alone.

You both stopped and turned around to see Dream’s back facing the both of you as he walked away. You and Eret eventually made it to your new bedrooms. There was a big door which held a huge room made for the both of them to sleep in and two separate rooms next to the bigger door which were made for one person. Eret and you stood in front of the bigger door staring at the intricate designs on the door not speaking to each other.

"So?" Eret laughed.

"So!" You exclaimed while chuckling.

"Are you okay sleeping in that huge room tonight?" Eret asked.

"I'm not totally comfortable with that, but it would be weird if we slept in the same bed. Don't get me wrong! You're a great friend, but-"

"Y/N/N stop! I'm okay with that too. I wasn't looking to sleep in the same bed. Yes we're married, but we're just staying friends, hey we might get a divorce later." Eret explained.

"If I do, we won't be king and queen anymore." You said softly to your husband.

"Is that what you want? To be "queen"?" Eret asked while putting air quotes around the word queen.

You paused for a moment then answered his question.

"I don't know where I'm supposed to be, Eret." You looked up at him sadly and he pulled you in for a hug. It took you everything you had to not cry into the L'Manburg uniform Eret was wearing. Today drained you mentally and physically, your hands were raw from shooting arrows, you had burn marks on your skin and your feet hurt from running through the kingdom. You weren’t sure about where you would go, because this didn't feel like your home.

"Let's go to bed and we'll talk in the morning. Rest on it because I'll happily divorce you so you can find your place in this huge kingdom." Eret laughed and let you out of his arms.

You chuckled and then let him go walking into what was supposed to be the queen's room and right next to it was the king's room which they both walked in after saying goodnight and closing their doors finally having time to themselves after a long day.

You finally took off the L'Manburg uniform and laid it on a velvet chair in the corner of the huge room. You stared at the uniform before going to the nearest closet and picking out something to wear for that night. The queen's room was basically the huge couple's room that you found before, but just with a smaller bed. There were still trinkets, jewelry and even clothes in the closet. you took a nightgown out of the closet and sat on the plush bed. You ended up laying down staring at the high ceiling thinking of the predicament Eret's question brought.

You finally retired for the night and crawled into bed and got under the soft covers. The window was open so a soft cool breeze was blowing through the room letting the curtains flow with the breeze. If you left you wouldn't have anywhere to go except back to L'Manburg, they would never let you back even if you tried. They probably hated your guts by now, so maybe divorcing wasn't a good idea. You had a set home here, you had food, clothes, and you weren't under attack every minute. you didn't have to watch your back for any enemies.

Your mind slowed down as you finally lulled yourself into a deep sleep forgetting the troubles in your mind for only a moment.

-------------------

The sunset fell over the horizon making it a gold, red color. It was beautiful. The trees were illuminated and the lakes had a certain glow to them. you could see mobs began to crawl out of the ground and caves, but you was safe up here.

You looked down and saw the familiar obsidian walls. It seemed like a faint memory, but in reality the walls were real. It was like you could feel the stone underneath your feet at this moment. you could see inside L'Manburg.

you saw Tubbo and Tommy laying in the grass talking to one another. you saw Fundy sleeping in the grass next to them. There were two new faces you had never seen before. It was a woman with short pink hair and another man with a shaved head. It might've been your mind putting people in your dreams to fill space. Then you saw Eret sitting by a small river letting his bare feet flow in the water. It was a peaceful scene.

"Beautiful sunset isn't it?" A voice showed up beside you.

It was Wilbur. He had his uniform on, it was clean like the war didn't even happen.

"It is really beautiful." You agreed watching the sun continue to lower over the trees.

"You know everything the sun touches is yours? It's all of ours. It just so happens that you can see the sunset and sunrise from L'Manburg. You can do anything as long as you see the sun rise and fall." Wilbur said, keeping his gaze soft at the sunset.

You hummed but stayed quiet admiring his words and the sunset.

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story. After you took one of my lives away I understand now. You can't control other people and their motivations."

You hang your head in disappointment, but then Wilbur continued.

"But I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you, but remember from here on in that history has its eyes on you. History will forever have its eyes on you no matter what you do." Wilbur looked into your eyes as the sun set on the two of them the stars began to shine.

The light brown eyes Wilbur had turned darker because of the sunlight being gone. You looked out back at the mobs in the forest and the huge towers in the sky made the kingdoms members. you turned around and looked into L'Manburg. Or what was considered L'Manburg.

There was no one there anymore, instead of people there were huge amounts of TNT that filled the walls behind them. you could hear faint voices around them, people that you didn't know. It sounded like chaos. you whipped your head around to Wilbur who was dressed in a brown tattered trench coat, brown pants, and a white shirt instead of the L'Manburg uniform.

He had a cigarette in his mouth and matches in his hands. He smirked at you as the voices around you got louder and your head sounded like you were in the middle of a tornado. your head was buzzing as your eyes couldn't focus on Wilbur in front of you. It felt like these moments were happening right in front of your all at one time.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?"

"You know if I die, this country goes down with me."

"if respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?"

"Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me, Phil kill me! Phil, stab me with the sword, murder me now, kill me! Look-"

"You know Y/N" Wilbur started next to you. He lit a match and turned around to L'Manburg which was now filled with TNT.

"Somethings. Somethings were never meant to be." He threw the match into the huge pile of TNT and all in a second the obsidian underneath your feet disappeared as you fell into the explosion beneath you.

-------------------------

"Fuck! Where am I?!" You shot up from your sleeping position in a cold sweat.

You frantically felt around the bed trying to convince yourself that you were physically at the castle in your bed. You finally caught your breath and laid back down in your bed finding yourself staring at the ceiling again. Even with the window open blowing cool air into the room, your skin still felt hot. You ended up tossing the covers off of you and making your way towards the entrance of the kingdom to get some air.

That dream was so much stuff in it you couldn't comprehend all of it. It was like Wilbur was there as if he was talking to you directly and it wasn't a dream and it made you second guess yourself and think that it may have not been a dream. You finally made it outside and sat on one of the steps that led people up into the kingdom. you sighed and breathed in the fresh air and it immediately relaxed your body and mind. You were alive, you were here and sadly Wilbur wasn't there. You closed your eyes and felt the breeze around you until you were startled by a figure beside you.

"You're up late. I thought you said you were mentally tired." Dream chuckled sitting beside you.

"I had a bad dream." You sighed.

"Hey don't take my name in vain like that" Dream laughed trying to bring up your mood.

Dream sighed and stood back up when he didn't get a response from his companion.

"Come one, let's go. Let's get your mind off of the one bad dream." Dream held his hand out, gesturing to you to take it.

You took his hand and then released it letting him lead the way to wherever the wind may take them. The dream is currently still stuck in your head. The voices from different people confused you and made your head spin.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?" What did that mean? Was someone threatening Tommy? Will someone threaten Tommy? You grew to care for that kid.

Who said "If I die, this country goes down with me"? What country. L'Manburg?

"If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?" That one stumped you the most. you didn't even know if this was being spoken to you or to someone else. All of them except for the Tommy one.

Were they all even dreams? The one that haunted your mind the most was the one where someone was telling a man named Phil to kill them. Were you there for that moment? Did Phil kill the person? Who was Phil? All these thoughts and questions plagued your mind so much that your feet mindlessly carried you wherever Dream led you to.

"Here we are." Dream led You on top of a hill, a tall enough hill to see the main attraction. The place you missed the most, L'Manburg.

Tears started to form in your eyes and you tried blinking them away. All the moments of that dream appeared in your brain, but even stronger. you never felt these emotions before. Maybe L'Manburg was your home all along. you missed seeing Tubbo, Tommy, Eret and Fundy doing their own thing while your and Wilbur had a deep talk inside the van. you had spent weeks with them growing too attached to them and then ended up becoming a traitor.

"That place. You never belonged there. You're too good for them." Dream started and you stayed quiet watching the stars begin to disappear.

"Do you trust me?" Dream asked.

You stayed quiet not having the answer he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear you say that you trusted him when in reality you couldn’t, you weren't fully there yet, not anymore. 

"They lied to you. It's not your home." Dream continued on letting you listen and not talk.

"How did you know if someone said it was my home or not?" You asked, startled.

"I might've been keeping an eye on you. I wanted to make sure my flower was okay." Dream kept his gaze on L'Manburg.

"Stop calling me that." You sighed.

"I never started. This was the first time I said that. Who called you flower?" Dream suddenly got serious, staring at you.

you kept your sights on the obsidian walls, not sparing him a glance. The stars began to fade and the sun peeked over the horizon. As they stayed longer the sun rose over the walls of L'Manburg. You started to remember the words in the dream you had.

"You know everything the sun touches is yours? It's all of ours. It just so happens that you can see the sunset and sunrise from L'Manburg. You can do anything as long as you see the sun rise and fall."

L'Manburg stands for independence. Independence. That word kept ringing through your head like a mantra until a few voices below the hill and near the walls alerted you.

"HEY! Hey Wilbur! Give me back my shit!" Tommy yelled as he stomped after the older man.

"Wilbur get Tommy to stop shouting and give him his swords back please!" Fundy yelled trailing behind the two.

"No not until he learns not to go start stabbing shit!" Wilbur yelled back at the other two.

You missed that. you missed the bickering and the nonsense they all shared. you were upset that Tommy still hadn't learned his lesson and you wished you were there beside them at that moment.

Dream spoke up giving you a look you couldn’t quite get. "You are never allowed to step inside those walls again.

"What gives you the right to tell me what and what not to do? Who does that make you? Who do you think-"

"YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO GO IN THOSE WALLS!" Dream yelled getting dangerously close to you.

You continued to stare at those blue eyes as the bright sun rose over the dark walls of L’Manburg. you didn't say anything but descended down the mountain alone with the sounds of Tommy, Fundy, and Wilbur bickering in the background, wishing you were there and not next to the man next to you who was staring at you angrily.

"I know what’s good for you! I know what's good for this country! Just trust me Y/N!" Dream yelled starting an argument

"Would you calm down! You came here to be all quiet and now you're yelling at me. You might want to be quiet before Wilbur hears you. Or do you want me to get him myself?" You yelled back, getting furious.

"Oh you wish! He doesn't care for you as much as me, Sapnap and George do! They agree as well!"

"Don't put words into his mouth!" You accused

"Oh! So if he cares so fucking much he would've help save you. And do you know what would happen if he saved you?! You would've died! I saved you! You were in a perfect situation and all you had to do is not complain! You're always overreacting." Dream ended with a huff and rolled his eyes while turning away..

you were speechless at this point. Overwhelming emotions consumed you. you couldn't believe you were overreacting. Maybe Wilbur wasn't everything you needed. you were overreacting, you were being selfish too. Dream was right. Dream walked over to you pulling you in a hug with L'Manburg was still in your sights.

"I did everything because I love you. You're too precious for them, you're not for them. They don't deserve you, you deserve someone who wants the best for you. A flower that needs a home and I'm here to give it to you." Dream softly explained.

Your eyes kept tearing up at the words and different emotions flowing through you. The sights on L'Manburg make your memories and questions come back. Where did you belong? But more importantly who was telling the truth?

Taglist: @hi-imuwu @k-l-a-w-s

[sirensmojo]

"KINDRED", 4 - Thomas Shelby x Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, romance, violence, guns, drama, slight smut(“slight”?)

Word Count: 5k+

AN: When it’s a reader and Tommy scene, it’s Tommy POV.

❰ ​Previous Chapter

Tommy leaned backwards on his desk chair, a cigarette stuck in between his index and middle fingers. He was looking at the ceiling as if its colour brought to him answers to the multiple questions that had been clouding his mind lately.

Since the day he and Y/N kissed, he noticed she had been avoiding him. She didn’t even send him the weekly book she usually dropped at the office.

He didn’t understand her, and each time he tried to put back together the pieces to get a clear view of her character, the memories of the smell of her hair brought him somewhere else. And whenever he would dare to close his eyes too long, he would taste her lips again.

Even if she chose to stay away from him, he entered her world once and appreciated it so greatly it had printed into his spirits, like a hand in wet cement.

He allowed himself to shift his thoughts to Mosley from time to time, the d-day was approaching and with it, the time he’ll take the lead of the British fascist party.

(...)

The only way Lizzie found to see her husband these days was to come back in business as Tommy’s secretary. He told her she wouldn’t have to work when they got their daughter, Ruby, but he was rarely home, and when he was, his mind was elsewhere.

Even after promising to let her in sometimes, she struggled the most to read him, but despite all, she was deeply in love with him. She had to make the effort and reach for him.

He didn’t agree with her taking back her job at first and she knew exactly why, as being responsible for her having a baby, he had to take care of her, at least he felt like he did. He was undeniably a murderer, cut-throat gangster, but he had convictions and rules to stick to.

This morning began as normal as any other for the Shelby company limited, Lizzie was occupied with papers as Tommy locked himself in his office.

The door opened, Lizzie’s gaze instantly got up, searching for who might that be. When her gaze met the figure, her jaw dropped. ‘Not again’ she thought. This scene reminds her of the time May Carleton came in here only to entice her Tommy.

She knew he didn’t owe her anything, but he could’ve waited at least a day or two before calling another woman. Not even twenty-four hours earlier Tommy was fucking her in some alley in the cold, probably thinking about a woman he knew before France. But he said he was fucking her, Lizzie, and not his lost teenage lover, even if she knew better.

Tommy and his cock.

That May Carleton was walking so confidently in front of Lizzie, she probably thought she was the one to own Tommy’s cock. If only she knew. She glared at her so strongly that May avoided looking at her at all costs.

The woman that just passed the door didn’t look her way, too occupied walking straight to the doors of Tommy’s office with the arrogance of an army.

Lizzie’s eyes went from her seemingly very expensive shoes, up her green pants suit in which pockets she kept a hand, to her suit jacket that fell perfectly on her waist as the end of which was drawing the woman’s hips. Her leather belt marked, even more, her waist and its golden details matched the imposing blue pearls necklace along with the large same looking earrings.

As soon as the woman entered the room, the atmosphere switched, her figure called the eyes, not only due to her ostentatious jewellery collection but also by the woman’s charismatic aura. Even the clicking sound her heels made on the hard ground was full of power. Anyone could hear the confidence in each of her steps, which made Lizzie gasp.

As a moth attracted to light, Tommy got out of his office, a cigarette hanging on his lips. He pressed a shoulder on the door frame, his eyes fixed on the woman walking towards him.

He was indeed waiting for her.

His deep blue eyes weren’t examining the woman’s form in an enticed way, he was solely looking at her face, a thing that made Lizzie’s heart ached because she understood there might be more than sexual attraction between them.

Lizzie knew her husband. From the way he dawdled on the woman’s face to the little waving of his shoulders, she just knew.

The atmosphere again had changed, Lizzie was now oppressed by their two presences, the warm and powerful one of the stranger and the usual cold and disconcerting one of her husband, one completing the other.

As her heart didn’t want to admit it yet, a burning look was exchanged by the two pairs of eyes, and confirmed the obvious her brain already knew, Thomas had found his match, and it wasn’t her.

(...)

Tommy took off his shoulder from the door frame and stood straight as he humidified his lips. The librarian walked to him with her usual unreadable face and when she was close enough, she grabbed his cigarette off his fingers taking her time to make their skin touch as much as she could. Her eyes were still deeply in Tommy’s as millions of sparks animated the tips of his fingers.

The man coughed and turned to Lizzie, motioning his hand to the woman behind the desk, in an attempt to ignore the sparks. “Mrs Y/L/N, meet my wife, Lizzie. Lizzie, it’s Mrs Y/L/N, the librarian I work with at the House Of Commons.” He had sensed the intense look of his wife since Y/N came closer to him.

“Mrs Shelby! I am so honoured to meet you, I heard about your typewriting skills, writing eyes closed, eh? I could never.” Y/N gave a warm smile to Lizzie that squinted her eyes in anticipation. His wife didn’t believe in what the librarian just told and he was sure Y/N knew it too.

“Yeah? Well, I never heard of you.” Lizzie spitted.

“It’s because you don’t keep company with my people.” She had the audacity to take a puff on the cigarette she stole earlier from Tommy looking his wife straight in the eyes.

Even if Y/N’s voice was calm and solemn, it was clear it was an attack. The implication made Lizzie gritted her teeth as she got up and joined them. Tommy rubbed a hand on his own face knowing exactly what she was going to do.

She stood behind the librarian. “And what business do you have here in Birmingham if you work in London?”

“You’re husband,” Y/n responded, not even turning to her. She bypassed Tommy and opened the door’s office before disappearing behind them.

Lizzie followed her with her eyes before looking up at her husband. “The fuck is she doing here? Are you going to fuck her, Thomas?”

“No, Lizzie. Am not going to fuck her.” He responded exhaling deeply.

“Yeah, take me for an fucking idiot.” She walked to the desk to grab her hat & coat. “That’s all you’re good for anyway. You fucked all Birmingham and now London, huh?” She sneered before shaking her head walking to the exit.

“Lizzie.” He called, but the woman had already closed the door.

Tommy raised his brows and sighed before turning to the office where he marked a pause. It was another type of storm he had to face now. He finally opened the door and got in, only to find Y/N seated behind his desk, in his chair.

“Tommy Shelby, OBE, what a pleasure to meet your family.”

“It was quite a show you put out there.” He closed behind him.

When he turned back at the room, she was walking toward him, but she already was pretty near.

“So you fucked all Birmingham already, hum? Trying to expand your activities in London?” Y/N leaned on him, she was so close he could smell her breath and he wondered what was her fucking problem. She ignored him for days after they kissed and here she was again, pushing him to the edges. It was almost as if it was a game for her. And if it was, she was winning all the damn rounds.

“And you? What’s with the attitude?”

“What are you talking about.” She took a step back.

“You have been busy this week, eh?” Tommy walked to the counter and poured whiskey in two glasses.

“Well, the man you have your little brother watching, he talks.” She loosely let out. “The bookmaker Billy Grade, the one that conducts the football betting business” She paused looking at Tommy’s surprised expression. “He doesn’t like Arthur.”

“To who?” Was the simple question he needed an answer to.

“I made moves with Mosley so, yes, it had been a busy week, Thomas.”

At the revelation, Tommy’s eyes squinted. If there was one thing he learnt with Grace was to make sure his feelings weren’t a shackle to business.

“I’m not betraying you, no need for these wrinkles at the corner of your eyes. But you gotta know he’s offered me the South.” She went to the counter and took the glasses before sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, one cup in her hand, the other she put on one of the numerous files covering the desk.

Tommy went sitting in his armchair. He lit a cigarette and held one to the woman that declined.

“Only like to take yours.” She gave as an explanation.

“How come he offered you the south?” He ignored her comment.

“North’s Mc Cavern’s, Middle’s yours, South’s vacant. But I have another plan for the South, and you might agree with me as well.” A rictus took place at the corner of her lips, as Tommy looked at her, curious. “Mr Solomons. I know he wrote you that he’s still alive.”

Tommy’s lids fluttered a couple times, he didn’t say anything. How could she know so much all the time? Was she listening to him or something? He for a second thought it might be her spying on him on the phone but this idea went away almost immediately.

She wasn’t Grace.

“He and I are great friends. Not as if he really has any, but do I?” She muttered utterly to herself.

Tommy coughed and leaned back on his chair, making himself comfortable.

“What’s with you, Tommy?” Asked the librarian, and he himself couldn’t put a finger on what was going on. It was always that way when she was around, but everything intensified when they leaned their breath as one and connected together.

His mind was so full of thoughts that had nothing to do with business that it was hard for him to concentrate. But for some reason, he just couldn’t push those thoughts aside.

He wanted her, he yearned for her to touch him the way she did that night, to intertwine their fingers together again and forget about Mosley for an instant, just one. Tommy humidified his lips again as raising his eyebrows, it was like his lips were always dry or incomplete. Her lips belonged on his. He raised his gaze to her in distress.

“You want to come to me house, Tommy? Again?” Her voice resonated in his head, her words taking him by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Have a drink or two, meet my cat...” She went on, looking intently at his soul hiding behind his icy blue iris.

He didn’t recognize her, but did he even know her? It seems not. Every time they meet, she puts another mask on. Somewhere in his soul, he believed it wasn’t a good idea, that thing they shared. But he knew he couldn’t turn away and break the partnership. Not now. Not only could she be hard to beat if they turned to enemies, but he also needed her, she was part of his business now. She was too precious an ally for him to withdraw from the deal.

As he didn’t respond, she drank from her cup, finishing its countenance in one go. “I’ll ask Arthur then...replace his Linda.” She added looking up to the ceiling innocently.

“The fuck did you say?” He hustled to spit as watching her without blinking.

Her gaze went back on Tommy, a playful gleam animating her pupils.

“What do you say?” She sent him back the ball. It was indeed a game for her, and he knew once again she would be the winner because he wouldn’t say no.

He tried to escape her game by coughing it away and smoked his cigarette. “How are you going to bring up Alfie Solomons with Mosley?” He went back on business, but the woman didn’t seem ready yet to give up.

She got up and grabbed the phone with one hand as the other was dialling a number. She sat at the corner of the desk, turning toward the Shelby brother and the phone. Tommy watched her movements closely, curious about how she was going to handle him dismissing her offer.

He couldn’t even hide the fact her stubbornness did something to him, even if he repressed any desire for her. It was as if they were the principal characters in the regency era drama he ended up devouring as it was the book Y/N was reading on their first meeting.

He was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the librarian asking the cable woman to put her in connection with the individual she intended to reach.

“Yeah, Arthur, it’s me. I wonder if you would wa--” Tommy had heard enough. He hung up the line and fixed the phone for what feels like centuries, slowly realizing what his reaction meant.

The Y/E/C eyes woman remained silent, a silence that felt heavy on Tommy’s conscience. He straightened back and leaned on the back of his chair, glancing at the ceiling.

He was done with those games. He couldn’t believe he dove into her crude farce head first, and now he had to face her because she had been staring at him the last minute.

“You’re a devil.” He let the words lazily slip between his lips.

“Call me Lilith.” She spiritedly exclaimed. Tommy’s eyes went to her face at that exact moment.

“So you’re jew, eh? That explains why you know Alfie, but contradicts the fact you and Mosley are close.” Tommy thought out loud. According to his memories, Lilith was a demon of the jew tradition, which led him to his conclusion.

The woman instantly smiled, seemingly very content about the Shelby head struggling to catch her.

“Fair enough.”

“You come to my house?”

“I was talking about the comparison.” He paused, looking at her blankly.

She sighed.

No doubt she was annoyed by Tommy’s behaviour, but she won way too much at their little game. It was about time Tommy won. It was unusual of him to be that shallow but it was their intimate space, so he didn’t care.

(...)

Gina couldn’t see anything when the abductors took her out of the car to lead her down some stairs into what she surmised to be a cellar, she already had a piece of cloth hiding her vision and one in her mouth, preventing her from screaming.

She was petrified and the fact the individuals didn’t say a word, neither during the ride nor once in the room didn’t help her. She could feel heavy drops of sweat rolling down her forehead as dried tears itched the corners of her eyes.

The place was colder than what she remembered a cellar to be. Flashes of her childhood coming back to her from time to time.

“THREE… TWO… ONE… ZERO. I’M COMING GINA!” Her cousin shouted from the kitchen where they last saw each other. The little girl used to come down in the cellar to hide when playing hide and seek with any member of her family, from her cousins to her father.

As her mother was severely ill, she couldn’t play with Gina, but her father always did. When not leading the believers to sing the praises of the Almighty at the local church, he was both a father and a mother to her.

Although her mother & herself loved each other more than anything, she soon stopped seeing her. When at first her father let Gina visit the room of her mother once a day, it decreased from once a week, to once a month to simply never.

Despite the child doggedly asking for her mother, he remained unyielding and managed to keep his daughter away from her mother for her own sake.

It was only when growing older and after the death of her mother that Gina understood her father’s demeanour. He was desperate not to let his daughter watch her mother die.

This time, the cellar didn’t feel familiar and it’s not a joyful feeling that resides in her. Her body reacting to the cold, she was shivering as goosebumps appeared at the same time as she heard footsteps coming her way. Her blood boiling like hot water, she struggled to breathe.

“Call her father.” Gina heard a female voice she had never heard before. She listened to footsteps receding before a whimper escaped her throat.

“Well, you heard the woman, let her talk.” The voice ordered. And just like that, her mouth got freed. “Go on.” The female voice seemed to address her directly.

“What do you want with my father?” She managed to say after she moved her jaws to get rid of the piece of cloth’s taste.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Can’t you just call like normal people instead of abducting his child?” Gina murmured, not totally relieved from the fear. She wanted to appear unmoved and plucked all the courage left in her to get an untroubled voice.

“I know you, Gina.” The voice started, getting closer. “You alright? You’re trembling.” Well, it seems like all the effort she put in wasn’t enough, her true emotions were discovered.

“You know me, huh? So you know as soon as you detach me I’ll assault you and spit right in your face, right?” She angrily let out, she didn’t accept to be defeated nor seen while being vulnerable and defenceless.

But it seems like the individual challenged her, because she heard someone pass behind her and loosen the cords holding back her hands. At the same moment, the piece of cloth blinding her fell on her collarbones.

Before her, stood straight a woman with a closed face, her facial traits weren’t aggressive, but in her eyes, Gina could swear she saw in there an untamed fire. Her brown eyes slid to a sitting white dog near the stranger, it looked like a wolf, even its huge size reminded her of the fierce beast she read about as a teenager.

It was ridiculous to see this situation unleashed the least probable memories of her youth into her mind as vividly as yesterday.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman before Gina mimicked her voice, a smile drawing on her lips. “They always ask the same questions.” She shrugged her shoulders seeing Gina’s surprised expression. The freshly Gray woman closed her mouth that was slightly open in an “o” shape and clenched her jaw.

“Well, I need your father to come here, in England. And you,” she tapped Gina’s end of nose, “you’re the thing that’ll make him travel the world all the way to Birmingham. To my greatest pleasure,” She patted her own chest before motioning to Gina, “and much to your displeasure.”

Gina didn’t even know what to say, she used the time the woman spent talking to massage her wrists as the cords were tied very tight. Her gaze dawdled on the woman in front of her, she was wearing a very long purple coat to which two buttons situated at the waist of its owner were closed. She also wore black lace gloves with ostentatious golden rings above the fabric. The diamonds of her rings were blue, matching her earrings. When the woman turned to the side to pat her dog’s head, Gina noticed she had braided her hair in a single braid that fell on her back.

The woman crouched down for her eyes to be at the same level as the dog’s ones, one of her hands scratching its head. “One single word and it attacks you, so you better behave.” She turned her head to Gina, warning her. The blonde woman glared at the other before glancing toward the dog in anticipation.

Y/N got back up and turned her back to Gina as she started to walk toward the stairs. “Get comfortable, it’s your new home for a few days.”

“What, you’re leaving me in this? With the dog?” She screamed at the Y/H/C haired woman.

“If I were you, I’d avoid screaming, Gina doesn’t like too loud noises.” She waved goodbye as answering without even glancing toward Gray.

“What?” Gina asked, confusion in her voice.

Y/N chuckled a bit before turning around, her index went from the dog to Gina, “Yeah, meet your twin.” She walked backwards a couple of seconds before turning back to the stairs and climbing them.

(...)

House Of Commons, London.

The door of Tommy’s office abruptly opened on an angry Michael.

The Shelby brother that was pouring himself some whisky glanced at his cousin. “Michael.” He welcomed.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Tommy?” Gray asked, frowning.

“What?” He squinted his eyes.

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wife.” Michael spitted each word, looking straight into his older cousin’s eyes.

Tom blinked a couple times, not understanding the request.

“Days ago when coming back from the fucking restaurant some fucking people took her.” The younger Gray calmed a bit, seeing that Tommy truly didn’t know what he was talking about.

“How did they look?” Tom asked, concerned. Even if Michael might have betrayed him, he was family still and anyone jeopardizing the life of a member of the Shelby clan or someone related to them should taste the sweet fondles of death’s fingers.

“Men in fucking black.” Michael started to pace up and down, both his hands passing over his face. “I’m getting mad, Tom, me head fucking all over the place...” He continued.

“Men, no women?” Tommy brows raised, he had to ask. He remembered the conversation he had with that librarian when she was telling him she thought Gina was the weakness and force of his cousin and that she might do something about it.

“No.” Michael stated firmly. Tommy’s tensed shoulders relaxed. “Or..” Tommy raised his brows. “I don’t know, Tom. Fuck.”

“We’re going to find her, Michael. Stay in your hotel room, stay put, near the phone, right?” The Shelbys' head tapped his cousin’s shoulder before leaving the office.

(...)

He stopped the car near the portals and got out, a cigarette hanging on his lips. Tommy walked the pointlessly long alley, by-passing a ton of fountains and trimmed bushes of different forms and shapes.

The fair distance gave him time to rethink everything that concerned Y/N and his relationship with her. If she truly was behind the disappearance of his cousin’s wife, he would have to deal with her, meaning going to war, which was far from the plan since he entered politics.

He knocked on the door without waiting any further once he joined the principal door. He was looking intently at the windows trying to see a silhouette through it or an ignited light of some sort, but nothing.

The door abruptly opened, making a loud noise and the figure of the librarian was to be seen. Tommy raised his hand to her face, pointing his gun at her, but when her body was fully visible thanks to the moon shining, he blinked, bewildered.

His eyes dropped on a Y/N only dressed with an emeraude lace nightgown. The top was all see-through, but it didn’t stop him from cocking the gun and hold it steady in between her eyebrows. Even though he was here because he suspected her to have turned her back to him, his body reacted a whole different way to the view. His heart started to pounder in his chest as a warmth suddenly took prisoner his upper body. He swallowed in an attempt to dismiss the feeling ready to burst out.

“Missing our start?” She let out, not even pretending to be scared or shook by the situation. As a matter of fact, in their second meeting, Tom indeed pulled a gun at her, how could he forget that. Nobody ever had the nerve to threaten him on his own doorsteps, but of course, she did.

“Where’s Gina?” He ignored she was half-naked along with her remark.

“What the fuck, Thomas?” One of her eyebrows raised in confusion. “What’s happened?”

Tommy switched the position of his fingers, putting his index right on top of the trigger to make known he knew she was lying.

As she felt the danger, the woman banged the door on Tom’s face and not even a second later, he heard bullets being fired as he saw holes drawing through the door. The time stopped, or at least everything appeared as slower.

He instinctively put his arms over his head and kneeled as other bullets were being fired, he managed his way to the wall of the mansion, staying down.

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He shouted his lungs out, his ears whistling due to the bullets’ noise.

“Remember when I warned you, Thomas. You pull a gun, I shoot!” She accentuated the last part, her tone underlined by anger.

“Why did you take her?” He kept his head close to the wall as shaking it, trying to totally recover his hearing.

“You should’ve asked that when you could, Sergent Major.” She calmly stated.

Tommy could hear she was re-loading her gun.

He looked at the gravels under him and recognized the bullet belonging to a rifle. He frowned, wondering how come she got a rifle.

“No. Put down the rifle, I'm throwing me gun.” He said loudly before dropping his gun in the grass far away from him, his weapon made a muffled noise while encountering the ground.

He didn’t hear anything for a minute that seems to last hours. The night breeze came fondling his face, helping him to ease his breath as the silence made him fully recover his hearing.

The front door opened, and Y/N peeked through. Only one of her Y/E/C eyes was to be seen, and even if her pupil was dilated due to the adrenaline, her look seemed concerned. “Are you hurt?” She solemnly asked, she, as well, being out of breath.

Tommy shook his head on both sides before he managed to stand, helped by the wall.

“You mad woman.” He closed his eyes as taking a deep breath in, knowing she wouldn't try to kill him tonight. When he opened his eyes again, she was in front of him, barefoot on the gravel.

“Sorry… I tend to lose my shit when I’m in danger.” She placed the rifle hanging around her neck to her side, a hand holding it still.

“You weren’t. I wasn’t gonna fucking shot, just trying to scare you.”

“...Well you angered me.” She hesitated in even giving him an answer. She finally decided she didn't need the rifle anymore and went placing it against the wall.

“Not fear, eh?” He teased, and she shook her head as a response.

“Why the fuck did you take Gina away? Michael’s all over the place, he even came to me. The boy’s fucking losing it.”

“Well, firstly, he deserved a little reminding he was still a boy as you correctly underlined,” she raised her brows looking at him, “secondly, after further research, I found it I know her father. Long story short, he’s the only one to be able to deal with her uncle if we don’t want any blood spilt.”

“Fucking was about to spill me gut on your doorstep, the fuck you care about spilt blood, Y/N?” He furrowed his brows as agitating one of his hands, motioning to the ground beneath their feet.

“Yeah,” she acquiesced, “not me that cares about fucking family. It’s you.”

That’s when he realized how serious she took their partnership. When he thought she was solely doing what fitted her best, she indeed took into consideration Tommy's convictions. She took seriously the fact he didn't want the family to be hurt. And although he ranged on her side regarding scaring Michael a bit to make him realize something, he never thought of Y/N to be tough enough to act with as much strategy as ruthlessness. She definitely outdid him in this case.

This sudden realisation aroused something in him. She cared. Even if the care she gave was nonetheless peculiar and typical to her character, she did what she could with what she had right? And right now she was working with him with as much resilience and fierceness as she would do with her own organisation.

“If it was up to me, fucking bullets to the head for both of ‘em and we done.” She dismissively worded as looking afar. “Where’s your gun?” She lazily looked back at him.

Tommy hesitated a short period of time before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against himself. She didn’t push him away as he neared his face near her, she was the one sealing their lips together. This time, none of them were eager for the other, their kiss was light, soft and pure, contrasting with the chaotic situation they put themselves in.

The blue-eyed man slipped a hand on her back, fondling her skin above the piece of cloth covering her body while she reached for the button of his pants under his coat.

The atmosphere switched, not even seconds earlier it was love talking, now it was a whole another emotion ruling them.

Tom started to walk toward the door, forcing her to walk backwards. When she understood what he intended to do she murmured a soft “No.” and he opened his eyes darkened by desire and urge, looking into hers that were screaming for sex.

A smile grew on her lips as she went sticking her back to the nearest wall, her fingers strongly gripping on the man’s tie. He didn’t break the eye contact and joined her, flattening one of his hands on the cold wall. The warmth of his longing for the woman added to the coldness of the night were mixing together so well he felt a little dizzy.

He couldn’t think about how often he imagined them during their first time or how often he tried to picture Y/N’s curves in his head but his body somehow knew how much he wanted this. His hands were dawdling on any portion of her figure he could find, gulping each piece that was giving to him as if she was the first woman he’d ever touched.

Each kiss enticed him a bit more and whenever he closed his eyes he could literally see fireworks exploding everywhere in him. And whenever he would open them, he would find Y/N looking intently at him, her expression revealing everything she could never tell him, her feelings for him as well as her deepest fear, frustrations & beyond, her eyes being the messenger of the immensity of a soul, to another.

She quickly got to his bum she previously teased with one knee before reaching for his length.

Her cold fingers struck it a few times before she came aligning him with the distress for feeling him inside.

Once he was perfectly aligned, she released him and reunited her lips to his, where they belonged, giving him the green light. He thrust slowly at first, letting her some time to get used to his size. She murmured a low “Tommy...”, her legs encircling his hips as he grabbed one of them firmly. He was keeping her as close to him as possible, making sure their bodies were as connected as their souls were. He ultimately began to come and go, increasing his pace as time passed by.

Her high pitched moans came directly to his ears, the best sounds he’s heard out of his entire life without a doubt.

Following Chapter ❱

[kyun-toast]

[MONSTA X] Changkyun - Happy Without Me

word count: 3.8k warnings: alcohol, suggestions of smoking, swearing, suggestions of sex summary: I don't think about you sometimes 'Cause I think about you all the time a/n: I’ve been listening to the All About Luv album a lot recently and Happy Without Me hit a little different the other day. I hope you don’t notice how I slacked off near the end 💜

“Yerim what are you wearing for tonight? I wanna look cute but not like ‘I’ve put effort in’ kinda cute, you know? Like I’m always this cute.”

Yerim laughed as she replied, “You’d look hot wearing a bin bag so shut up and let me know what drinks you want. It’s ‘bring your own booze’ so I was gonna run to the store for extra before we go.”

“Umm, vodka? Tequila? Maybe rum? I’m getting smashed tonight and you’re all going to carry me home, just letting you know.” Soobin winked and blew kisses at the both of you with a coy smile on her face, as some form of ‘thank you in advance’ for the troubles that you would be going through later that night. As much pain she put the both of you through, it was hard not to love her.

“Yeah, you say that as if that’s not what happens every week, you psycho.”

You smiled from the comfort of your sofa as you witnessed the two of your best friends bicker. You were never really one for parties, but you decided to let yourself go after an unfortunate night maybe five? six months ago. You thought that you could vent your frustrations into your notes app and be done with it, but your friends took pity and introduced you to another option. One where you could numb your mind with alcohol and crashing bass, and you figured that it was somewhat more enjoyable than cry-writing shitty poetry on a Friday night. Notes app therapy was now a thing of the past.

Changkyun had become such an integral part of your life that you couldn’t help yourself from unconsciously replaying memories that you had attempted to bury. A simple look at the most irrelevant objects would have him running through your mind before you could even stop yourself. Oh, we bought this mug together. You were surprised he hadn’t taken it with him when he left. It was his favourite mug to drink whiskey out of. Speaking of whiskey, you needed a drink. It had only taken days for him to make himself at home at the forefront of your thoughts but how long was it going to take to rid of him?

As much as you tried to keep those thoughts at bay, no amount of alcohol could ever stop them from crashing back over you whenever you saw that little smiley face appear at the top of your Instagram feed.

imnameim. When had he posted a story? You hadn’t seen the pink circle earlier. Would it be too early to look at it now? You couldn’t risk tapping on it only to see that it had been posted 12 seconds ago, just like you had done the other day. And the day before. And the day before that. Should you just make a burner account? No, that’s too far, we’re not going there today, bitch... Maybe tomorrow.

You hated how much power that tattoo face held over you, looking straight into your eyes - almost mockingly. Oh, did I look like a smiley face to you six months ago? Well, I’m a sad face now and that’s all you’re ever going to see.

“Y/N! Hey! You’re going to stare a hole into your phone.” Soobin clapped in your face, trying to get your attention. You looked up, softening your expression to meet Yerim’s eyes.

“Soobin was asking what you’re going to wear tonight.” Yerim said.

“I don’t know, probably that top I got yesterday?” you shrugged, unbothered by your friends’ question. You weren’t going to parties to impress anyone; you were going to drink the last of your braincells away.

“Y/N, ‘that top’ you got yesterday is a free t-shirt you got from the Domino’s pop-up stall on campus. I’m not letting you do this again.” Yerim dead panned.

“OK and...?” You met both of their concerned faces only to have them grab each of your arms.

“Come on. Up. That’s it.” You made unintelligible noises as they dragged you up off the sofa and into your closet. The thoughts about Changkyun’s story were left on the sofa as your mind was now filling with an excited buzz. “You act like you hate this, but I know you love getting trashed with us, Y/N.” Yerim laughed and you knew it too.

-

Changkyun lay in Jae-in’s bed, with her nestled in his chest as he looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Being careful not to wake her, he slowly squeezed his arm out from under her head to lay on his stomach to scroll through Instagram.

He had posted a story over an hour ago, half hoping that you’d see it – a cover of Dean’s Instagram. How ironic.

He shook his head at how pathetic his efforts seemed, whispering to himself, “What the hell are you doing?” He refreshed his feed for the last time to see that you had posted a video of the three of you dancing to a song in your walk-in closet. Probably drunk. Upon re-watching the video on loop for the third time, he concluded that you were most definitely drunk.

Seeing you having fun like this had him torn between being happy for you, moving on with your life and probably on to other men too. Being attractive plus the endless number of parties you went to now was just the perfect recipe. You were bound to have found someone.

And this is where the hatred washed over him. He despised it. Hated seeing you have fun without him, moving on as if he had never existed. Was it that easy for you to just forget? It seemed unfair that he was still struggling to keep you off his mind while you were out having the time of your life, letting your followers know of that fact too.

Deep down, he knew that he wasn’t happy for you at all. He was just trying to kid himself into thinking that he was. Be mature and everything. That was what both of you had agreed to be when your relationship came to an end. After days of what could probably be called a verbal equivalent of a nuclear war, the two of you had given up.

Crying, shouting, complete silence, you had done it all and there was no end in sight. On day three of radio silence, you felt as if you could do without speaking to Changkyun at all. When you brought it up, he admitted he felt the same. Exhaustion making both of you devoid of any emotion, you agreed to disagree and act like the fight had never happened. You were tired and wanted nothing more to do with it. Or each other. Thinking of yourselves as somewhat grown, you decided to be civil since you were in the same circle of friends, not wanting to burden them with any of your problems.

With so many things left unsaid and ties still loose, there was no way that you could just cut clean. But you never so much as bumped into each other since.

You hadn’t blocked each other though, as you both felt that it was some sign of weakness. Yeah, I’m tough enough to keep them on my socials. They don’t bother me. Not at all. But in the small hours of the morning, you were on each other’s profiles, hoping for a glimpse of what they were up to. Wondering if he had finished that song he was working on. If you were eating well. If he was really seeing Jae-in seriously. If you were well and truly happy.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

Y/N’s doing just fine for themselves, everyone can see that.

“Did you finish that essay?”

No, that’s too random.

“I think about you all the time.”

Shut up Changkyun.

Though you had both agreed to be ‘friends’, there was no easy way in going about messaging one another when you had fought so explosively. Changkyun also felt that he had missed the right timeframe for him to salvage whatever there was left of the relationship. Whether it be platonic or romantic. No matter how much he wanted to message you, his pride falsely masked as maturity stopped him from ever doing more than wish for you to call him and say that everything was going to be ok. That you can start over.

“Do you wanna go to Minhyuk’s house party?” Jae-in’s voice was heavy with sleep, squinting her eyes at the bright screen of her phone. Changkyun was startled from his thoughts, not realising that she had been woken up by a text.

“House party…?” Changkyun was dubious.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to, it’s just that we don’t ever do anything besides fuck, and I thought we could do with a change of scenery.”

“I mean yeah it’s just that we’ve never hung out with other people before. Like together.”

He had met Jae-in at a bar a few months ago. Holed up in his studio after the breakup, Changkyun got to channelling his anger into working on his music until his course mate Minhyuk persuaded him out for drinks. Minhyuk had flirted with the girls from the table over to get them to join in on the pity party. Jae-in had seated herself next to Changkyun and a few drinks later, they had quickly bonded over their childhood obsession with Death Note to which she followed up with an invitation to watch it at her place. Who was Kyun to reject? With all this pent-up energy to spare, music wasn’t quite cutting it.  

“I doubt anyone will care that we arrived together.” Jae-in shrugged. “Let’s go.”

-

“Yeah, I invited Jae-in and I think Changkyun might come with her too.” Minhyuk stated nonchalantly over the phone. You choked on your wine and thanked God that the music in your room was loud enough to cover the unnatural sound you had just made. “Y/N, is that ok? I should have asked you befo-”

“No, I don’t care.” You replied a little too quickly, “It’s been months and we broke up on good terms anyway, remember?”

“MINNIE! I MISS YOU!” Soobin drunkenly shouted across the room as Yerim held her back from throwing herself at the phone.

“I MISS YOUR FACE TOO, BINNIE! I’LL SEE YOU LATER!” Minhyuk chuckled as he didn’t hesitate to match her volume through the phone.

“Ugh, you two make me sick”, Yerim rolled her eyes, “You literally saw each other this morning. Just get together already.”

As Soobin and Minhyuk continued to chat, engulfed in their own little world, you reached to grab another drink. If Minhyuk’s predictions were right, you were going to need something stronger than wine to get you through the night.

-

Stepping into Minhyuk’s apartment, Changkyun could feel the bass rumble underneath his feet already.

“Hey! You made it! I thought you guys weren’t going to come, it’s so late! But we have drinks and snacks in the kitchen. Oh, and Jae-in, the bathrooms just through the hallway on the right…” Minhyuk’s voice trailed off into the loud music. Changkyun followed behind Jae-in as his friend gave the newcomer a guided tour of his place.

Though he was familiar with the apartment, it felt a little weird for him to walk through it with someone else by his side. A pack of cards strewn over the floor jogged his memory back to a particularly warm night in June. With the sun just beginning to rise, you both stood below Minhyuk’s balcony at 4am. You shouted,

“HEY MINHYUK, WE’RE GOING TO PLAY UNO AT YOUR PLACE, D’YOU WANNA JOIN?”

“THOUGHT WE’D ASK IN CASE YOU’D FEEL LEFT OUT.” Changkyun added. You both snickered as Minhyuk opened his window to shout back at you, regretting that he had ever given you two the spare keys to his apartment.

“ARE YOU REALLY INVITING ME TO PLAY CARDS MY OWN HOUSE RIGHT NOW?!” Birds fluttered away startled, as a neighbouring window flashed on a light in annoyance. Your shouting combined could never top the sheer volume of Minhyuk’s voice. Changkyun grabbed your hand as you ran into the building laughing before the neighbour could join in on the screaming match.

With classes finished for the year, you had what felt like an infinite amount of time on your hands. Kyun smiled to himself as he was reminded of those summer nights that he had spent with you. Stargazing, pillow talking, daydreaming on repeat.

“Yeah, so you can get to the outdoor space through the living room but I’m giving you special access to my little balcony through my room because you’re uh, Changkyun’s friend.” Minhyuk grinned as he ended his tour.

Upon entering the actual party in the lounge, Changkyun stopped in his tracks at the sight of you on the other side of the room. For a moment, the smoke in the room seemed to clear as his eyes trained on you throw your head back in laughter at Yerim’s animated storytelling. Hearing your voice so crystal clear made his heart swell with something that he couldn’t quite put into words. Half a year had passed since he had last seen you, sat broken on the floor of your apartment, explaining that it would be best to part ways. You had looked so drained of emotion then; it was such a stark contrast to what he was seeing now. He stood frozen, heart beating hard against his chest like a hammer.

“Kyun! Why are you so late?” Wonho, another friend of Kyun’s appeared out of nowhere with a bottle of tequila in his hand. “You gotta catch up on the drinks now, come on, open your mouth.” Wonho went to grab his face with one hand as he proceeded to try and pour some alcohol into his mouth jokingly. Changkyun chuckled as he play-fought with Wonho only to stop midway when he noticed Jae-in smiling at the sight.

“Oh, this is my friend Jae-in.” Kyun straightened up and brushed off his clothes.

Wonho went to shake her hand as Minhyuk snuck up behind him.

"Yeah, friend.” He giggled as he raised his brows suggestively and left as quickly as he appeared shouting, “Binnie! Where are you? We gotta go make those s’mores you wanted!”

Changkyun rolled his eyes and smiled as he guided Jae-in to the nearest table of drinks and set to introducing her to the rest of his friends, hoping that you wouldn’t notice him.

-

At this point, the three of you were beyond gone. Soobin had already passed out with a s’more in her hand as Minhyuk hauled her over his shoulder to put her to sleep in the guest room.

“And she.. she was telling me to sythensi.. she was telling me thynsenise, no, synsi.. she wanted me to synthesise, there we go, snythi…” Yerim tripped over words, dead set on getting her pronunciation right while Hyungwon sat and nodded with his signature painful smile on his face. She was determined, hand on his shoulder with a grip that let him know he wasn’t going anywhere until she had finished her story.

As for you? You were sat next to Yerim, a vacant smile on your face as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Day drinking followed up with a house party in the evening really wasn’t the best idea for the lightweights that you are but there you were, listening to your friend repeat the same sentence over and over again. An urgent voice in your head piped up, letting you know that you should probably go for a breath of fresh air.

“Yerim, hey, Yerim, I’m.. going for some air… stay with Hyungwon okay? Hyungwon, call me if anything happens?” You stood up, struggling to find your balance and teetered across the room to get to Minhyuk’s balcony.

The thing about you is that you are one of those blessed people that can sober up as quickly as they get smashed. You felt refreshed, taking in a deep breath as if to cleanse your alcohol ridden bloodstreams with the cool evening air. Your head still spun a little but as long as you kept your eyes anchored on the moon, you’d be fine in no time.

As much as your body needed a break from the party, it wasn’t the greatest timing for your mental state. Once you had assumed that Changkyun wasn’t coming to the party, you let go of the anxiety holding you back from enjoying yourself. You had been overstimulated from the alcohol, music, and people, not giving yourself a chance to think about anything else. But once those factors were gone, it was just you, alone with your drunken thoughts on a balcony looking up at the moon. And just like that, those suppressed memories regarding a certain boy couldn’t help but unpack themselves from your unconscious. Oh man, this was going to be such a good cry.

-

Changkyun was beginning to feel a little too tipsy for his liking. Though he was having a great time, it felt as if he wasn’t entirely present at the scene, like he was watching and laughing along through a TV screen. He slipped away from the kitchen island to get a breather.

“Oh shit, sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was here.” He apologised, going to close the door of Minhyuk’s balcony to a figure hunched over the railing. You looked up from your hands at him and tried to focus on the blurry face.

His movements faltered when your eyes met, door still open. Just one look at you was enough for that knock back into reality Changkyun had needed. God were you a sight for sore eyes. He drank up the way your cheeks and nose were flushed pink, how your eyes were glossy in the moonlight, eyelashes thick with tears, and the way the softly coloured city lights behind you framed your face. With the night air stained with your perfume and the sounds of muted traffic perfecting the scene, he had never felt so in the present until now. He wanted this moment to last a lifetime.

“Changkyun?” You replied, as you wiped your eyes clear of the tears blurring your vision. You could tell that voice apart anywhere, you only questioned in the slight chance that you were just hallucinating, going insane.

“Are you ok? I can leave if you want, I-” He began hurriedly, knowing that you hated having anyone see you cry.

“I’m fine.” You sniffed.

“Bad day?” He asked softly, bringing himself to stand next to you, looking over at the cityscape.

“Yeah, something like that.” You replied, letting out a small laugh as you wiped the last of the tears from your face. 

Tension hung so thick in the air you could feel it weigh down on your shoulders. Changkyun hated that you, the person he had once shared the deepest parts of his mind with, was someone he was now so uncomfortable with.

You both stood there awhile, looking out at the blinking lights of the cityscape. As quiet as it was, you could almost hear the sound of your brains whirring, going back and forth over whether or not you should say something to break the silence. Changkyun had spent months thinking of questions he wanted to ask you for when this moment came, but the alcohol and nerves fogged up his mind. All he could think of doing was holding you in his arms, hoping for you to be able to feel his apologies, sincerity and promises through the beating of his chest.

A heavy pressing in your lungs only intensified, as you thought about how the present situation had become the outcome of those few perfect years. You regulated your breathing, trying to break down the lump from coming up in your throat, on the verge of tears again. Thinking back, you realised that you probably could have been a little more understanding, could have softened your sharp words, could have opened your heart up some more to allow for Changkyun to do so in return. These thoughts and emotions bubbled up inside your chest to spill out of your mouth before you even knew what you wanted to say.

“Changkyun, I-”

“I found a really nice place for nights like this. Y/N.” he cut across with an anxious tremble in his voice. He could feel the apology ready to tumble from your lips, he had to stop you from apologising for things that you really didn’t need to. He hated that your heart was so big and so loving that you were willing to start trying to mend this relationship first. But he hated himself more for not having the courage to try to be even half as loving as you are.

He continued, still looking out over the balcony, worried that he’d start to tear up if he met your eyes again, “you can see the stars so clearly, it’s insane.”

You turned to him, tears welling in your eyes again. Despite having cut each other from your lives for what felt like a lifetime, it broke you how he could still read you like his favourite book.

“Can we go? Y/N? I’ve waited so long to show you.”

Hot tears fell down your cheeks again as Changkyun noticed and turned to you, pulling you into his chest as you cried out the mess of emotions you had amassed. 

The person you had wanted to talk about your breakup with Changkyun the most, was so ironically Changkyun. He’d know how to calm you down, how to sort out your problems with ice cream in bed like any other issue you were facing. But what were you supposed to do when you had cut the one who understood you the most so bluntly from your life? Who were you supposed to turn to when you wanted to talk about that?

Your cries pierced into his heart deeper with every second that passed, feeling the hurt in your voice in the deepest parts of his soul. He replied by holding you tighter, and you could feel all those things he left unsaid that day you left in the warmth of his chest.

“We don’t have to rush,” He whispered into your hair, “I have all the time in the world for you. Let it out.”

He brought a hand up from your shoulders hesitantly, feeling almost undeserving of comforting you after the pain he had caused you. But to you, his hand stroking your hair was where you found your solace.

So, there you stood, in each other’s arms having poured out your hearts to one another without having said a single word. But you both knew that you felt every single one.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Prometiste.

summary: when a relationship starts breaking, previous promises are broken too.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: pure angst! Is a sad one :(

a/n: I got inspired by my favorite song to write this piece, this song is very dear to me and i loved how this turned out. Let me know what you think of it, please! (btw, the title translates to ‘you promised’)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

The distance can make people grow closer, or it can break them apart. When the second happens, the results are two people with a broken heart and a lot of problems unresolved.

In the beginning, things were great. Harry would pick Y/N up at the airport every time she would go visit him on tour. He’d have her attached to his hip all the time, grabbing a chair for her to sit and watch him rehearse, put her on his lap while his hairstylist was doing his hair, going straight to her arms after every show and going straight to their hotel room to make love to her just like he knows how to.

When her time to leave would arrive, he would beg her to stay just a little more, claiming she was his lucky charm and needed her with him at all times. He’d never say goodbye, simply because he didn’t like that word. He’d much prefer to leave a kiss at the top of her head and make her promise she’d come back soon.

And every time she kept her promise.

Six months passed since Harry began his tour, and in every visit she made she’d notice him more distant, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she could feel how he was slowly slipping through her fingers.

He’d no longer make the trip to pick her up from the airport, he’d tell her to wait in his dressing room until the concert, leaving her alone for hours without any sort of explanation or sight of regret. She started to feel more like a baggage, an intruder.

Regardless of how she felt, she decided against talking to Harry about it. It was obvious he was stressed, so she sat and watched in silence how the love of her life slowly changed into a person she didn’t know anymore.

Suddenly, she found herself starting looking forward to saying goodbye instead. The question of why she was still wasting her money on plane tickets to see a person who didn’t even look happy to see her was a real enigma, but she still did it anyway. No matter how many text messages Harry would leave on read, or how many unanswered calls landed on his phone, she still loved him and had faith this would only be temporary.

The tour finally made its stop in London, and the reason why Y/N was looking forward to this particular stop, was because Harry had a week long break before his next show. Which meant he was going to be completely free from any obligations, and his mind would finally be stress free.

He hasn’t been sending her many messages lately, but he did tell her his plane got delayed and he’d arrive later than expected. She took the extra time to cook dinner at his house, as a welcome gift.

Harry’s flight was supposed to land at 6 pm, however, it was already nine and he hadn’t come to his house yet.

Y/N got worried and sent him a couple of messages asking him about his whereabouts but he was yet to answer. So she insisted. She was tired of being ignored.

However, after finally receiving an answer from Harry, she immediately wished she didn’t.

Can you stop being so annoying?

Y/N felt as if someone ripped her heart from her chest as tears immediately threatened to spill out of her eyes. Dozens of questions started to run through her mind, still having trouble at understanding the situation.

She contemplated her options. She could either leave, or she could stay and wait for him to come home and one and for all demand an explanation of his behavior. She chose the latter.

So she sat on the couch, looking directly at the flat screen hanged on the wall even though it wasn’t even on. She flinched when she heard a jingle of his keys, following from his footsteps.

None of them said anything as Harry approached her, sitting beside her on the couch in complete silence. He sighed.

“I don’t think this is working anymore, Y/N” He whispered, turning to look at her. He caught how one single tear fell off her left eye, not answering him. She swallowed the rest of them though. “There’s so much going on right now, and I had to make a massive readjust of priorities…”

“And I suppose I didn’t make the cut” She interrupted him. Harry took a deep breath. “Did you stop loving me?” Finally turning to look at him, Harry’s heart break into a million of pieces when he saw her, bloodshot eyes from containing her tears. Harry shook his head. “Then what happened?” she almost begged. “Because it looks like you did and you’re just lying to me to make me feel better”

“I haven’t stopped loving you, never will” he confessed. “I thought I could balance it all. Tour and… well, you. I haven’t been a good boyfriend and you deserve someone who puts you first because… because I can’t”

“I know I’m not perfect, I was certain that my place was next to you. And I tried to keep my promise, I really tried, Harry” She couldn’t contain herself anymore as she started sobbing.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, allowing himself to also cry. He felt how Y/N’s tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. She tried inhale Harry’s essence as she felt like it was going to be the last time she’d be able to do it.

“I know you did, I do” He started kissing the top of her head multiple times. “This is on me, baby. Is all on me, I’m sorry”

She pulled away from his chest, whipping her tears only to receive new ones. “You could’ve spared me so much time of uncertainty, you know? If you didn’t want this anymore, then why you didn’t say something sooner?”

“I… don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to accept it was time to let you go”

Y/N’s lip started trembling. Deep down she knew Harry just didn’t love her anymore, and although that thought hurt, she would’ve preferred hearing that rather than a really vague excuse. She needed to get out of the house, otherwise she’d collapse.

She stood up abruptly, starting to look for her purse. Harry panicked, standing up from the couch as well. “Please don’t go while you’re like this”

“I don’t want to stay, Harry” she choked a sob. “I really need to go, please” she begged. Harry looked unsure, but he still let go of her arm he didn’t even realize he was holding.

So he watched grab her purse and leave. In that moment, Harry knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life, one that he’d forever regret. But even if he already knew, he still did it anyway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

Y/N cried until there weren’t any more tears to spill. She woke up the next day with a wet pillow and a broken heart. At first, she thought it was all just a bad dream, but memories from the night before passed through her mind and a new wave of tears came.

She felt like her whole world was falling apart, suddenly feeling lost and… empty. Her chest felt empty. And it was because her heart didn’t belong to her anymore. Harry had it.

And despite he knew he held her heart in his hands, he still broke it.

Or perhaps he forgot he had it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten something.

Y/N just wanted it all to end. The ache in her head and in her chest, it was becoming too much to handle and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

After spending her whole afternoon in bed staring at the ceiling, she came to the conclusion that in order to stop her soul from aching further, Y/N needed to erase the past three years of her life from her mind.

It was an impulsive decision, but she didn’t realize it until she was in front of Harry’s front door with a couple of duffel bags in the back of her car, waiting to be filled with all her belongings.

Harry wasn’t home, of course he wasn’t. He had a concert to do. He had a career and a life that was waiting for him, and Y/N wasn’t part of that anymore.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bags and entered the house with her spare key, feeling sad about thinking it would be the last time she’d use it. She placed the key in the table beside the door and headed upstairs straight to Harry’s room.

A wave of memories invaded her mind. Times where they were happy, times where being in love was the only thing that matter for them.

His room. A place Y/N loved but now was bittersweet to stand in. She placed her bags on his bed, allowing her palm to touch the white sheets and closing her eyes for a second.

His bed. Where thousands of promises were made through soft whispers and tender touches. She remembered how Harry would promise her it would always be them against the world, how he bowed he’d never leave her alone, loving her until the end of times, through thick and thin. No matter the situation, it’d always be just them. Just Y/N and Harry.

And she, being her, believed him blindly.

It seemed like Harry forgot all those things along with so many others. Along with the fact that today would’ve been their fourth year together, not that it mattered anymore.

Once her bags were full, she let herself have one last look at the room that used to be her favorite room in the entire house. She took out the promise ring Harry had given her a year prior, letting it rest on his nightstand.

Just like last night, Y/N had two options. She could either leave now, or she could stay and wait for him for one last goodbye.

And this time, she chose the first option, and didn’t look back.

[srn-clrwtr]

dating embry call,,,, kind of HAHA

i hate myself for writing this, however, it was asked of me and i have no other ideas 😐😐 pls,,, go easy on me. i’m not good at romance, or any writing, but... i need to release something HAHAHA also i hate writing in second person but i’m TRYING **pls reblog**

also this is more like??? plot based??? in the beginning anyway. it isn’t till the end where i throw some headcanons in there... my writing goes from eloquent to straight up meme sorry about it :)

pls enjoy this v v v v long request and pls excuse any errors 🙏🙏 i’m going to edit this throughout the day

***also this is after breaking dawn and the cullens r gone and resume never happens :)

your mother had called la push her childhood home. it was the place she had learned to walk and ride a bike, it was where she experienced her first love and heartbreak, and the place where she knew unconditional love and friendship.

embry’s mother had been her best friend since she could talk, the woman knew her like she had known herself. where one was, you could always find the other.

they were the same person, all before yours had moved away. the second she was able to free herself of the chilled and misty winds of the torrential northwest, she was gone.

while she was utterly in love with the life she built, she itched for something beyond the quiet comfort of gentle rain. still, she always knew that she could find solace in the waterlogged soil if she ever needed.

and so she began with college, where she rooted herself with a man just a few short years older than herself. she moved in tandem with him, where he stepped, she followed.

when she fell pregnant with you, she found herself settling down and building a home. from crumpled photos on the fridge, to the sea smoothed stone that littered the windowsill above the sink, she left subtle reminders of the home she had left behind.

your father was initially a happy man, loud and boisterous with a grin so contagious, even the moon smiled back. you suppose it was what your mother had fallen for.

as you grew, his sunny aura shifted, hidden from the dark and looming clouds of a more than stressful work week. by the time you hit middle school, you understood that even though he had loved you and your mother, his priorities were found elsewhere.

your mother understood that raising you was best alone. though her husband responsible, living with the shell of the man he once was, was pointless. he was far too rooted within the floorboards of his office to quell the brewing storm of their marriage.

by the time you were in high school, your parents had divorced, and your mother had asked you about moving back to her own home town.

while she understood that moving away from your own home could be hard, all she had to do was mention embry.

Embry Call was the highlight of your summers. Your father was always too busy for family vacations, and so your mother always took you to La Push for a few weeks during the summer or over the holiday. Her job allowed to work from the comfort of her home, so trips to visit Embry and his mother weren’t entirely uncommon.

whenever you went to visit, you were both joined at the hip. As children, your fingers were always laced as he brought you all over the reservation. From the beaches to the middle of the forrest, he made sure you always ended up caked in mud, hair tangled messy.

In middle school, you were introduced to Jake and Quil, where you graduated from mud pies and forts, onto bonfires and the dryness of jake’s workshop.

of course, you still went on the occasional hike with embry, eager for at least some alone time away from your mutual friends.

it was pretty obvious that the both of you liked each other, but you were young. it was playground love, if you could even call it that.

into high school you stopped visiting so much, your mother grew busier, and you began to focus more on your own studies... during the summer, you enjoyed time at home, with friends not so far away.

still, you both stuck to phone calls. they were generally late at night, usually with the excuse of studying and school. you had no idea that it was actually because he ran on a much later schedule due to his shift.

and so when she all but mentioned Embry Call, you agreed... apprehensively, of course. at the end of the day though, you knew that you wouldn’t exactly be alone.

and truth me told, you always kind of liked it there better... the memories you made in la push were the best you had.

when you had arrived in la push, your mother had breathed in the air with a gentle smile, eyes closed as she took in the misty air. it was then when you began to wonder how much she had actually missed her home there.

embry’s mother had come to help unpack, explaining that embry was off running a couple of errands for her. a lie of course.

you were obviously bummed, a small pout gracing your features before your mother had all but rushed you to start unpacking. embry was not forgotten, the boy still on your mind as you grumbled throughout the rest of the night.

it wasn’t until after dark, when the sky was surprisingly clear with stars, did you get to see your long time friend.

with a knock to the door, and a shout from your mother telling you to answer it, you had flown down the stairs... with a small gripe of course. she was in the dining room. why couldn’t she get it?

the attitude all but vanished from your being as you opened the door to see embry, so much more different than you had last remembered.

it took you a moment to recognize him— his chest and shoulders were broad, hair cut short compared to the long inky strands that you were used to.

it took maybe a few seconds at most to register that the boy standing before you was indeed embry, and once that small fact had clicked, you all but flung yourself into his arms.

“em, oh my god just look at you! what in the hell did you do to your hair?!” your exclamation was muddled into nothing to embry, taking a few seconds himself to respond to your embrace.

little did you know that when the door had flung open, and his eyes met yours, his mind went blank as the world stopped spinning. the only thing on his mind, was you.

with gentle hands, he pulled you close and returned your hug. he had laughed a little bit, letting go of the breath he seemed to be holding, “it’s good to see you too, y/n”

embry hadn’t expected to imprint at all, let alone on the one person he wanted it to be the most. it was the first time he had seen you since his shift, and he had all but forced himself to forget any chances with you. all until you had opened the door.

you pulled away with a grin, quick to tug him inside your home, “you okay though? looks like i lost you in space there for a second.” and in all honesty, it looked as if he still was.

“yeah yeah, no... i’m okay! promise. i just... i’ve got a lot on my mind, is all.” you chose not to pay any attention to the way his eyes looked to the ceiling when he spoke, or the way he stammered out his response.

instead, you turned to your mother, where she sat at the counter with embry’s mom, tea in hand. They were smug as you spoke, “if it’s okay, i’m going to drag embry upstairs... i can’t put my bed frame together for the life of me.”

your mother shrugged her shoulders and looked over to her friend, “i don’t care—” and before she could finish, you yelled out a quick thanks before rushing up the steps.

neither of you missed the, “keep the door open!” from embry’s mother. you laughed it off, meanwhile, embry’s skin darkened with blush as he stuttered out a complaint. to say he was horrified, was an understatement.

embry was up in the clouds. it was you. of course it was you. it has always been you. though embarrassed, he couldn’t help but admire the way you could laugh something off so easily. how you blew the constant teasing off from his mother without question. and then he thought about how you did the same with jake and quil... you accepted it. you played right back.

images of you with his pack floated through his mind like dreams, a soft smile on his face. if you could get along with quil and jake, and take their endless amounts of teasing, then there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about his other friends, his brothers.

embry hadn’t noticed that you had laced your fingers between his, or that you were talking aimlessly to him. it wasn’t until you stopped leading him down the halls of your home did he realize.

you had turned around to look at him fully, head tilted in wonder as you held eye contact with him, “i wasn’t kidding when i said i needed help, embry. but if you have too much on your mind, we can talk it out too, you know?”

his heart fluttered a bit, eyes wide as he stared down at you, “no! no. i can help. i just... i’ve missed you.” and before you could squeeze in a cheeky comment, he continued, “well i mean, i mean we all do! my mom missed you visiting... i did too! and then jacob and quil never stoped pestering me about when you were going to visit again... and... and now your here! for good...”

you giggled as he rambled on, trying to cover up his obvious mistake. rather than watch him stutter over his words, you shook your head and lead him into your bedroom, “okay embry i get it. i missed you too. now, please for the love of god help me with my bed.”

this seemed to shut him up as he gazed into your bedroom, where your bed frame lay across the floor... somewhat put together, and lopsided, “well i mean you’re half way there... i guess?” he noticed the screws and various tools scattered across the floors and smiled fondly, “don’t worry, i’m here the save the day. let’s see what we got.”

and as he began to reconstruct your bed frame, you watched on in admiration. he wasn’t aware of your silent stare as he worked. instead, he was focused on the task at hand... admittedly, also day dreaming. ever since you had opened the door, his brain had turned to mush.

“so em... are you going to tell me why you cut your hair? or how you changed so much since the last time i saw you? you never even mentioned it over the phone!”

the boy looked up at you as you questioned him, hand moving to scratch at the back of his head, “i mean... well.. i just needed a change i guess. long hair is a lot of maintenance and with school being so... busy? i guess i just wanted one less thing to worry about.” his excuse seemed rehearsed, but you payed no mind. if he didn’t want to tell you the truth, you weren’t going to make him. not now anyway.

you nodded, and let out a hum. you thought about a lot of things, such as why he seemed so stressed and up tight. or why he felt the need to lie about his hair. using the excuse of “it’s too hard to keep up with” was bs. at least to you. whenever you came to visit, you had noticed that his hair was a priority to him, just like it was for jake and some of the others on the reservation.

he kept it well, carried around hair bands for when he needed to keep it back, and even had a brush sometimes. he wouldn’t even let anybody except for his mom touch it. why did he think you were going to believe his lie so easily?

the rest of the night went on with ease. it took embry less than fifteen minutes to figure out your bed frame, insisting that he put on the mattress himself.

the rest of the time, embry had watched you unpack. you wouldn’t let him help after he put the bed frame together, so he settled for asking you about life since he last saw you. he danced around your own questions, making up excuses here and there for his appearance or tired complexion.

eventually, you took a seat next to him as you spoke. you smiled as his head fell against your shoulder, “you can rest your eyes em, i won’t mind.” he all but nodded, hair brushing against your cheek as he settled closer. he hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until you told him.

it wasn’t long before embry’s mother had come up the stairs to find embry asleep on your shoulder. she leaned against your door frame as you waved to her, “i’ll wake him up and send him down. it won’t be but two minutes.” at that, she nodded and turned around.

hand coming to rest against the skin above his knee, you ahook his leg gently, “okay emmy. you gotta wake up, your mom is waiting for you downstairs...” he stirred awake, body stretching as he hummed, “i’ll see you tomorrow? maybe?”

he nodded at your inquiry, rubbing his eyes, “yeah, i’ll see you tomorrow... just, just call me when you wake up or something. the boys will want to see you... maybe i can take you to meet some more friends of mine? a bonfire maybe?”

you agreed, and pulled him up for a hug goodbye. his body was hot against yours, another question forming at the top of your tongue. it was like he knew, and before you could mumble it out, he pulled away to ruffle your hair. with a quick ‘see you later’ he all but rushed out the door, leaving you in a comfortable silence.

embry and you only grew closer after that. he couldn’t help but cry a little inside when he saw you interact with his brothers the following night. you all sat around a fire at the beach, where you had laughed and played into friendly banter as you snuggled up into his side.

you stuck your tongue out at quil nd jake whenever they had something to say about you both together.

into the following weeks, you and embry acted as if you were already dating. he never uttered a word about the wolf thing until seth had let a comment slip past his lips, something about how, “us wolves are just like that”

and then embry told you. you had all but laughed in his face when he told you, turning to cry after he shifted. it wasn’t like you were upset, you were just... overwhelmed. he walked you home that night, where he tucked you into bed and kissed your forehead, apologies rushing from his mouth. you refused to let him leave you after that.

you pulled him beside you and buried your head in his chest and basked in the silence of your room. he let you, running his fingers through your hair as he let you think everything out. he was afraid to speak, terrified of losing you.

you were the one to break the silence, peaking up at him, your eyes red from tears, “you owe me so many answers, embry call. too many for you to even count.” embry laughed a little, letting the tears he held back fall down his cheeks, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

he did give you answers. all of them. he told you about when and how... and why. he told you that after the cullens left, he stopped shifting so much. he wasn’t as busy anymore, no longer needing to patrol the woods for roaming leeches. after they left, the trouble they brewed followed.

he calmed your worries before you even spoke of them, promising that everything was okay, and that you’d be the first to know if they weren’t. he all but promised to keep you safe.

later, when he asked you on a date, you agreed as fast as ever. you had claimed that you already thought you were together. embry sort of died a little at that, peppering little kisses over your face.

he only told you about imprinting after having an established relationship so you could get used to the wolf thing.

made sure to explain to you that he loved you before it happened.

dating embry was... simple. it was like being his best friend with the exception of intimacy.

he loved cuddling, and always found a way to pull you into his embrace when you weren’t looking.

he was literally glued to your hip. in the kitchen, he hugged you from behind.

on the couch, he preferred to pull you into his lap or against his side, arms wrapped around you.

honestly

this man would use your chest or hips/butt as a pillow, you are not getting away from that.

dating embry also means cooking. a lot. you had practically beg emily for her muffin recipe before she finally caved. she made you swear it to secrecy.

when you first made them, embry had walked into your home and nearly cried in excitement. he was not expecting the sweet smell to greet him when he opened the door.

when you’re sick, you have to shove embry out the door. while it’s nice to know that he’s worried about your well being, he’s extremely annoying. and you love him for it.

he settles for pressing kisses to your forehead when you’re sound asleep.

embry also is the kind of guy to be like, “do yOu nEed heLP?!1?!?1” :/

no sir they does not but thank u for asking

“arE yOu sURe??1??” :// dude if u don’t stop ✋

he means well but sometimes you really have to grab his face and press your forehead to his nd say, “embry. i am more than capable of doing this by myself. i need u to sit down and be quiet or do something else because i am b u s y” instantly makes him check out for a hot second tbh

he knows you’re more than capable and that you don’t need his help, but like???? he’s still?? like he wants to ask and be helpful all of the ti m e

this usually happens when you’re making dinner for him or something

he feels bad cause he feels like you do too much for him

so you usually tell him that he can help clean up HDHSJ

when you told your parents that you guys were dating, they were all like, “oh baby,,, we already knew that” they have been planning your guys’ wedding since u turned 10 and they caught u guys holding hands

maybe u join jake nd quil in teasing embry

you have to make it up with kisses

embry strikes me as a pouty type... not like, the annoying?? pouty??? but a cute pouty. one kiss to his forehead tho and he’s g o n e

anyway,, dating embry is as easy as counting. he’s loveable and sweet and he’s funny and the love of your life.

the person who requested this brought up marriage too but this is already too mfing long u feel

so maybe another day

bye bye now

[kuronanox]

Something there - Renji Abarai

"It hurts right? You like her but she likes someone else." (Your Name) says as her and Renji walk behind Ichigo and Rukia as the two argued about something stupid they saw.

"No no!" He fluster back as she smirks and walks ahead of him.

Renji looks down when they walked ahead and sadly smile. She was right though. He always had a crush on Rukia but he knew her love was somewhere else out of his reach.

"I hate that your always right."

Even after years of being friends with Renji he never looked at her the way he did with Rukia. She was beautiful and enchanting, something she was not.

Sighing she laid on her barrack floor thinking about all the good memories they shared together. Renji was a goofy tsundere, a hopeless man.

She long for his touch and comfort but they were nothing but friends.

A soft knock came from outside as she covered her robe more and opened it slowly to see a familiar red head.

"What's up?" She says as he walks in with a bottle of sake and sit on the ground roughly.

"What's going on? You depressed again?!"

Renji shakes his head and pours her a shot and grins. "A little bird told me you had a rough day and was crying." He tells her as she rolls her eyes. "Hinamori!"

She sits across him in silence eyeing him and then takes the shot slamming it down on the table.

His eyes widen a bit as he chuckles and brings both hands up. "Woah woah someone did have a rough day."

"Oh hush don't act like you don't!" She bite back and looks away pouring a bit. "You know I'm an raging alcoholic aside from Kira."

Renji looks back at all the times he's drank with Kira and he sweats a bit understanding the dude did get drunk all the time when they go out.

"So what happen? I can be a listening ear."

"Nothing much just a few petty argument with some squad members and contemplating my life's decision."

Renji nodds his head and pours her another shot as she drank most the bottle ranting about her problems and how she needed a break from everything.

"Do you think it's best to cut off people in your life?" She then ask him with tiny eyes and a pink face. The alcohol kicking in as she was half drunk and half tipsy not thinking straight.

"Well last time I tried to we came back together." He laughs thinking back about Rukia's execution.

"She's beautiful and strong, she's independent and cute. I wish I could be her." (Your Name) sighs laying on the floor looking up on the ceiling feeling a bit sorry for herself.

"Ahh don't say that! You have your strong features too!" Renji defends as she laughs bitterly.

"She has everything...even him."

There was silence before Renji plopped up with widen eyes.

"You like Ichigo?! Oh god! Why him out of all people! Jesus (Your Name) I thought you had taste!"

Renji took 2 shots to that and shakes his head.

"Not him stupid." She says and leans on her elbow yawning as he blushes a bit.

"Kuchiki taicho! Hey hey I know he's a good looking man but that's her brother."

(Your Name) groans out loud and rolls her eyes. "Why is he so stupid?"

"Anyways! Your wrong."

There was a long silence between the two before he covers his face and blushes a bit falling onto the floor. "Me?!"

"Bingo! But hey this doesn't change our friendship. Don't think I'm sad about it. Even though I am." She closes her eyes letting the world spin around her.

"I'm so sorry I didn't know you felt that way. I wouldn't have made you feel this way." He apologizes ashamed he told her about his love life and how miserable he was.

"I mean it's cool, we are both struggling at something right." She shrugs and pours the sake bottle that happen to be empty now and she grits her teeth slapping it on the side.

"(Your Name) why didn't you tell me!"

"Because would that change anything? Would that change your heart to open up to me? To love me? No!" She yelled at Renji as her body trembled a bit looming over him with hurt eyes.

She places her hands on her hips after because it was silent in the room now. "It's getting late. Maybe you should go home now."

"Wait let me-"

"Just leave for now I'm not sober. I don't wanna say or do something I will regret."

Renji cleans the mess they made before leaving her barracks. "Good night (Your Name)."

She avoided all contact with Renji the past week and stayed away from the 6th squad as much as possible. "I can't believe I confessed to him! Ugh how stupid can I be!"

Kicking the floor she looked up to see Byakuya standing infront of her. "Kuchiki taicho!" She stampers as he nods his head.

"My lieutenant has been feeling down lately, please fix him it's affecting his work ethic."

She looks down embarrassed that the noble man could see that she had feelings for his lieutenant the whole time. "I'm sorry I don't know what you're talking about."

Byakuya doesn't say one word and walks past her as she gasp for air afraid of the nobles man presence.

Renji lays on the grass looking up to the sky, he truly felt bad for (Your Name) he always thought they were best friends and she was only being nice and felt sorry for him.

Renji knew she was an attractive women and he had only laid eyes on one women in his life. He was very closed minded but he knew he had options but never did he think it was one he would actually see a future with.

Yes he loved Rukia but he knew the longer he kept his heart there he would never feel happy and satisfied. She had her love for someone else.

Renji knew it was time to move on but he didn't want (Your Name) to feel like an second option.

"Ugh!" He yells frustrated with himself.

"Renji?"

He looks up to see (Your Name) her hair was flowing in the wind as she gave him a small smile.

"(Your Name)!" He says and sits up as she took her place besides him.

"You've been feeling down?"

"Not really."

She raised a brow and he looks away flustered that she knew his feelings from the start.

"That's not what I heard from Kuchiki Taicho."

"Oh great he basically snitched on me."

(Your Name) pokes his cheek and laughs a bit before turning away and getting up. "Whenever you're ready to answer me I'll be waiting."

Renji looks up and grabs her hand before she could leave. "I have my answer. I do like you a lot but please forgive me if it seems like you are an second options because you aren't. I just didn't think you would be into me like this."

Slapping his head he stands up and hunches over her. "Why did you hit me?!"

"Because can't you see nothing is wrong with you! Anyone would be dumb not to like you!" She argues back as he chuckles and brings her into a hug.

"I don't think I deserve you."

"You don't but I like you so you're lucky!"

Renji grins slowly letting go of the past and moving on with the future. It was always easy with (Your Name) she was sassy but also kind and easy going.

"You're going to be the death of me."

She smirks and brings him into a head lock walking out of the fields. "Where are we going?!"

"To drink and celebrate our success to a future of happiness!"

Renji smiles and unlocks himself holding his hand with hers before letting her take the lead.

"Let's celebrate then!" He cheers.

(Author note: short story, nothing serious! Who should I write next?)

[delacyrose224]

Champagne Problems

-Pairing: bassist!Yoongi x OC

-Premise: Yoongi keeps to himself, but everything changes when he opens up to his best friend about his past.

-Genre: rock band!AU, angst with some fluff

-Word count: 2.8k

-Author's Note: This is a continuation of the Gold Rush universe! Each band member will get his own story based off a song on Taylor Swift's evermore album. This story revealed just how much of a soft spot I have for Yoongi...

“Are you sure you can’t come with?” Jungkook shoots Yoongi a sad look with his doe eyes.

“Yes, now shut up and go. Stop trying to guilt trip me with puppy dog eyes, suck it up and go be awkward with that girl you met. I can tell you think she’s cute, so go be gross and flirty somewhere else far from me, please,” Yoongi huffs as he loads equipment into the band’s van.

“Yeah, JK, leave him alone...he’s going to hang out with Olivia.” Jin emphasizes the last word with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Olivia’s more important than us anyway...even though we’ve known him longer. It’s fine, we’ll be fine.” He throws his hand against his forehead as if he’ll faint for emphasis.

Yoongi cuts a harsh side eye at Jin. “Yes, I am going to hang out with Olivia. I’ve had plans with her for a week now. You knew this. It’s not my fault if you forgot.”

Jin falters at this, his face softening into care for his oldest friend. “Yeah, I know. We’ll see you when you get home, okay?” Yoongi nods in affirmation.

“I’m taking the train there, make sure the equipment gets unloaded tonight. I don’t care what goo-goo eyes those two girls make at you, it needs to go in the spare room in our apartment.” Yoongi tosses the van keys at Jungkook, who catches them with ease.

“Aye, aye, captain!” Jungkook exclaims with a grin, opening the driver’s side door as Jin climbs into the passenger side.

Yoongi gives a small wave at his two friends as he turns to walk to the subway station nearest The Dynasty, the bar they had just played at. He didn’t mind that he was by himself, it would give him the time he needed to decompress after the show. He appreciated the attention that the band and their music got (after all, he had a hand in writing most of the songs), but he absolutely hated the attention of the crowd on himself. Jin and Jungkook ate it up-they were literally about to go meet two strangers from the show to eat and hang out. That could never be him. Yoongi stuck with the familiar. The familiar was safe. And Olivia was familiar.

He smiled softly to himself at the thought of Olivia...he had known her since college, where they had met when they were both dragged to a party they didn’t want to be at. They had bonded over their shared distaste for large gatherings of loud, drunk people, but their love for their friends that reveled in it.

Reminiscing had taken Yoongi all the way down to the subway platform, where he met the red line just as it was pulling in...a bit of good luck for once, he thought. He climbed on and found a seat off to the side where no one else was, and collapsed into it. He must be more tired than he thought.

As the train pulled out of the station, he found himself looking out the window. The red line was a train that went above ground, so he was able to stare at more than just gray tunnels. As skyscrapers and streetlights came into view, his mind started to wander. Last March. A night similar to this one, exactly a year ago. He had just finished playing Gold Rush’s first show, when his whole life fell apart. Promises of a future, shattered alongside his heart. He can feel his eyes starting to prick with tears, which he hates. Yoongi looks around, simultaneously grateful that no one else is around to see that he’s upset, but at the same time, if there were more people around, maybe he never would have gotten lost in his memories in the first place.

Before he can start internally chastising himself too much, the train pulls into his stop. He uses his black t-shirt to wipe at his eyes in what he hopes is a nonchalant way, then leaves the train car and heads up a set of stairs back into the city.

He doesn’t have to walk far before he’s at Olivia’s apartment, knocking on her door. She flings the door open wide, a smile on her face and a bottle of champagne in her hand. “Yoongi!! You came! Come on in.”

Yoongi follows her into her apartment and plops himself down on her couch and closes his eyes momentarily, feeling some of his stress dissipate. “Happy Anniversary!!” Olivia exclaims. At this, he jolts up, eyes flying open. He can feel how wild he must look with the way Olivia stares at him. But how does she know about the anniversary? She doesn’t know anything about that, right?

“...w-what do you mean?” he manages to stammer out, trying to gain some of his composure.

“The anniversary of Gold Rush’s first show?...you’ve been officially playing together for a year now! I remember the first show like it was yesterday, you were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up. And then Jungkook actually threw up after the show because he drank too much...anyway, I’m so sorry I couldn’t come out tonight, I had a work thing I couldn’t miss.” Olivia looks truly disappointed, like she would have rather been sweating in a gross bar at the show.

Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief. Of course, the anniversary of their first show. Why would it be anything else? “It’s okay, really,” he replies. “It worked out anyway, Jin and Jungkook met these two girls who came to the show, and they’re hanging out with them. Makes me feel less guilty when I’d rather be hanging out with you anyway.” He lets a small smile grace his features as he glances across the room at Olivia, but it disappears as his eyes fall on the champagne bottle that she’s placed on the living room table.

First world problems. Champagne problems, she’d called them. Not Olivia. Her. Yoongi can feel his eyes starting to swim with tears again, so quickly he doesn’t have time to hide the few that spill down his cheeks.

“...Yoongs? What’s wrong?” Olivia moves to sit beside him on the couch.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself again. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Yoongs, the last time I saw you cry, it was in college when you found out that your aunt had passed away. So I’m gonna ask again...what’s wrong?” she reaches out and gently wipes his tears away with her thumb.

“Livvy…” he starts, unsure of exactly what to say.

“Just start at the beginning,” Olivia reassures him.

He sighs shakily. “Okay. Do you remember when I started dating Isabelle senior year?”

Olivia nods.

“Well, that’s the beginning.”

----------------------------------------------

“...and everything was fine for a long time. Those first two years were everything. She was everything. Jin and Jungkook used to get so mad at me because I would bail out of band practice early all the time to go see her.” Yoongi hiccups as he continues talking. He’s stopped crying for the time being, but as he’d been telling the story, Olivia had opened the bottle of champagne and they had both been drinking straight from the bottle. Yoongi was a little tipsy, if he was being honest with himself...otherwise, he didn’t think he’d be able to get the entire story out of his mouth.

“Okay...so, everything was good. What happened?” Olivia looks over sideways at her best friend. They’d both thrown their heads back to look at the ceiling rather than look at each other to talk-Olivia knew Yoongi would never be able to fully share with them making eye contact. He looks over briefly, then back to the ceiling, brows furrowed.

“Well. I’m not sure exactly when things started to fall apart...I guess Isabelle started acting weird once she met my family. Jin and Jungkook didn’t care for her that much either, I never understood why. I know now they were just looking out for me. But in the moment, all I saw was her. She loved me, and I loved her. I wanted to marry her,” he breathes out softly, closing his eyes.

Olivia’s eyes widen. She and Yoongi had been friends when he dated Isabelle, but they hadn’t kept in close contact during that time. They were each trying to find their footing in the real world, moving into apartments, starting first jobs. Him entertaining the idea of marriage to anyone was news to her. She knew he was serious about his relationship to Isabelle, but not that serious.

Yoongi is still sitting with his eyes closed, face towards the ceiling. Try as he might, he can’t stop tears from falling for the third time that night. He hates how vulnerable he’s being, but maybe he can blame it on the champagne. Instead of wiping them away, Olivia watches the tears fall onto his t-shirt. Her heart feels like it’s being wrenched apart. Why did Yoongi never share any of this with her before? She should have been there for him. Did Jin and Jungkook know about all of this? Surely he’s told someone else. Slowly, she reaches out her hand and places it on top of Yoongi’s, squeezing gently.

At the sensation, he opens his eyes and looks over at Olivia. She always knows what to do or say. Or not say. He twists his palm upward to meet hers and intertwines their fingers together. It feels nice. He’s forgotten how pleasant human touch can be since he’s shut himself off from other people.

Olivia’s cheeks are dusted with pink, but she doesn’t pull her hand back. “Okay, so, you wanted to marry her. What stopped you?” She traces small circles with her thumb onto the back of Yoongi’s hand.

He leans forward and grabs the champagne bottle with his free hand, chugging quite a bit before he answers. “...she did.” he whispers, hardly loud enough to hear. “Last March, at our first show. You remember she came?” Olivia nods. She remembers, it had been one of the few times the two women had been in the same room.

“We went back to her apartment after the afterparty, once we all made sure Kook was fine after he got sick. I was planning on proposing in a much more planned out way, but I just remember looking at her once we got back to her place, and she was so beautiful. Even though she was sweaty from the show, even though we were both exhausted. I couldn’t help myself...I didn’t even have the ring with me, it was sitting at my apartment in my sock drawer. I just loved her so much.”

There’s a long pause. Olivia squeezes Yoongi’s hand again for reassurance. He continues to blankly stare at the ceiling at a loss for what to say next.

“Yoongs...c’mere.” He looks over at Olivia questioningly. She lets go of his hand and before he can protest the loss of contact, she gently places her hands on his shoulders, turning him and slowly lowering his head into her lap. He’s still staring at the ceiling, but also able to see Olivia. She begins to softly run her hands through his hair, tracing patterns onto his scalp every so often. Yoongi sighs contentedly and closes his eyes again.

“...I got down on one knee in her living room, and she stopped me. Before I could say one word. She just said, ‘Yoongi, I can’t.’ And that was it. She didn’t cry. She said she couldn’t do this, whatever this was. She said I deserved better than her. And then she asked me to leave. We never talked again.”

Suddenly he opens his eyes again. “I became a zombie after that...the only time I socialized with anyone was to go play shows, if that even counts. I was so rude for no reason to Kook and Jin, when they were just trying to help. I never even told them what happened. They didn’t know I proposed, they just thought we broke up.” Yoongi’s speech starts to speed up as the trainwreck he’s lived through for the past year plays in his head.

“I used to care so much...I closed myself off. I don’t think I feel emotions properly anymore. I can’t love anyone anymore. I haven’t told anyone about any of this until now, and it took a bottle of champagne to even do that, and you’re one of my best friends.” Yoongi sits up suddenly, motioning frantically at Olivia with his hands. He looks at her, holding eye contact for more than 10 seconds for the first time that night.

“...I think Isabelle broke me,” he breathes. Seeing the care emanating from Olivia’s gaze is what truly breaks him. He’s suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, shoulders heaving with the emotion that he’s held in for so long. Olivia pulls him into her embrace, where she simply holds him while he cries.

What he doesn’t see are the tears streaming down her face as well. She can’t believe that he’s held all of this in for this long, without telling anyone. That he felt like he couldn’t share this part of himself. She just wishes that he could understand how much she cares. How much she loves him. He deserves the world, not to feel this way.

After a few minutes, Yoongi leans back, wiping his eyes and trying to collect himself. It’s then that he notices the wet streaks running down Olivia’s cheeks.

“Livvy, what’s wrong?” he reaches up to gently wipe her cheeks with his thumbs. She inadvertently leans into the touch, sniffling softly. “Livvy...look at me.”

As she lifts her gaze to meet his, Yoongi is struck by how Olivia’s eyes seem to be glittering because of tears. How does she look so pretty even after crying? He’s sure he looks disgusting.

“What’s wrong?” he repeats.

“You deserve the world, Yoongi. I’m so sorry that Isabelle broke your heart, but she was right...you deserve so much better. More than anyone can give you, probably.” She says this while looking intently at her lap, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

At this statement, Yoongi stops. Memories of the past year run through his mind, each rapidly following the other. Who did he go to when Gold Rush lost their slot in Battle of the Bands? Olivia. Who did he vent to about Jin and Jungkook when they were fraying his last nerve? Olivia. Where did he go when he needed to destress? Olivia’s. Who made him feel safe? Olivia.

“...hey,” he whispers gently, taking Olivia’s hands in his. She looks up, tears still swimming in her eyes.

“Isabelle may have broken me...but I think someone’s been slowly putting me back together again without me even realizing it.” He smiles, intertwining their fingers and leaning his forehead against hers.

“...w-what?” Olivia stammers, barely loud enough to hear.

Yoongi laughs softly. “Livvy, I think...I think I’m in love with you, and I didn’t even know until right this minute.”

“Yoongs...I...I don’t…” she whispers. Yoongi gasps sharply, pulling away as fast as he can.

“Olivia...I’m so sorry. I misread everything, everything...forget this happened. I’ll leave, forget I said anything!” he scrambles to get off the couch as rapidly as humanly possible, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

Before he can get far, he’s being pulled back down onto the couch. Making eye contact with Olivia for longer than 10 seconds for the second time tonight, he tries to form an intelligible sentence with his brain. Before anything can come out of his mouth, Olivia’s lips come crashing down onto his.

Yoongi’s eyes widen impossibly, eyebrows raising to meet his bangs. As Olivia’s lips move against his, he stops thinking and sighs into the kiss almost imperceptibly. His hands move to her hips, pulling her as close as he can to himself...he never wants to let go if he can help it.

When the two break eventually break apart for air, Olivia chuckles. “What’s so funny?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I was just trying to tell you that I didn’t know what to say, not that I didn’t like you...way to jump to conclusions,” she giggles.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. We solved that miscommunication luckily,” he smirks.

“We’re both idiots, aren’t we?” Olivia leans her head against Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi peers down at her, smiling as he wraps an arm around her.

“Yeah, I think we’ve been hanging out with Jin for too long.”

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

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Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

[thisbrokenmask]

Drift Away

pairing: female reader x Park Jimin

genre: angst (prepare your heartstrings)

word count: 5,192

warnings: Jimin is sad, that’s all

summary: jimin is home for christmas. so are you. it’s been several months since you broke up with him but he’s still hurting. will you give him the closure he needs?

a/n: so I wanted to write something nice and fluffy for Jimin’s Christmas Love, but this sort of happened instead. Crystal Snow has been one of my favourites since I first heard it, there’s something about the longing and complex emotions in it that’s always appealed to me, so I’m glad I got ‘Crystal Snow’ on my @btsholidaybingo​ card! (Also, don’t mind me projecting my break up from earlier this year, I promise I’ll write something happier for ChimChim soon) 

It’s only when conversation in the car dies down that Jimin begins to take notice of his surroundings. He’s been talking non-stop with his parents and his brother since they engulfed him in a big group hug at the train station, catching up with each other despite at least two calls a week to his parents and a text thread with his brother that rarely sits still for a full 24 hours.

Somehow, there is always something new to talk about, or something comfortingly familiar to talk about again, and he is thankful for that in the very moment he notices how close they are to home. Being close to home means being close to your parents’ house, and that means being close to you. 

He stares out of the window as the houses roll past, various colours painting his skin from the different light displays and decorations hanging from their eaves. Jimin has no doubt you’ve come home for the winter holidays, just like he has. You always loved Christmas, always itching to get the Christmas decorations up as soon as you could. He remembers how you would start talking about Christmas as early as the week after Chuseok and how he’d been amazed that he’d found someone who loved Christmas more than he did. Even he could wait until after Hangul Day before he allowed himself to even think of ideas for Christmas, but you were always two steps ahead of him. 

He wonders if you were as excited this year. 

His parents definitely notice the sudden quiet in the back of the car and glance at each other, silently repeating the conversation they’ve had several times over the last few weeks, questioning whether they should ask or leave him be. 

“Have you heard from Y/N?” his mother asks, long having decided that addressing the elephant in the room will help Jimin, rather than letting him wallow and fester in his own thoughts. He’s had long enough, she feels, and talking about you will only help him to move on. “Is she back for Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin answers truthfully, feeling an uncomfortable fullness in his chest that makes him feel a bit sick. His brother shifts in his seat across the car. “We haven’t spoken.”

“Oh,” his mother says lightly, faux nonchalant. Her barely-concealed acting would normally have irked him and he would have asked her to just be more direct, not tiptoe around him and treat him like a baby, but he’s tired. Tired of pretending not to care, tired of pretending he doesn’t still think about you. His mother quickly changes the subject anyway. “Well, Jungkook is home, isn’t he? Are you going to go and see him?” 

“Yeah,” Jimin nods once, unable to tear his eyes away from the world outside. He knows your street is approaching and he doesn’t want to miss catching a glimpse of your house. He wonders if your parents have put up the same lights they always do: bright white and twinkling, following the slope of the roof and lighting up the biggest tree on the front lawn. “Yeah, I’ll go see Jungkook.”

Christmas music is playing in the store when Jimin enters. A mix of American and Korean music playing over the speakers, old enough to give the music that slight tinny sound only old, weary speakers can provide. 

His mother has sent him armed with a list of things she deems absolutely essential, but he knows it’s just an excuse to get him out of the house, to get him to do something rather than pretending to watch TV while wrapped up on the sofa in his favourite blanket like he has been for the last two days. He knows, because he saw the full bag of flour in the pantry last night when he was quietly looking for a near-midnight snack. He knows, because there’s a carton of eggs in the kitchen that’s almost full and there’s enough sugar to sweeten the tea of the whole street at least two times over.

But she insisted, so here he is. 

He has the eggs, flour, sugar and a few other things from the list when he sees them, having just turned down the aisle they’re standing in. Your relatives don’t spot him straight away, your mother talking a mile a minute as she lists the pros and cons of two different brands to your little sister who, as always, is simply nodding along. Your mother will make her own decision, probably already has, but your sister is there to be her sounding board. That used to be your job, he remembers you telling him, until you hit 16 and had the excuse of school exams to get you out of the weekly shopping trips. 

He’s about to turn around and go down the next aisle, planning on circling back when he knows they’ve moved on, but then he hears his name being called. He looks up to see your little sister abandoning her post and running towards him. Your mother blinks as he gets closer, walking over to say hello as he’s too polite not to, and for the first time in his life he wishes he found it easier to be rude.

“Mrs Y/L/N,” he greets your mother with a bow low enough for his gaze to drop to the floor, his basket knocking against his calf before he’s straightening up again. “It’s nice to see you, I hope you and your family are well.” Jimin smiles at your sister, who smiles back and nods but moves back to stand by your mother. He can tell she’s holding back from hugging him and his arms ache. 

“Jimin,” she smiles back, but her eyes are sad. “It’s nice to see you, too. I’m very well, thank you. I hope your family are, too?” Jimin nods with a smile. “You’re home for Christmas?” Another nod. “That’s wonderful. Y/N is, too-” She cuts herself off, eyes widening apologetically. 

“It’s okay,” he assures her with a smile despite the constricting feeling in his throat. He holds back from asking about you despite the way his tongue itches to form the words. “I’m glad to be back home for a while. Speaking of which, I apologise but I must get back,” he holds up the slip of paper his mother pushed into his hand. “But it was lovely to see you both.” Jimin bows again to both your mother and sister, making sure to push his smile just that little bit wider to ensure they know there are no hard feelings. 

“It’s lovely to see you, too, Jimin,” your mother smiles. “It’s been so long.”

He knows. He knows exactly how long it’s been since so many things: the last time he saw your parents, the last time he saw you, the last time you spoke to him. 

“It has,” he agrees, and bows again before slipping past them. “Merry Christmas!” 

He waves goodbye as he walks away, waiting until he’s down the next aisle before trying to read the rest of his list with stinging eyes. 

He wonders if your mother will tell you that she saw him. 

It’s only a few days before Christmas Eve when Jimin finally sees you. He’s walking back from Jungkook’s house, his younger friend’s parents insisting on feeding him before he was allowed to go home. He almost doesn’t notice you, so caught up in the same thoughts he’s been having for months to even register people around him. 

But he hears your laugh and he can’t not look.

Jimin’s head snaps up so suddenly that he’s sure the movement alone catches your eye, but it could be the fact that he stops dead almost mid-stride. You’re on the other side of the street, walking towards the direction he’s coming away from, and you’re not alone. 

He thinks he recognizes one of the girls by your side from high school, but the other is completely unknown to him. He barely grants either of them a second of his attention before focusing back on you. You’ve cut your hair and dyed it a lighter shade, but it’s still you in those jeans he always loved and the jacket you bought with the money you saved up from your first summer job. 

He notices the exact second your eyes flit over to him, and the exact moment when they shoot back for a double take, a flash of recognition taking over your features. Meeting your gaze is like a pummel to the gut and the head at the same time; his brain feels dizzy and his knees waver like they might give out if a light breeze brushes past him.

You look away so quickly, so determined in the way you turn your head completely to look at your friend, that it takes him a few seconds to register the moment is gone. He feels empty, so empty, at how easily you ignore him. He feels empty, and then he feels so full of sadness and anger and hurt that he briefly convinces himself that he hates you as he turns to stomp back to his house. 

“Who was that?” he hears one of your friends ask incredulously, but his feet beat a muffled pace against the snow too quickly for him to hear your answer. 

Hey, how are you?

The text comes through hours later, lighting up his room as Jimin lays staring at the ceiling. Drying tracks itch his face from the silent tears he finally let fall once he knew his parents were in bed and most likely asleep. He couldn’t forget how easily you turned away from him, and from there his memories awoke to remind him of all the times you’d turned toward him, ran toward him, jumped into his arms and held on. 

It was, he’d believed, yet another night of his chest slowly ripping itself open, only to leave it for him to try and fix before breakfast.

But you texted him, and he chewed his lip desperately as he considered what to do. 

Hey. I’m alright thanks, you?

He had considered texting Hoseok to ask what he should do, but it was nearly midnight and he didn’t want to bother his friends any more than he felt he already had. This was his situation, anyway, and all the advice in the world to the contrary wouldn’t stop him from listening to the way his heart still called out for you. 

I’m good, too. I just wanted to say sorry about earlier.

Earlier?

Don’t lie, Jimin. I know you saw me, and you know I saw you.

I’m sorry I ignored you.

Jimin scoffs into the darkness of his room, a flush of anger rushing through him at your words. He doesn’t know if he believes you, as much as he wants your words to be true. He wants you to want him still, even though he knows things would be different now. He likes to try and convince himself he could trust you to love him again, but then he remembers how easily you broke his heart and he just hurts all over again.

Are you?

Of course I am! I felt awful, I wanted to say hello to you so badly.

Then why didn’t you? 

The question isn’t malicious or confrontational; he just needs to know how you think so he can figure out he feels. 

I didn’t know how to, you finally reply. 

Saying ‘hello’ is normally a good place to start?

I know, I know, I just

Jimin watches the bubble of ellipses come and go several times, waiting for you to get your words right. He always gave you that, even when the words would hurt him in the end. 

I didn’t know how to explain to the girls who you were.

His heart feels like a cold lump of lead in his chest, almost too heavy to beat.

Didn’t want to have to explain what I did to you.

Despite everything, he still hates to hear/read/see you feel guilty over what happened between you, because it means you’re sad. He’s still got a bit of hardwiring in him that makes him want to cheer you up, to protect you from pain and sadness even when he’s drowning in his own. 

I understand, he finally texts back, wishing he actually did. He doesn’t know how or why he’s the one comforting you when you were the one that broke up with him but here he is, lying in his childhood bedroom merely streets away from you, telling you he understands. Understands that you couldn’t tell your friends he was the guy you’d broken up with before you both left for college mere months ago. Understands that you dropped the bomb on him that you were pretty sure you weren’t in love with him anymore after two years of him devoting every atom of his being to your existence. Understands how you didn’t want to start college with a boyfriend you didn’t feel the same about anymore and might end up hurting in worse ways than just words. 

Jimin blinks back the tears that well up in his eyes as the thoughts pass through his head, his phone locked and clutched to his chest like prayer beads. He wonders if you’re the same, if you’ve been umming and ahhing over whether you should text him or if you’re casually resting on your side with your duvet wrapped around your leg like you normally did before you slept. He wonders if you’re in bed at all, or if you’re sat up at your desk and are only texting him now as an afterthought to your busy day.

Strange shadows appear on his ceiling when his phone lights up under his fingers.

Thank you.

He bites his bottom lip before releasing it and pressing the back of his hand to it instead, knowing his mother will notice in the morning and ask him what he’s been worrying about. He knows you’d ask the same, knowing him just as well, if not better. 

He figures this is his best chance to take his shot to ask.

Can I see you, at some point?

The bubble pops up then disappears again without returning, and he knows you’re trying to figure out how to say no to him nicely.

Just to talk. We could get coffee or something?

He doesn’t want to sound desperate, but he is, and he figures that you might give in if you realise.

No funny business, I promise. I just want to see you one last time, one last conversation and then I’ll leave you be. I just feel like I never really got closure and it would be nice to finally feel like I can move on. [Ever the people pleaser, he adds,] If that’s okay?

If you say no or you don’t reply, he’ll take that as closure and do his best to move on. It will hurt more, but he’ll know where he stands and then he can figure out where to step next. If you say yes, it’ll be awkward, but he’ll be able to figure out where his heart is much quicker by sitting across a table from you. 

The last few months have been disorienting and confusing and painful, spent trying to clumsily mend his heart when he wasn’t quite sure of the extent of the damage. He’s convinced himself that if he sees you and speaks to you, he’ll know whether or not he still loves you. 

If he doesn’t, he can finally put down the weight he’s been carrying and walk away lighter. 

He doesn’t quite have a plan yet for if it turns out he does. 

Of course. When are you free?

It’s bitingly cold on the 28th, the day you and Jimin agree to see each other. It was the one day you were both free that wasn’t too close to Christmas, New Year, or the day you were returning to college for the January term. It was the one day with the least potential for sentimentality. 

He gets there five minutes late, hoping you’re already there and seated rather than him being first. It seems you had the same idea, though, as you walk towards him from the opposite end of the high street. 

While he’s still far enough away to be sure you won’t be able to see it, a puff of white air escapes him as a laugh pushes his lips into a smile. He should have known you’d want to be the one who gets to walk in and withhold your gaze until you’re ready to look at him; you were always both so similar that way. 

He sees you falter and guesses that to be the moment you realise he’s the person walking towards you. Your pace slows slightly, hesitant, before you pick up your speed again. You probably hope he didn’t notice, and he’ll pretend he didn’t. 

You meet in the middle, outside the door to the cafe you used to come and sit in together all the time; impromptu dates, one of you wanting to be out of the house, the other jonesing for a hot chocolate like only Mrs Mae can make. 

Jimin opens the door for you and ushers you inside, and you breathe a gasp of thanks as you hurry into the warmth. Mrs Mae is still pottering about behind the counter, wiping and drying between customers. She turns and smiles before either of you can say anything and her apparent sixth sense is oddly comforting. 

Mrs Mae has always been observant, keeping an eye on everyone who comes into her shop yet somehow making them feel like they have all the privacy in the world in her plush seats. She still pertains that she knew you and Jimin were dating before even the two of you did, and she harbours the secret that she knew it was falling apart before you did, too. 

Her smile is two parts happy and one part sad to see you and Jimin together: pleased to see another pair of town kids all grown up and still coming to her little shop, pleased to see the combination of one of the sweetest couples she’s ever witnessed back together again, but sad to know both of your hearts are broken beyond repair for each other. She knows you’ll never walk into her shop hand-in-hand again, but she’s pleased to see you together nonetheless. 

The machine behind her is already steaming with two hot chocolates, mugs warming while they wait, and she waves you off to sit down before you can even order. 

Muscle memory guides you back to the table you always used to share, tucked against the window in the corner furthest from the door, and Jimin wonders if you notice before you sit down. Whether you do or not, he can’t tell, because you now won’t look at him. Your eyes are turned to the floor as you shrug off your coat, tucking it over the back of the chair, and you stare at your fingers on the tabletop when you sit down.

Jimin sits across from you, sinking into his chair and slowly pulling off his gloves. His coat is over the back of his chair, too, but he can’t bring himself to pull off his matching scarf and beanie, the navy blue contrasting his blond hair in a way that you can’t help but find yourself admiring. 

He doesn’t see how quickly you look away as his gaze drifts back towards you, but Mrs Mae does. She puts the cups of hot chocolate in front of you both, a third plate sliding onto the table between you. You both gape slightly at the two cookies shaped like Christmas trees, small ribbons of green icing criss-crossing over each other with little dabs of bright colours nestled between them. 

“On the house,” she says simply without flourish, tucking her tray back under her arm as she walks away before either of you can protest. 

You clear your throat as Jimin coughs gently into his fist and you finally look up at each other. Jimin feels a pang in his chest at how similar and how different this all is at the same time. The small hints of smiles on your faces are no longer coy and shy like they were when you came here together on your first ‘date’ as teenagers. Everyone insists you’re young adults now, and your lips are turned in an effort to alleviate the awkwardness between you. 

It’s nearly been three months since he last heard your voice and he feels tummy swirl as you open your mouth to speak.

“Good Christmas?” you ask feebly, not sure where else to start but thankful the recent holiday gives you something to talk about. 

“Yeah, it was good, thanks,” Jimin replies as he wraps his hands around his mug to keep them warm, wincing when the hot ceramic stings his palms slightly. “Yours?” You can see the genuine curiosity in his eyes and your heart pangs at the caring side of him that you miss. 

“Yeah, thanks.” You pull your own hot chocolate towards you, looking up to Jimin to offer him a cookie. He insists you choose first with a wave of his hand and so you take the one closest to you between your fingers but you make no move to eat it yet. You hold the cookie delicately with your finger tips, as if it might break if you dare to hold it any tighter. Jimin has already taken a small bite from the top of the tree, careful to produce minimal crumbs, and you wonder if he even noticed the small star on top. You normally save that bit for last. “Why are we here, Jimin?” 

He pauses briefly mid-chew, eyes darting to yours and cheeks flushing pink. He swallows and wordlessly pushes the empty plate towards you, positioning it under your hands that are already starting to break up the cookie into smaller chunks. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, looking down into the foam on his hot chocolate. The words are in his chest and it’s taking longer than he would like to get them to come out. It’s the closest experience he’s ever had to that awful limbo of waiting to be sick, although the cookie helps keep the nausea at bay. “The last few months have been… hard,” he finally admits, looking out of the window to the empty street. There’s snow on the pavement and only a few tracks of footprints have distrubed it. He can pick yours out easily. “I’ve gone back over everything you said and I know it’s over,” he says, giving you a pointed look that eases your fears that he was going to try and win you back somehow. “But I just feel like there was still something left to be said, somehow? Maybe I just needed to see you one last time to know how I felt about it all.” 

He trails off, pensively drawing shapes into the tabletop with his fingertip. You use the moment of silence to take a sip of hot chocolate and hiss when it almost scolds your tongue, the sound snapping Jimin from his thoughts with a smirk aimed at the table. 

“And?” you ask when he still doesn’t say anything. “How do you feel? Now that we’re here?”

He frowns, finger stilling, but takes a few more seconds to look up at you. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, and you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “I thought I’d be sad to see you, thought I wouldn’t be able to forget what happened and would want you back, but,” he shrugs with one shoulder, looking down to his cookie as he snaps off an outcrop of branches. “I dunno. I don’t want us to get back together, I know I can’t trust you not to hurt me again.” You swallow thickly, willing the tears away despite the pain in your chest. You deserve to no longer have his trust, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear him say it out loud. “I think, seeing you now, I’ve realised I just… miss you.” He still holds the smaller piece of cookie between his finger and thumb but his eyes are on you, and you aren’t so successful this time in keeping back your tears. You’ve missed him, too. 

Jimin panics when the first tear rolls over the apple of your cheek, his earring shaking as he drops both pieces of his cookie on the table and reaches a hand out to wipe your cheek before hesitating midway over the table. You brush at your cheek with your own hand, offering him a watery smile as you pick up one of your own broken bits of biscuit. 

“Sorry,” you breathe. “I’ve missed you, as well. It’s nice to know you’ve missed me, too, even though I don’t deserve it.” Jimin’s features soften and he goes to speak, but you cut him off, scared you won’t get your words out if you don’t do this now. “I know I was the one who ended it, I was the one who fell out of love with you and hurt you and broke up with you, but I still missed my friend,” you look up at him and see a soft smile on his lips, his cheek resting in his palm as he watches you. 

You briefly wonder if he’s enjoying seeing you hurting, then you remember he isn’t like that at all. He’s just happy to see you letting out the emotions you’ve been holding in for weeks. 

“I’ve missed my friend, too,” he says quietly as he reaches out to place his free hand over yours, stopping you from completely crumbling the biscuit in your hands. “That’s what I’ve realised. I think that’s why I’ve been struggling so much, because- yes, I was hurting and heartbroken and all that,” you almost laugh at how casually he says it now, a blase wave of his hand as if he’s talking about a minor inconvenience to his day. “But I didn’t realise how much I missed my friend. I think I made my peace with the break up a while ago,” he admits, his hand still on yours but you don’t shake him off, finding comfort in the weight of his palm over your fingers. “I could sort of accept that you didn’t love me anymore, because those things happen and you were honest about it. But I was still grieving, and it’s been so confusing trying to figure out why it wasn’t going away even when my head was telling me I understood it all.” 

You brush your fingers together to rid them of crumbs before turning your hand to hold his, your fingers wrapping around his palm. 

“I felt the same,” you say, Jimin’s gaze flicking up to yours from the vague spot in space he’s been staring at. “I thought I’d done the right thing; it was eating me up inside, knowing I didn’t feel the same anymore and I knew breaking up was the best thing to do. But then I went to college, and I met loads of new people and I thought, ‘This is great, I’ll be fine in no time.’ But I just couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing, something was wrong somehow, and I started thinking I’d made a mistake. Started thinking I shouldn’t have broken up with you, that I should have tried harder or something,” Jimin squeezes your hand gently, his skin still as soft as you always remembered it. You brace yourself for the words you know you have to say, for both of you. “I don’t love you anymore, and I know you’ll fall out of love with me soon, if you haven’t already. You’ll get over me and move on, and we’ll both be fine. I know we said goodbye months ago, but that was as partners; a boyfriend and a girlfriend saying goodbye. I think it’s time for us to say goodbye as friends, too.”

Jimin feels you pull your hand from his and he freezes, scared that you’ll get up and leave him here with two cooling hot chocolates and broken cookies, but you simply lift your cup to take a sip, needing the distraction. He considers your words as his hand slowly retreats back across the table, curling around his own cup but not lifting it. 

“I don’t mean we can’t be friends,” you say, neither of you able to look at each other. “But I think we need to say goodbye to the friendship we’re both mourning. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to that, and I don’t want either of us to desperately hang onto it when we could be moving forward, figuring out a new friendship instead.”

Jimin catches the hopeful tone in your voice and finds his heart soothing itself from the gallop it was building up to. You don’t want to cut him out, thank God, but you’re right: he needs to let go of what you had before, so you can both make room for what you could have in the future. 

Outside, it starts to snow, and he watches the first few snowflakes fall around each other in their flurries. He figures they’re very similar to you and him in the way they dance around each other in their own spirals. That’s how you will be from now on; the two of you will be following your own paths through life, and you may come close to one another or you both may drift away on different flows of the breeze. 

Either way, he’s sure it will be beautiful. 

“Thank you,” he says finally, biting back a laugh when he turns to see you with a mouthful of cookie and a half-empty mug. You never could sit still when he got lost in his daydreams.

You smile shyly, cheeks flushing, and for the first time Jimin feels just that little bit lighter when he lets himself laugh. He needed this conversation with you, needed to talk it through with the only person who would understand. Knowing that you can - and will - stay friends soothes him, dulling the ache in his chest to just a bit of discomfort, and he knows it’s now possible for it to go away completely with a bit more time. 

He walks home an hour and another two hot chocolates later. You paid for your own, adamant he had to start treating you like Jungkook instead of his girlfriend, although you revoked this when he said he would have made Jungkook pay for his drinks, too. His chest is warmer now than it was earlier, although whether that’s from the lifted weight, the three hot chocolates or the hug you gave him before you parted ways, he’s not sure. 

If you would like to read any of my other works, please follow me and head on over to my masterlist ♡

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part One of ??)

Hello everyone! So, @simpingforsatan threw this awesome fic idea out into the void of Tumblr and I was fortunate enough to run across it. I’ll be posting it in a couple different parts. If this goes over well, I’ll do the other brothers too :) This part is mostly just setting up the story (I promise it gets more interesting in the future!)

Mc / Satan

Word Count:  2249 (I can’t write short things apparently) 

Warning: talk of dying, violence(?), F! Mc

Mc was thrilled. Simeon and Luke assured her it was a huge honor to be promoted to angel this quickly. The two had been so helpful helping her adjust to life in the Celestial Realm. She had had orientation just like everyone else, explaining that she had passed away and that yes, it was normal and even good she didn’t remember any of her life as a human. That way she wouldn’t be sad and could live in a blissfully happy state in the Celestial Realm.

It all would have been fine, had she not felt so lonely. Though everyone had been extremely kind, she couldn’t help feeling like there was someone, missing from her side as she laughed and chatted with everyone. When she told the angels what was going on, almost every single one of them told her she was probably just missing someone who hadn’t passed yet. It happened on occasion, but it just showed that they had been very close and that they would find each other again.

Simeon and Luke weren’t like that though. They just let her rant or cry whenever the feeling became too much for her to bear with a sympathetic nod and hug, with the occasional soft words of comfort.

As the time passed, and she still didn’t find who she was looking for, Mc grew very close to the two angels, which they were both delighted with. Though they didn’t fill the void, she felt at ease with them, like they were old friends. They told her her promotion was all due to her own merit, but she suspected they had something to do with it. So, of course when she was asked who she wanted her guardian angel to be, she chose Simeon.

The night before she was to be turned into an angel, she sat with Luke and Simeon in what was soon to be all of their’s living room. They were celebrating the fact she would soon join their family, and she was enjoying her last night as a… Well, whatever it was she was.

“So, I’ll turn into a child?” Though everything had already been explained, Mc wanted to make sure she knew everything.

“Yes. I’ll be put in charge of raising you, and Luke will help out as a big brother essentially.”

“And, I’ll still remember everything that’s happened here so far?”

“Yes, though it’s not as cut and dry as that. Though you’d will remember everything, you won’t really comprehend most of it.”

Mc nodded, the question she’d saved just for these two angels bubbling to the surface, “Will… Will I still feel lonely?”

Simeon and Luke shared a look, before turning back to Mc, “More than likely,” Simeon admitted.

“But,” Luke interjected, “We’ll be your new family, so you won’t be alone. You’re big brother will take care of you!”

“Thanks Luke. I am glad you accepted being my guardian angel Simeon.”

“My pleasure Mc.”

“Well, we are connected in so many ways, there’s no way we’d give you to someone else,” Luke said a bit haughtily.

“Wait… Connected? What do you mean?”

Luke threw his hand over his mouth, but tried to answer anyways, “Mothin. Don wor bou ih!”

“No. I really want to know,“Mc looked between the two angels who had averted their eyes, "Come on guys. Please?”

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” Simeon sighed, making Luke sink further into the chair he was sitting in. Mc waited, only slightly impatiently.

Finally, Luke sighed and looked her dead in the eyes, “I will only tell you if you promise not to dig further into what I’m going to tell you. You also have to promise you won’t tell any of the other angels I told you.”

“Of course,” Mc promised, her curiosity burning.

“Okay. Luke and I… met you during your human life.”

“Wait… You did?!”

“Yes.”

“Did I know you guys well?”

“Fairly well.”

“Is that why you guys are so nice to me?”

“All angels are nice Mc,"Luke reprimanded, sounding slightly offended.

"Well, yeah, but everyone else just kind of brushed off how I was feeling when I told them. You two were a lot more sympathetic.”

The angels looked at each other again, before Simeon answered, “Yes partially. We certainly wanted to help you since we knew you personally.”

“And the rest?”

“We’re angels. Of course we’re going to help.”

Mc eyed the Simeon, “You’re hiding something. You should know you’re really not a good liar,” to which Simeon started panicking, “But I promised not to pry,” which made him visibly relax. After a moment, Mc started again, “Can… Can you tell me… one… thing though?”

“… Possibly.”

“Do you know why I’m lonely? Why I feel like a part of me is missing?”

Simeon’s eyes and smile were sad as he answered, “Yes, I can guess as to why.”

“You can’t tell me though?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Those soft words hurt, but Mc couldn’t blame Simeon. He wasn’t doing it out of spite.

“Well, I think it’s time for bed. You have a big day tomorrow and I need to make sure this place is still child proof.”

Mc bid them good night and started up the stairs to what would be her new room. As she climbed she made herself a promise, “I will figure it out one day though, and I’ll feel complete again.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Mc looked around, bored beyond reason. Sim had been talking to Father for FOREVER! He’d even taken Big Brother with him, so now she had to wait all by herself in this big chair.

“Mc, is that you?”

“Michael!” Mc exclaimed happily, grinning up at him.

“What are you doing out here?” Michael asked, kneeling down besides Mc’s chair.

She threw her hands around his neck, “I’m waiting for Sim and Big Brother to be done talking to Father. He told me I needed to sit here unless he called me in. They’ve been gone for so long,” Mc sighed melodramatically.

Michael laughed heartily, making Mc smile despite her display, “Well, maybe this will help,” as he handed her a cookie.

Mc gasped delighted, “Big brother’s gunna be so jealous!” Mc giggled, biting into the cookie.

“I have another idea,"Michael whispered conspiratorially.

"What’s that?” Mc asked.

“Well, you might not be able to go in and check what’s taking so long, but I can. Do you want me to?”

“Oh! Please? I’ve been really good. I promise.”

“Of course Mc,"Michael laughed, standing up and ruffling her hair, before disappearing behind those huge double doors.

Mc munched on her cookie as she waited for Michael to work his magic. He’d been very kind to her in the past and seemed to always be able to help her. Luke had explained how amazing Michael after she’d first met him, and though she didn’t share the same fervor as her brother, she did think he was very nice and she liked that he never seemed to trivialize her problems even though he was a very important angel.

To her delight, she didn’t have to wait long. Shortly after she’d finished her cookie, Luke stuck his head out one of the doors, "Mc, it’s time for you to come in.”

Mc was suddenly a little shy as she hopped off the chair. She hadn’t met Father for a long time. She was also worried they wouldn’t be happy she hadn’t waited the whole time.

“Mc, how’d you get crumbs all over your face? Hold on,” Luke started wiping all the crumbs off Mc’s face. She looked down to see some on her dress which she started brushing off.

“There. Much better,” Luke smiled at her, taking her hand and leading her into the room.

Mc first saw Simeon looking slightly frustrated until he saw her. Luke lead her over to him, and he leaned over, “I’m so sorry it took so long,” he apologized softly.

“Mc,” the soft voice boomed through the room, “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

“Hello Father,” Mc said softly, curtsying, finding it hard to fully meet his eyes.

“I do apologize for talking so long with Simeon. We were discussing something important.”

“That’s alright. I was waiting as patiently as I could.”

“That you were,” God smiled, making Mc swell a bit with pride, “I do need to ask you an important question.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, are you still feeling lonely?”

Really? That question again? “Kind of.”

“Hmmm… Do you feel lonely often?”

Every day. “Sometimes, but Sim and Luke help me feel better!”

“I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea Simeon. If she’s still feeling the absence of his presence, I worry for her memory.”

I can repect that Father, but wouldn’t it be better to know now if there’s going to be a relapse under supervision then if she went herself later on? After all, since the program began, we have become more friendly with them.”

“I agree with Simeon, Father,”Michael interjected, “We both know Simeon would never let any harm come to her.”

“Both of you?… Fine, If anything happens, you must come back straight away.”

“As you wish Father,” Simeon said, bowing, then turning, “Hey, Mc?”

The girl in question, who had been silently trying to figure out if there actually was a ceiling in the room or if it just opened up to the sky snapped her attention to Simeon, “Yes?”

“How would you like to take a family vacation with me and Luke?”

“Where to?”

“The Devildom.”

Mc, cocked her head, “Is that in the human realm?”

“Nope. It’s the realm where demons live.”

“And I get to go with?” Mc asked, bouncing a bit from foot to foot. She knew from listening to the other angels speak that going anywhere outside of the celestial realm was a big deal, especially when it wasn’t to the human realm.

“Yup. Father just gave his permission.”

“Oh. Thank you!” Mc practically shouted, turning towards the imposing figure in front of her.

“Of course, my child. Just, promise me, if you start to feel weird or uncomfortable, anything out of the ordinary, you tell Simeon.”

“I promise!”

“Good. Michael, if you could just show them out and the next group in.”

“Of course, Father,” and with that the long meeting was done, and a new trip to the Devildom started to be planned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Big brother!!! Look at that!”

“Yes, Mc.”

“Oh, and that!”

“MmmHmm…”

“Luke, Luke, Luke, what’s that?”

“Oww, it’s just a shop. Will you stop pulling my arm like that?”

“You’re the one that told me to hold your hand.”

“Well, yeah. It’s dangerous down here. That doesn’t mean you can dislocate it.”

Mc looked down dejectedly, and Luke immediately softened, “Oh, don’t do that. I’m sorry okay? I’m just not the biggest fan of this place.”

“Huh? But Sim said you guys had a lot of fun here.”

“He may have, but I didn’t. Most of the demons said I was a chihuahua, and even started calling me that. To be fair, I was… vocal… in my dislike of demons, but they should’ve understood I was only a child. Honestly, the only parts I really liked about being down here was baking with Barbados… And giving Beel food sometimes. Oh, and of course getting to know-” Luke cut off abruptly after looking at Mc.

“Getting to know who?”

“Uh, someone. It’s not important right now. What’s important is staying close to me. Demon’s aren’t something to mess with.”

“Okay, Big Brother,” and then after a little bit, “Hey, why don’t we go say hi to your friends?”

“Oh. No. I’m just here to show you around. Barbados is really busy, but you might get to meet him later. Beel might eat you, so we have to stay away from him. Hey, why don’t we go play at that park over there?” Luke, pulled her after him.

Mc shook her head. Simeon had already told her demon’s could be very scary, but they really weren’t as bad as everyone said. He had also explained that Luke still wasn’t a huge fan of demons, though he liked them more then he’d let on. After being in the Devildom a bit, Mc couldn’t believe it all bad. She’d been in very bad places in the human realm, and she could tell when they were bad, even without being told. She could tell bad things had happened down here, but it just all seemed so new but… familiar. Even the absence of the sun didn’t bother her.

“Hey Luke, let’s go-” Mc yelped, some magic narrowly missing her, and exploding as it landed.

“Mc!” Luke yelled, hauling her away as a fight broke out among some nearby demons. The park was fairly crowded, and soon chaos enveloped the two siblings. Somewhere in the chaos, Mc’s small hand slipped out of Luke’s. All she could see were tall legs everywhere, and the occasional tail.

“Big brother! Luke! Where’d you go? Luke!” Mc had the chance to shout, before a particularly thick tail smacked into her and sent her flying through the air. Hoping desperately her wings would choose this moment to show themselves, Mc tried to make herself fly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in her future and she landed rather roughly on a pile of leaves. Though they broke her fall, she was knocked unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Two Link

Likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome!

[bisexualdaemon]

Taking Me Back

a/n: In which a drunk boy confesses his sins

Oh, hello! Yes, I’m coming to you live to say that this was supposed to be a blurb but turned out to be a 3.5k oneshot that will most likely actually have a second part because recovery is a thing that doesn’t get enough attention. I had this idea driving back home from out of town and listening to “Taking Me Back” by LANY. Highly suggest a listen. I was originally just going to write straight angst, but the more I wrote Shawn the softer I got...so without further ado, here it is. 

warnings: 3.5k of angsty sad boy...you might hate me later idk

Soft pellets of rain splash against the floor-to-ceiling windows as his warm hands trace slow, circular patterns on the bare skin of your back. It’s soothing, incongruent to the feeling of his fingers bruising your hips as you rode him a few hours ago. The sheet sits low, draped across both your hips. He leans down to kiss your shoulder blade, sending a chill all the way down your spine. Peppered kisses warm your blood, making a home between your thighs again.

“If you don’t intend to finish what you’re starting, then stop right now,” you say only half sternly, your cheek smushed to the back of your hand resting against the mattress.

“Honey, have I ever been a quitter?” he smirks, disappearing beneath the sheet.

You let out a loud squeak when his massive hands flip your hips over, pressing your back into the sheets again. He spreads your knees wide to make room for him between your legs and your squeak turns into a deep moan. Your fingers fist into his floppy curls and tug, bringing his eyes to yours, mouth open and chest heaving.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes. He says it again above you, inside you, over and over until your toes curl and you scream it back to him.

You woke up to heavy sheets of rain pounding against the windows. His fingers, his heavy body, his warmth weren’t there. He hadn’t been there for months. Restless sleep and a cold bed had been your companions since then. That day you woke up to 400 text messages and one TMZ report.

Bleary eyed with shaking fingers, you had clicked on the link. Seen the photos. His fingers interwoven with hers. His eyes on the camera. That knowing smirk. He’d wanted them to see. Wanted you to see. He had left for meetings in LA just two days before, a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call.

You’d lost count of how many texts from him you’d deleted without reading. Changed his name to LYING BASTARD after he’d left messages you didn’t listen to. What possible reason could he have given? There couldn’t be an explanation for this. Just because you’d never gone public with your relationship, just because you hadn’t wanted to open up your life to public scrutiny and fandom opinion, didn’t mean that it had meant nothing to you. The handful of your friends who had known were tight-lipped, dead silent to anyone who would have paid them money for information. What you had had with Shawn had been private and you both liked it that way...hadn’t he? Apparently not. It hadn’t been hard for him to throw it away with one clasped hand and a conveniently placed cactus.

The dreams still came almost every night, haunting you with happiness. Looking over at the clock, you groaned. 2:30 AM it blinked green against the darkness. You shifted and stared at the ceiling, counting thunderclaps, begging sleep to take you again. Take you back to a different time, a different dream. Your eyes began to drift.

Boom, boom.

Thunder rang louder than before. The storm was moving closer. But when had the lightning struck?

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

It wasn’t thunder. You wrenched the comforter off of you and scrambled to your feet. Someone was banging on the door. What had been a low and rumbling pattern of knocks at first was now frantic pounding. What in the world? Reaching for a thin cotton robe, you rushed to the front door.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, darting across the living room, “who is–”

You stopped short.

“Baby, please,” he sobbed. Shawn. Surprise mixed with hot rage and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The concoction was numbing, like liquid lidocaine traveling in your bloodstream from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You didn’t remember getting to the door or gripping the knob, but it swung open anyway.

Shawn Mendes fell into your apartment face first. He tripped over the threshold and into your stiff arms. He must have been leaning on the door frame.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d answer,” he slurred, smelling somewhere between a wet dog and straight tequila. You caught at his shoulders and pushed him up against the entryway wall.

“Shawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” you practically spat at him. Venum pooled in your mouth. It was acrid, all-consuming. It took a minute for the red rage clouding your vision to recede, allowing his face to come into sharp relief.

His cheeks were blotchy, stained with tears. His eyes glassy and unfocused. He was drunk. Drunker than you’d ever seen him. He was also soaking wet. His waterlogged clothes dripped fat drops that splashed on your hardwood floor forming a puddle under his expensive shoes.

“Did you walk here?”

He nodded his head. Well, it was more of a lull to the side if you were being honest.

“How?”

“With my feet,” he slurred again. He lurched off the wall and tried to take a step forward. Instead he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around you and soaking your robe through to the tank top underneath.

“I see you haven’t lost the sarcasm,” the poison you had tasted earlier was quickly replaced with concern. You slithered out from his embrace and let him lean against your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”

You deposited him on your sofa and he immediately slumped sideways, laying his cheek against the cool leather. Grabbing some fresh towels from the hall closet, you took a second and leaned against the wall before going back to the living room, hidden from Shawn’s line of sight. Not that he’d see me anyway he’s so smashed. What is he doing here? Why here? Why me? Where is his precious famous girlfriend? Why isn’t she picking his drunk ass up off the couch?

The anger flared again but it had lost its bite. He was obviously in some kind of pain, but you weren’t going to get anything out of him like this. You sighed heavily, heading to the kitchen for water and some ibuprofen before returning to the couch.

“Shawn?” You crouched down next to him, reaching out to push a curl back off of his face. He was snoring, a bit of drool coming from the corner of his perfect lips. He was so peaceful.

Snap out of it.

“Shawn, you have to get out of these wet clothes.”

He stirred, opening just one eye to look at you. It took him a minute to reorient.

“How long was I asleep?” He swiped at his mouth and sat up slowly.

“About three minutes. Now get up and strip.” You stood above him expectantly, fighting the urge to tap your toe at him. He fumbled with the buttons on his dark blue silk Oxford shirt. The fabric stuck to every defined muscle in his torso, every cut of his biceps. You counted to thirty before he got one undone.

“You’re going to get hypothermia if you keep that up,” you thrust the towel at him, “how about you dry your hair instead and let me handle the hard stuff?”

He mussed his hair with the towel while you crouched down in front of him, making quick work of his buttons. When the shirt finally hung open, you pushed it back and off his shoulders, revealing what seemed like miles of lightly tanned skin. Dammit. How can he still be so fucking beautiful? You had tried to hate him, tried to block him from your memory, but he always came back. The memories and the feelings and the pain always came back.

You tossed his soaked shirt across the room near the door to the washer. His body sagged forward. His curls were dry, big and frizzed from root to tip, but at least he wasn’t catching a chill. He needed to get horizontal quickly or he was probably going to toss his cookies right here on your white leather couch.

“Shawn,” you tapped at his face to refocus him again, “drink this and take these.” You held out the water and ibuprofen. He took them with no argument. Definitely too drunk. Sober, he would have spouted some bullshit about over-the-counter drugs being bad for your health or toxic for your muscles or something he’d heard From Jocelyne or Cez. You were thankful that you didn’t have to listen to that nonsense tonight. He would thank you in the morning when the headache was dull instead of blinding.

“Now, stand up and strip off the rest of it,” you ordered.

“Naked, eh?” His eyebrow raised at the same time as the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes.

“Throw it over there with your shirt. I think I still have a pair of your boxers hanging around somewhere,” you grumbled, turning your back on him and marching toward the bedroom. The truth was that you knew you had a pair of his boxers because you’d washed them recently after wearing them to bed when you missed him. The dreams always felt more vivid on those nights but you wore them anyway. For the same reason I just invited his drunk ass inside tonight. Because I’m a fucking masochist. You grabbed the boxers, navy and white stripes with little anchors on them, and returned to your living room.

He stood in the center of the room, between the couch and his wet laundry, in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. His skin was dry finally, flushed where he’d scrubbed at it, glowing in the low city lights trickling through the windows. He was a little dazed and a lot sleepy, inspecting his hands and fingers where they had pruned in the rain. It was like one of your dreams, a memory of what had been. Everything had been such a mess for the months he’d been gone. A gaping hole in your chest had opened and as much as you’d tried to mend, to get over him, he’d left a wound that wouldn’t heal. When he burst through the door, beneath all the anger, it felt like breathing for the first time. Feeling for the first time. He belonged here and you belonged with him.

Then why did he leave?

“Shawn,” his head snapped up, eyes wide, “why are you here?” He grimaced, hearing the pain in your voice. He seemed to be sobering, the bright rosy color in his cheeks was returning to a muted pink. Reaching up to scrub at his damp curls, he cleared his throat.

“I….” his voice was hoarse, “I’m not sure.” You walked over to his pile of wet clothes and tossed them in the washer, keeping silent while he watched you, waiting for a reaction. Or an explosion. The only sounds in the room were the machine filling with water and your padded footsteps back to a safe distance from him. The rain had stopped.

“Well, you’re naked in my living room so you better start fucking figuring it out!” You threw the anchor printed boxers squarely at his chest as the rage came simmering back.

“I missed you, okay?!” He threw his arms wide, sputtering, “I, I was out drinking with the boys and got too drunk and was thinking about how happy I used to be and that happiness was all because of you…” He was looking at you but looking through you at the same time, like he could see all of those memories you’d been dreaming of, like maybe he’d dreamt them too. You shook your head. It didn’t make any sense. He was happy with her. He left you for her. He’s supposed to be with her.

“Don’t lie, I saw the fucking photos, Shawn. Don’t act like I don’t know that smile as well I know my own. You looked pretty fucking pleased with yourself,” you hissed. Images flashed across the back of your eyelids like a slide projector with every swift blink away from his face: her long dark hair fluttering behind her as they walked back to his hotel; his curls fluffed out in weird directions like her fingers had run through them in the car; that fucking bag strapped to his back like the perfect boyfriend. It was the last photo that always sent a wave of nausea, the one of him hanging over the balcony half naked. Whether they’d fucked or not was a moot point, that’s what they wanted people to think. What he wanted me to think.

“You could have picked up the goddamn phone and broken up with me like a civilized person,” you scolded, still unable to look at him.

“IT WASN’T REAL!” He bent over with the force of his confession.

Your head shot up. What?

“What??” A weightless feeling came over you. Looking down, you had to check that your feet were still on the ground. It didn’t make sense. You must have heard him wrong.

“I-I don’t understand,” you stuttered, “I saw it, all of it.”

“Didn’t you read my texts?” He sounded like he was under three feet of water. Your ears were ringing. “I called so many times...I just thought you needed time to get over me not telling you before the pictures leaked but you never called back. None of your friends would answer my messages...” You covered your ears and closed your eyes to block out the sensory overload even though he was still talking. No, no, no. He got caught cheating and he’s trying to backtrack.

But you had heard the rumors, the gossip rags had all printed it. The doubt, the convenience of the timing...but you’d blocked it out because it was too easy to believe and too painful to hope.

Two hands gripped your upper arms and your eyes flew open.

He was right in front of you. Less than three inches. His eyes were so dark, still dilated from the alcohol coursing through his system. He’d put on the boxers you’d thrown at him and ditched the towel. It was everything you had to not pitch forward into his warm chest.

“It was Andrew’s idea.” He hooked a finger underneath your chin and made sure you were looking at him. “There was a meeting, her people, my people, they ambushed me. Said it would be a good idea to promote the single, push my image, deal with the old rumors. I told him I didn’t give a fuck about that old shit but they just kept coming and coming and coming, something about helping her with her album and placating executives who kept asking questions, so I said yes but I fucking told them I had to have notice before they dropped the pictures so I could tell you…” He swiped his thumbs across your cheeks, smearing the wet tears that had fallen while he talked.

“They didn’t wait,” he sighed, “Andrew sold them without telling me. I tried to tell you. All those calls, all those texts, I promise I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

“But I fucking was, Shawn,” you stepped back and took a deep breath. “You had opportunities to call right after the meeting, before they took the pictures, but you waited. Why? Why did you wait for other people to break my fucking heart?”

“I was an idiot!” he raked his fingers through his knotted, dried curls. “I thought somehow that if I was able to control everything that no one could get hurt. I would tell you, we would keep doing us and I would have things I had to do in front of cameras but it wouldn’t mean anything. We would work on a plan to go public together after it was done. A few months at the most.”

“A few months?! What were we gonna do for months in hiding?! How many times were you going to hurt me, fulfilling some bullshit contractual obligation that you didn’t even discuss with me first?” You stumbled back to your room and he followed. You had to sit down or you were going to be sick. He followed behind, his giant feet sticking to the hardwoods with every step.

At first, the truth had felt like another dream, had made you weightless, but the more you thought about it, maybe this was worse. The idea of seeing him holding someone else’s hand for cameras while he came home to you at night was like a slap in the face.

“I wasn’t going to let them release the pictures before I talked to you first, before I knew it was okay,” he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands between his, “I never wanted to hurt you. Andrew did it anyway. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I just went along with it, all of it, like a zombie shell.” He looked past you, seeing the months you’d been apart. He was haunted too.

“The fans started to notice. Half of them thought it was fake from the beginning, but after awhile they all saw the dark circles, the exhaustion of keeping up the facade. I started losing weight. It was all there for the world to see. I thought about you everyday. I think about you everyday.” He pressed his forehead into your entwined hands. His shoulders shook. It took you a minute to realize that he was crying.

You took your hands from him, dragging your fingers through his curls, full and frizzed out from root to tip. You let him cry for the both of you, for the lost time, for the unfairness of the business he loved so much, for the deception, for all of it. Slowly, his breath evened against the skin of your exposed legs. He needed to sleep. So did you.

“Shawn…” you started, pulling his head up between your hands.

“I fired Andrew.”

You stilled completely, “you what?”

“I fired Andrew.” He said it a second time but it still wasn’t computing. Andrew was family. Andrew was untouchable. Andrew was the one person in Shawn’s life not related by blood that you thought might make it into the family burial plot.

“But, why?” you said, unable to think of anything else eloquent or comforting.

“The last eight months have been some of the worst in my career, in my life,” he took a moment, closing his eyes, calculating what he was about to say. “Last week, I went to him and said I wanted to end the sham relationship, to take control of my life back. He said it wasn’t possible, that we only had a few more months left. But he’d said that before. We only had a few months left before he extended the deal to cover an album release, the holidays, promotional singles...

“I talked to a lawyer. I had to pay a considerable amount of money to get out of all of it, but I’m done. Done with the PR bullshit, done with AGA. The label is still supporting me while I look for new management, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been writing at home, making voice memos, but I gotta figure out what my life looks like when I’m in control because I haven’t been in control for years. Maybe not ever.”

He took a breath and released it, his shoulders visibly relaxing. That was it, the whole truth. Everything made a lot more sense. It didn’t hurt any less, but the broken pain in his eyes when he’d fallen in the door an hour ago was clear. He was independent for the first time in his adult life...and he was terrified.

He yawned. His body was more leaning than kneeling at this point, and your legs were going numb. You moved to stand and he looked up at you, wondering what to do now that he’d cut his heart out and laid it at your feet.

“Come on,” you gestured to the bed, “get on your side.”

You took off your robe and crawled underneath the covers, still rumpled from your earlier dream. There was about three feet between you and Shawn in the king-size bed and you could tell he was trying to keep his distance, turning his back to you and isolating himself to one side. It was a struggle to keep from snorting. You scooted over and curled your arms around his chest. He was massive, but not so massive that you couldn’t be his big spoon.

The night had been such a rollercoaster, so much emotion from the earlier dream to everything that had happened since he pounded on the door, drunk and soaked through. There was so much you wanted to ask, so much you needed to yell at him for, but now that it was quiet, not that he was pressed against you in an embrace like he’d never left, those things felt so far away. You were going to have to think hard when the sun came up. What if I wake up and this was all a dream? You squeezed him one more time to make sure he was still there, tangling your legs with his under the sheets.

“This isn’t forgiveness,” you whispered, relishing the heat that radiated from his back into your chest. He hummed an assent, knowing there was still so much to say and so much to atone for. But for now, just right now, you both slept.

It was the best night of sleep you’d had in months.

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272​  @siennarossi​ @trustfundshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @harryandmolly​ @thatindiannerdygirl​ @mendesromano​ @fromthicctosticc​ @esoltis280​ @softmendesss​ @sinplisticshawn​ @nedthegay​ @september-lace​ @itrocksmysocks​ @disaster-rose​ @mendesoft​ @luvluvxx​ @i-play-video-games​ @ihearthemcallingforyou​ @gentleshawn​ @kitykatnumber​ @enchantingbrowneyedgirl​ @ijustreallylikeshawnokay​ @shhhawnmendes​ @shawnsblue​ @imaginashawnns​ @night-girls-world​ @cherrysruin​ @mariahocker​ @jessybellsworld​ @myangelarcade​ @valedictorian65​

let me know if you want to be added/taken off...I know shawnblr is a different world since the last time I posted anything ❤️

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 34 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 33 here. Part 35 here.

Summary: A graveyard is a good place to bury all kinds of things.

Words: 5200

Warnings: inappropriate cemetery conduct

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: me, publishing last chapter: haha wait until they fuck on the graves, people will be--

everyone in the comments: ARE THEY GONNA FUCK IN THE CEMETERY

(DO I HAVE A FUCKING BRAND? I hate myself LMFAO)

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter--it was like pulling teeth to write, and I had to re-do it like three times. Thanks very much to @thetorturerwrites for assistance! I'm still very much loving this story, loving y'all's feedback, loving your thoughts. Hopefully you don't hate me too much for the ending of this chapter. Oopsie!! Love y'all so much. BE SAFE. <3

Beds of clovers blanketed the abandoned parking lot, pavement cracking and parting to the encroaching wilderness beyond, green valleys drowned in the sheets of rain. The Audi whirred in frustration, then stopped, wheels sloshing the muddied ground. Kylo Ren exited and stepped into the downpour without an umbrella--or really anything else that might protect him from getting absolutely soaked--while you readjusted your bonnet and flipped up the hood on the coat he’d given you.

By the time you’d managed to clamber out of the car, he’d already started down a grass-eaten pathway, long strides cutting a straight line off the winding concrete walk. You scampered to catch up with him, water pelting your face and splashing your boots--you called after him, but he either failed to hear you, or simply didn’t care. 

As he crossed into the cemetery proper, you passed entire yards decorated with forgotten graves--in the ground, you imagined the skeletons, filthy with dirt, nameless and faceless and truly dead, their identities known only to memories razed by the ravages of time. Tall oaks and maples stretched into the sky, their trunks smothered with overgrowth, some of them swallowed to the branches. Within them, you spied evidence of life--stick nests, a family of ravens sheltered from the storm under ceilings of vines. And then, further into the cemetery, a bird strangled in a mass of these same vines, wings quartered and neck snapped. 

You followed him into a clearing, plumes of wildflowers burgeoning through a white brick path that meandered to a marble slab only slightly shorter than Kylo himself. At each side of the slab, a raised black granite tomb, plantlife weaving to obscure the ledgers. Beyond that, a grass ocean billowed into a valley, rolling to the edge of a forest, all of it waving in the storm winds. Lightning bleached the sky, and you squealed, folding your arms over your chest.

Kylo stopped before the feet of the tombs, staring. Rivers raced ridges into his hair and over his cheeks, dripped down his long nose, his eyes pooled with vacancy, clear and empty and absent of anything you had the ability to name.

“You wanted to know what made me,” he said. “Ask the right questions. I’ll tell you.” Thunder groaned, miles away. 

“Okay,” you said, squinting at him. “Where are we?” 

He exhaled through his nose. “My parents’ graves.”

A curtain of rain swept the air, and you glanced between him and the graves before crossing to the slab, tearing through the slippery leaves. The stems were coiled tight around one another, but a sharp tug, and they ripped to the side, revealing the engraved dedication in large, block letters. 

Organa. 

Frowning, you glanced at him for a moment; he stood, still blank, failing to offer even the slightest acknowledgement of your presence. You sighed. The name Organa was familiar, but you’d only ever known it in connection with a late senator. To your surprise, as you tugged more, you saw her name: Leia Organa. One of the tombs belonged to her--and listed underneath her, the owner of the other tomb: Han Solo.

Breath evaporated, the pieces colliding like atoms, sparking light. You blinked, tracing the names with your fingertips as water creeked through the indentation. All he had said was what made me. But to know him--this mystery, in some moments more monster than man, and in others more hallowed than human--saddled you with more confusion than ever. This was a non-answer, a presentation in lieu of conversation.��

You turned, brow raised. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t.”

“Why did you take me here?”

His jaw tensed. “They are,” he said, voice stark in the storm, “what made me.”

More lightning, and you jumped, cursing yourself internally. You couldn’t reconcile the restrained, adjusted grandeur displayed at this gravesite with the person at its border. You knew enough about politics before Gilead to understand that a senator’s son was someone ostensibly raised in a home of democracy. Yet this man was one forged in war.

This man, the one who had helped craft and arrange the society that controlled your life, the one who had taken and destroyed any hint of hope in your life barring him--this was a man raised with values of freedom, of self-reliance? In this moment, his flickers of tenderness didn’t matter; they were snuffed in the shadows of your dependence. Kylo Ren, regardless of his rebellion, afforded you only what he determined was necessary. It was only by his grace you were out of your red dress, only by his allowance you’d known any level of escape. 

Your enslavement was as it had always been--it’d only changed, you realized, in its terms.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you grumbled.

“Then you haven’t asked the right question, little bird.” His tone was chiding, but his face was blank.

“Wasn’t your mother a senator? Or something?” It was difficult to remember--it had been years ago. “Didn’t she campaign for civil rights?”

“She did.”

“Wasn’t she well-liked? Popular with her constituents?”

“She was.”

This game was wearing on you--but he was right. You hadn’t asked any right questions. “But… you helped create Gilead.” You swallowed. “You talk about destiny and roles and…” You shook your head. “You’re still a Commander.” 

Kylo Ren blinked, unfazed by the rain. 

“What happened?” you asked. “Did she do something wrong?”

“She feared what she didn’t know.” His voice was dry. “She abandoned what she didn’t understand.” 

“I…” That had disarmed you. But it wasn’t an explanation. “What didn’t she know?” you asked. “What didn’t she understand?”

Darkness flashed across his face. “Everything.”

The crack in his facade spurred you. “But she was your mother.” You were testing him, watching his reaction. “Didn’t she try?”

“Trying would imply she had direction.” His stare sank into you, fangs at your flesh. “She was lost.”

You raised a brow. “Lost.” There was a dropping dread that he was leading you toward a conclusion that would result in you forever seeking his permission for your humanity. You wouldn’t let him off so easily. “She hurt you.”

It was, technically, a question, in guise of a statement. But Kylo was silent. His eye twitched. It stoked hunger inside of you, a craving for his vulnerability.

“But that doesn’t make you right.” You gestured toward the graves. “Just because you were hurt doesn’t mean that someone like her raises...” You cleared your throat, swallowed. “Raises someone like you.” 

A bolt snapped, blanched him in light. “Someone like me.” 

You met his gaze; those pools were churning, now, deep below their shared surface--an ancient beast submerged in forced indifference, daring you to speak it into existence, goading you to give it a name.

“Yes.” You shivered. “A murderer. An owner of another human being.”

The sky quaked. Over his shoulders, a bird flock fled the trees. Kylo advanced, irises burning with something like anger, distant and buried, his teeth grit. Your fingers found purchase in the vines--you anchored yourself to them.

“Do you have questions,” he asked, “or observations?”

Your jaw tightened. “I have a question.”

“Then ask.”

“Okay.” You squared your shoulders. “How did they make you?”

Kylo stared--more lightning--illuminating the terrible void in his eyes. His shoulders fell, face sharpening in self-assured stoicism. “In the same way that a neglected grave grows weeds.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You’re the grave.”

“No.” His gaze simmered as it met yours. “I’m the weed.”

“What?” you asked. “How are you the weed?”

“It’s as I’ve explained.” Kylo sniffed, returned his attention to the tomb. “I had no choice.”

“But how did you have no choice?”

“There were no other options.” His lids fluttered, thunder cracked. He stared at the ledger, following the twisted clot of leaves that shrouded the inscription on the granite. His tone was frozen steel. “They gave me no choice.”

Your fingers curled around wet stems, and you swallowed. The conversation you’d had in his den floated through your mind--it feels like I’m dying, like I don’t even have a choice. In his mind, they’d been killing him. Anxiety clenched your chest.

“Kylo, you’re not making any sense.” 

“Very few things made sense,” he said. “The world required order. I found truth. Truth they disagreed with.” For a moment, his expression etched in despair and exhaustion--the sky blinked, and it was gone. “Ask me how they died.”

“How did they…”  

You paused, looked at him. It had been big news--they were shot in their home. You gulped. A terrible, black-ink reality crept into your gut. The gunman was never found.

Hands trembling, you spun, yanking the vines to the side, exposing the dates. Both of them, deceased on November 18th, 1979. The date was too familiar--the day of the recording. The day Ben Solo signed his commitment to the foundation of Gilead. Your heart seized, throat closed, and you turned, dragging your gaze along the ground, traveling up his figure, resting on his face.

Kylo Ren’s eyes were obsidian, brittle-edged and fragile to fracture. You struggled to breathe, wanting to ask how, ask why--knowing that, in his way, he’d already given you the answer.

To any garden, a weed was an invader, gnarling through the dirt and choking eager life, sapping it of space--without intervention, an untamed weed consumed its home, ate its brethren, dominated to meet its needs. They were not like so many flowers, tended to with gentle hands, encouraged to flourish and blossom in their beds. No, weeds existed in the realm of burden, forever unwanted, accepted only to be controlled or destroyed. A weed could only be afforded the privilege to exist if it left the perimeter of the garden, renounced its birthplace, and decided, with defiance, to live. 

You pulled the coat tight around you, folded your arms. “Did they deserve it?”

The obsidian sharpened under your stare. And he swallowed. “No.”

Nervous heat rushed your skin. “You know that this isn’t truth. This isn’t right.”

Kylo reached beyond you, plucked a leaf from the vine. “I brought you here so you would understand,” he said. “There is value in knowing and realizing your purpose. In knowing your role. Inherent and unalterable.” He crumpled the leaf in his fist. “Without Gilead, purpose and meaning are lost. My parents failed to realize their purpose, and the world suffered. You’ll realize yours.” Tossing the debris to the side, he fixated on you again, his hair sticking like black thread to his face. “I’ll realize mine.”

Lightning split the sky. This hadn’t been a pilgrimage, it had been a proselytization. In his desire to grasp at meaning, he’d attempted to convince you of it, too. Yet by now, you could see, see his doubts plaguing him, deep currents in his mind--could see that in convincing you, he’d wanted, too, to convince himself, that he was born demonic, abandoned to Hell in the depths of destiny. But you knew better. You knew him.

Scanning you, he turned down the brick path. “Come.”

“What is my purpose, Kylo?”

He froze mid-step, a statue in the rain. Water whispered, then howled, a susurrus in crescendo, punctuated by a sharp, static crack in the sky. You squeaked; Kylo peered at you from over his shoulder, and even through the storm, you saw it. He was your reflection again, an augmented refraction--if you were afraid, then he was terrified.

“What’s my purpose?” you repeated, stepping toward him. “Don’t you know?” 

He didn’t speak, and didn’t move. You took another step, and another, passing like a ghost under the veil of rain. Kylo watched you, obsidian strained to splinter.

“You can't answer because you know you're wrong.” You wanted to stare into him, stare through him. “You know there's something more to this life, that we have options, we have choices--”

He shifted, and took the tiniest, most egregious step back. “We don’t.”

“We do,” you said. “But you can’t admit it because you can’t admit that you chose all of this!”

“I didn’t.”

“You did!” You were an arm’s length from him. He didn’t move. “You chose your name, you chose your path, you chose this life--and you chose mine, too.” Another step, close enough to count the constellations on his face. “But it doesn’t have to be like this. You can be whoever you want to be.” As if possessed by its own destiny, your hand rose, grazed his fingers, your grip slippery and warm--he trembled when you held him. “You can… you can be Ben--”

Sneering, he jerked back. “No.”

You shook your head, reaching for him again. “But I want to know him.”

“Why?” His pupils were shadowed in waterfalls.

“Because,” you said, “that’s who you are--”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” you said, grabbing his hand, “I want to know him, I want to know Ben Solo--”

Kylo snarled, wrung you away. “Why do you insist on raising the dead?” He loomed--you retreated, and he chased you back, spitting through his teeth. “There is no Ben Solo!”

“But that’s your name--”

“My name is mine to give! Not yours to know!” His face was aflame with fury. “You want Ben Solo to free you--Ben Solo was the coward. Ben Solo killed his parents.” He drew closer, pressing you back with every step. “I saved you. I carried you.” His lips twisted in a mirthless smirk. “I fucked you.” Kylo had your back flat to the slab now, obsidian shattered in the throes of his wrath. “You don’t know Ben Solo. You know me.” He caged you underneath him, a black sun burning heat and gravity between your bodies. “You know what made me, little bird,” he muttered, a delicious threat. “Are you afraid?”

In the summer storm air, he sweltered you, so hot that when your wet gown glued to your back, you had no way to know if it was sweat or rain. His focus flicked between your mouth, your eyes, your mouth, and he leaned closer, framing you between his forearms, his breath scant. You stared at him--your devil, your echo, your enigma--and knew, despite all of his impossible complexities, you would never, ever be afraid.

Jaw steeled, you pushed off your hood, snatched your bonnet, tossed it to the ground. Lightning streaked and pealed with thunder. You didn’t even flinch.

“No, Kylo,” you breathed. “I’m not.”

You licked your lips, exhaled. And his mouth was on you.

Kylo Ren’s kiss was a slippery bruise, melding madness at your skin, tongue driving into you while he inhaled through his nose. You met him, movement for movement, groaning against him, fingers folding into his hair, thumbs tracing the tops of his ears, and he gasped along your lips before capturing them again, snatching your wrists and pinning them with one large hand above your head. Arousal sparkled in your belly--you wriggled in his grip, offering a needy roll of your hips before swirling your tongue around his. His hold on your wrists tightened, and he pinned you to the stone, grinding his growing desire into the apex of your thighs.

You throbbed, a full-body pulse, humming into him with a shudder. Kylo nipped your lower lip and slid to your chin, following the streams on your skin as he pressed clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, falling to suck and nibble at your heartbeat. Whimpering, you nuzzled your head into his, and he responded with a sharp bite to your neck, barely-restrained, earning a squeal from your throat.

“Are you sure you’re not afraid?” he murmured into your ear. “Do you think you can handle me?”

Lust seared you like fire. You smirked. “Try me.”

Kylo growled, wresting you from the stone by your arms and guiding you back until you toppled onto one of the vine-encrusted tombs. He was greed incarnate, tearing your coat from your shoulders before he grappled the neckline of your nightgown and shredded the buttons apart. Your cunt clenched, lungs stalled--he kissed you again, big hands groping at your tits while he pushed you flat along the grave, crawling over until he straddled you, a beast bent over his meal.

Rain bathed you both, rivers roaming over your curves, white cloth of your bra a dewy illusion over your breasts. His thumbs skimmed your nipples with prickles of pleasure, and you moaned, shoving your hands under his shirt, reveling in the hard planes of his body--he tensed,  moving back to your neck, sucking at your throat. You memorized the muscle under your fingertips, Kylo’s skin damp and hot under your hands, and he was voracious, without restraint, pulling painful hickeys from your pulse. 

Need burned between your thighs, and he shifted lower, marking you in abandon, drawing tissue between his teeth, welts popping to life under the pressure of his lips. Anxiety flitted through your mind--he was leaving visible evidence--but the soft groan from his chest wiped it clean, your back arching to offer more of your untamed flesh. Grateful, he bit at the swell of your tits, crimson crescents blooming, and his hands hiked up your skirt, tugging at your underwear as he laved at your nipple through your bra, scraping it with his teeth through the fabric. You squealed, squirming, and he yanked the garment free, leaving your sex aching from exposure.

Kylo fumbled at your folds, two thick fingers peeling you open, assessing your slickness, teasing your entrance. “So wet already,” he said and clucked his tongue. “And in a cemetery. You’d take my cock whenever I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to rub against his hand. “As if you aren’t ready to fuck me on your mother’s grave.”

He snickered. “You’re wrong.” He leaned to your ear, thumb skating your clit--you gasped. “It’s my father’s.”

Kylo pushed into you, and you tightened around him, hips twitching, head lolling along the leaves. His mouth ravished you again, leaving purple pebbles in its wake while he claimed you from chin to clavicle, spit and storm and sweat blending on his tongue. Scissoring you open, he rolled your stiff clit, rocking his wrist, curling and working your walls, his other hand palming at his erection in an attempt to pacify himself. You bucked your hips, a shivering moan escaping, and he cursed, slamming in to the knuckle.

“If I fuck you now,” he muttered at your jawline, “you’ll have to take all of me. Everything I give you.” He bit your neck, hard, forcing a cry from your lips. “I won’t be able to control myself.”

Heat scorched you, and you pulsed around him in anticipation, his fingers crooking in your wet core. Thunder grumbled in the distance. “Thought I’d long proved my capability.”

Kylo purred, and bit you again, pain shooting through you. “I haven’t been able to fuck you properly in over two weeks.” Last night hardly counted, you agreed. “I need to wreck your little cunt.” His thumb swiped fast over your swollen nub. “I’ll fuck you like Ben Solo never could.”

You shuddered, meeting his eyes. “Do your worst.”

Snarling, he leaned onto his knees, tore his fingers from your core and stuffed them in your mouth; you whinged in surprise, starting to suckle them clean. You were tart and tangy, your tongue slipping the length of his digits to swallow it all--Kylo’s free hand unleashed his dick, twitching eagerly despite its thick, heavy length. He jammed his hand to the back of your throat, and you gagged before he depressed your tongue, prying open your jaw.

“You know how this works.” He gazed at you, lightning an electric halo around him.  “Beg for it.”

When he released you, you gasped into the rain. “Please, fuck me.” 

Before you could blink, he slapped you, sending spit from your teeth. “No, slut,” he hissed. “I said beg.”

Your face burned--humiliation, shock, and most importantly: desire. If this is what he meant, you wanted more. “You’re not being very respectful of the dead.”

Kylo scowled and smacked you again, branding your cheek. He seized your scalp and jerked you toward him, his other hand stroking his dick. 

“Don’t make me wait any longer for your pussy,” he said. “Or I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll wish you were among them.”

Your head spun, dizzy with shame and longing--perhaps the same culprits responsible for your temporary insanity. “Then I might keep you waiting.”

Seething, he reeled back and cracked you with the back of his hand, pain blinding you, screaming in your ears. He jostled your head in his grip, waiting for your eyes to refocus--his face was red with impatient desire. 

“If you won’t beg for my cock,” he said, “then you’ll beg for mercy.”

A starving behemoth, he spun you around and slammed your face to the tomb--you heaved, buried in the vegetal scent of wet leaves, and behind you, Kylo was panting. He tossed your sopping excuse for a skirt up your back before wrestling with your hips until they were in the air, rain pelting your exposed ass and cunt. One hand fisted your hair, the other gathering your wrists behind your back, and without warning, he broke your core, cleaving it open with a sharp, unbelievable bliss, head hitting your cervix. You cried out, recoiling in pain, and he shook you in reprimand.

“Oh, no.” He drove his palm into your head, his nails scratching your scalp. “Don’t run from it.”

Kylo rammed into you, spearing you with his cock, your body quaking with the force of each of his violent thrusts. His breath was already ragged, furious groans pushed from his chest as he fucked deep into you. Your lungs were empty, finding oxygen in his onslaught, your walls squeezing his length in delight, your clit buzzing for attention, clamoring for the long-awaited sensation of cumming around him.

“Such--such a needy little cunt,” he growled.  “It missed this cock, didn’t it?” When you didn’t respond, he struck your skull on the stone. “Didn’t it?”

You keened in pain, face smashed on the tomb. “Yes!”

“I know.” He released your wrists, letting them drop limp, and reached under your belly, slick fingers rubbing merciless circles on the bundle of nerves in rhythm with his pistoning hips--you wailed, drooling with pleasure, assaulted with a sudden, immediate need to orgasm. “I know what you like--fuck, you’re so tight when you’re about to cum…” He groaned, punishing your pussy with hard, rapid thrusts. “Prove you can take it. Cum on this cock.”

Between the attention on your clit and the size of his dick, you snapped, convulsing and trembling while your blood flooded with flames, blazing heat through your thighs and to your toes. Behind you, Kylo hissed, fucking you through it, valiantly holding off his own orgasm as yours fizzed at your flesh. When your core’s pulsing slowed, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back, and you writhed underneath him.

He smacked your face, and you whined. “Don’t squirm.” Kylo shifted until he was standing and dragged you by your ankles to the edge of the grave. “I’m not done with that pussy yet.”

Propping your calves on his shoulders, he lunged forward, palm clamping down on your neck, his eyes wild, crazed with desire. His free hand pinched your cheeks, and he plunged in, jaw dropping in disbelief when he sheathed himself again in your wet heat. With a hiss, he stuffed you full before sliding back out and pounding your cunt, growling breath leaking from his lungs, his hold on your throat tightening. 

The pressure in your head only doubled the frenzy of being fucked--you wheezed, your pulse thumping in your temples, and this spurred him on, drilling you with a depraved stare as he plowed into your tight pussy again and again and again. The rain was steam on your skin, thunder a distant noise behind the sound of slapping skin and your strangled, whimpering moans. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing dick, sore clit twitching once more with a growing demand to be sated--Kylo grunted, tugging you closer. 

“Open.” 

Wincing, you did--and he spat into your mouth. 

“Swallow, bitch. Show me.”

Against his massive hand, it was difficult, but you managed with a grimace, popping your jaw apart to prove it, and Kylo smirked, rewarding you with painful, blissful strokes of his hips. He wracked your body to its limit, your breath lost ages ago, your heart flying through your veins, your ass sore from the dig of vines.  

“Poor thing,” he cooed. “I think you need to cum again.”

The hand at your cheeks snaked between your legs, flicking your aching clit, and you groaned--or tried to, anyway--the speed of your pulse resonating through the grip on your neck. He felt it, too, head bowing in pleasured shock as you thrummed around him, your oncoming climax massaging his thick cock with every new thrust. Resolute, he rubbed you faster, watching you--in his gaze, you saw nothing but an endless, ebony void of lust.

“Whose cock is inside you?”

The words croaked out. “Y-yours, Kylo.”

His choke tightened, and your vision whirled. “Who’s fucking you right now?”

 “You--you are, Kylo--”

“That’s right,” he sneered, and swirled your nub so quickly you squealed. “Cum.”

Your orgasm charged you, whiting your sight, and you screamed, throttled from his hand as every muscle below your waist contracted with an agonizing ecstasy. Your pussy milked and squeezed his cock, but he resisted his own climax once more, sinking into you until you descended, and shoved you back along his father’s grave. His dick dripped with your slick, and he was heaving, cheeks flush with exertion. He drank in the sight of you--cunt spread and abused, raindrops scattered like crystals on your skin, your throat and chest smothered with the evidence of his possession--before he pounced, a raving animal.

“You’re going to take all of me,” he muttered. “Every single fucking inch.”

Kylo pinned you to the stone, one arm coiling under you to fist your hair, the other cranking your leg back until your knee hit your stomach. He panted, wedging his hips between yours, his cock throbbing as he positioned it at your pleading core--baring his teeth, he slipped in, your pussy so wet and ready that it swallowed him with ease. Groaning with pleasure, he hammered into you, stretching you wide, filling you to the root. Locks of hair slid into his eyes, and he tossed them back, wetting his lips and fucking you deep, trapping you in his feral gaze. 

“You want me.” He popped your head back as a prompt. “You want all of me.”

You nodded, despite it. “Yes--oh--I do.”

He swallowed, leaning into you, pressing his forehead to yours. “After all of it,” he said, barely a whisper, “after everything.” 

Your chin trembled, his admission about his parents piercing your heart, swelling it in anguish. In the setting of his hopeless rejection, his savagery, his apathy, his hollow rage--none of it mattered, not to you. And you knew, just as he would never know a woman more willing to hold his soul without still wanting, you would never find another man like Kylo Ren. And there would never be anyone you would want more desperately, or reluctantly, than him.

“Yes.” You wrapped your arms around him, safe when lightning crashed, rocking your hips in his pace. “No matter what.”

“Fuck.” He wound your hair in his fist, and wrenched your head back, tearing at your throat with his teeth, harsh thrusts pulverizing your cunt. “Fucking whore… I’m--fuck--I’m going to make you break again.” His hand left your leg, long fingers back to stroking your tender clit. “And then I’m going to fill you up with my cum.”

Senses barraged, you shrieked, overwhelmed and oversensitive. He was right. You wanted mercy. “Kylo--fuck--please!”

“No. Take it,” he snarled into your ear. “Take it.”

He assailed your nub, and you quailed, curling around him, shaking from his power, lids shut while he nipped your neck, demolished your pussy, panted hard into your ear. It was all too much, too great, brain crashing into a wanton mess. You spasmed, biting your lip, hauled through sensitivity and into a new plane of pleasure, rapture singeing your skin, and you gasped, choked, begged in babbling nonsense for release, for him to send you soaring and screaming and cumming. 

“Perfect,” Kylo moaned, pumping into you, folding you into his frame. “Make yourself mine. Cum for me. Cum for me, angel.”

Your mind split--euphoria and disbelief--and you imploded, twitching, your climax shining lucent through your skin, shattering your sanity, igniting Kylo, too. He groaned, grunted, burying himself to the hilt, warm cock pulsing as he poured hot cum deep into your cunt. 

Had not known how you’d gotten there, you might have thought you’d joined the residents of the cemetery, your spirit buoyant above you for long, witless moments, until it returned to you, floating back in a daze. When you arrived to Earth, you realized Kylo was arriving too, kissing your cheek, holding you close, the both of you fighting to regulate your breath. When you’d both relaxed, he slipped out, leaned back on his heels, revealing you to the trickling rain.

You stared at him, head heavy, attempting to comprehend what he’d called you--angel--attempting to catalogue every minute of this encounter into whatever part of your memory would carve it in permanency. Sighing, you smiled at him, joy bubbling in your chest, but he only gazed at you, affection twinkling--then guttering in his eyes. He absently thumbed your chin before he tucked himself away, and you followed suit, trying to piece together what little was left intact of your clothing. Not that it mattered, as it was all completely drenched with rain. You felt like a paper bag that had been left in a swamp.

Having finished, you looked to your Commander, who was standing at the head of the gravesite. Waiting.

Blushing, you trotted to meet him--when he turned to lead, you reached out.

“Wait.”

Kylo stopped, glanced back. Between you, you felt it again--fate, kismet, serendipity, destiny--whatever it was called, it was something that you could see, the frame of your future like an open door for you to peer inside. Beyond the threshold, the vision was luminous and distinct, a sunray lancing Gilead’s storm: You and Kylo Ren. Together, and safe, and free. 

You didn’t know how you’d get there. You only knew that for the first time, you’d understood exactly what he’d meant. 

“What if we…” You shrugged, as if what you were about to say was no big deal. “No one knows we’re here. No one has to know where we went.” Watching him, you stepped closer. “What if we leave? We can figure it out, we can get help from the Resistance,” you said. “What if we just... go?”

The sky screeched above you--the storm was close, almost right overhead, and a torrent of rain gushed from the clouds. Kylo stared, inscrutable, studying you piece by piece, an inspection of your sincerity, brow furrowing. Then his lips pinched together, his eye twitched. He stepped toward you--

Pop.

At first, you’d thought it was thunder--and when the pain hit, you’d thought it’d been lightning, instead. But then you glanced at your arm, scrutinizing the source, and found only frayed fabric, burnt thread, and a gash of bright, red blood. You blinked, adrenaline crashing into you like a freight plane.

“Oh,” you mumbled, fuzzing gaze drifting to Kylo. “I think I’ve been shot.”

[calpalirwin]

Package Deal

Summary: Ashton starts dating a single mom

A/N: Originally this was a request I made to @talkfastromance4​, but after her full blessing, I’m writing it now. Thank you so much Hailey! I hope we can collab Luke & Lily with Ash & Mase sometime!

Word Count: 5.2k

And away, and away we go!

__

Finn and Vanessa had been excited to become parents. It wasn’t how they expected to start their lives together straight out of college, but they were excited nonetheless. They had spent their four years of dating talking about this exact moment, and now here they were, welcoming their son, Mason Nicholas, into the world.

While Finn reveled in all the things he would be able to teach his son, Vanessa became almost obsessive, worrying herself over every development milestone.

“He’s not babbling, Finn. Mase should be babbling…” she would stress.

“Maybe he just doesn’t have much to say,” Finn would reassure her. “Huh? Just not the talkative type, ain’t ya bud?” he’d coo at Mason. And when Mason would smile back, Finn would turn to her in triumph, “See? He’s fine, Nessa. You’re worrying too much.”

“Finn, I’m scared,” she told him in a broken whisper months later when Mason still seemed to show no interest in babbling no matter how many books they read to him, or how often she sang.

“Me too,” he had confessed, holding her close. “We’ll see what his doctor says, okay?”

It was a long, grueling year, filled with more tests than they could count, and a lot more could-be’s than actual answers.

While Vanessa threw herself into any research she could get her hands on, Finn retreated into himself. The overly affectionate couple from their past transformed into a mom fighting for her son, and a dad with an ache in his heart that grew bigger and bigger as Mason grew older and still didn’t say a single word.

“Get dressed,” Finn announced one evening shortly after Mason’s second birthday.

“Why? What’s going on?” Vanessa asked, looking up from where she sat, children’s books scattered about the living room floor, Mason’s eyes glued to the cartoon playing on the television.

“When’s the last time we went on a date?” Finn asked, already headed to the bedroom to change out of his work clothes.

“A date?” she asked, and was immediately ashamed of the hope in her voice. 

“Yes, a date. My mom offered to watch Mase overnight at her place. Just one night, Nessa. Please?”

Clothes were changed, and a bag was quickly packed for Mason to spend the night at his grandma’s.

“This is actually really nice. Thank you,” Vanessa told Finn, smiling softly at him from across the table.

He returned the soft smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Then, he swallowed thickly and sniffed back the tear about to slide down his cheek. “Ness, I-”

Her heart cracked in her chest at the defeated look in his eyes. She nodded slowly. “I know,” she whispered, nodding again. “In taking care of Mase, we lost each other.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen… Nessa, I’m so sorry. But, this is just really hard. I can either be a dad to Mase, or I can be a partner to you. And…”

“And Mase needs you more than I do,” she finished for him, her voice choked.

“Nessa, I’m so sorry…” he repeated, not bothering to brush away the tears on his face this time. “I love you. Please know that.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I know. I love you, too. But it’s like you said, Mase needs us more than we need each other right now. You can have Mase whatever days you want, and we can all move out of the apartment so nobody has to feel like they left.”

“No,” Finn cut her off. “We can’t give up the apartment. There’s one for rent down the hall from us. I’ll get it and we can just switch off living with Mase. It’s gonna be hard enough on him with us switching back and forth, we don’t need to make it harder by putting him in an entirely new environment.”

“You’re right,” she sniffled. Then, “Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we still pretend we’re in love with each other? At least until tomorrow?”

~~~

The one bedroom apartment was lonely, and even though Vanessa knew she could go down the hall to her normal home and be with Mason like she wanted, it hurt too much to know that her time with him was now split evenly with Finn. Finn had been right though. Without the stress of trying to maintain their own relationship, they were both able to give much more to their non-verbal son. It was actually shocking how the toddler- who shrieked bloody murder every time there was the slightest change to his sense of normal- adjusted to his parents flip-flopping every week to be with him. Maybe it was true what they said about children feeding off the stress of their parents.

While her job kept Vanessa busy enough during the weekdays Mason was in Finn’s care, it was the weekends that dragged on endlessly. She knew in time it would hurt less. She also knew that they were doing right by their son with their decision to break up, because the pain in Vanessa's chest was from being away from Mason, not Finn.

It was only the beginning of her second week in the quiet apartment. After a night she was sure she spent more time staring up at the ceiling than actually sleeping, she rolled over on her side and checked the time on her phone. It was a little after seven in the morning. Last week at this time she had been making Mason pancakes, chatting up a storm with the little boy, and hoping like always to get a response. All she had gotten was him pointing at the bag of chocolate chips on the counter before holding out his hand expectantly.

She smiled warmly at the memory as she got up out of bed, fueled by a desire to do something, anything. And that’s how a half hour later, she found herself at a small coffee shop a few blocks down the road.

The barista called out her order and as she got up from her seat to go get it, she collided with a body. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Vanessa rushed the apology as she stumbled back a step.

“Whoa,” the person said, wrapping a hand around her arm to keep her steady. “You alright?”

She looked up at the stranger with his slicked back hair and eyes like green tea and honey. “Sorry,” she apologized again, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I should’ve watched where I was going. I didn’t spill your drink, did I?”

The man looked over at the drink in his hand that wasn’t still holding onto her arm. The coffee inside swirled slowly before settling, and there was a darker spot on his black shirt from the cup pressing into him. “Nah, we’re all good. I’m Ashton, by the way.”

“Vanessa,” she told him.

“Vanessa,” he repeated, and she felt something flutter within her at the way her name sounded on his lips. “I think your drink’s ready.”

“Yeah,” she stammered, stepping to the side to go around him. “Yeah, I’m just gonna, thank you,” she told the barista as she grabbed her cup. “Again. So sorry,” she told Ashton as she stepped back past him on her way to her seat.

Ashton chuckled, watching as the woman sat down and took a hearty sip of her coffee. “Mind if I sit with you? Everywhere else is full.” He gestured about the basically empty cafe.

Her cheeks flushed more at his lie, both flattered that he wanted to share a table with her and also conflicted by his affection. It felt wrong somehow to be viewed as a potentially romantic interest, if that was how Ashton was viewing her anyway. Because it was possible that her assumption was wrong; that Ashton could just be the friendly sort. But, she was short on both romantic interests and friends at the moment. And she had knocked his coffee into his chest. It’d be impolite if she told him no. “Sure, go right ahead,” she told him, moving her laptop to the side.

“Working on the weekend, huh? Catching up, or getting ahead?” he asked as he turned the chair around so he was straddled around the seat, his arms crossing over the back of the chair.

“Oh, no. Not really.” Vanessa closed her computer. “Just personal research.”

“Mmm,” he nodded. “Mysterious girl doing mysterious research. Should I be worried?” The flecks of green and gold danced playfully in his eyes. 

Vanessa laughed. “No? Because I’m not mysterious, nor is my research.”

“Said the mysterious girl hiding with mysterious research.”

“What makes you think I’m so mysterious?”

“The fact that I come to this coffee shop damn near every morning at this time, and I’ve never seen you here once.”

“That doesn’t make me mysterious, it just means I don’t have the luxury you seem to have.”

“Well, you seem to have the luxury today.”

“Lucky me,” she sighed into her cup.

“Aw, don’t sound so down about it, Vanessa.” He frowned momentarily as she thought she’d never seen something more tragic on such a beautiful face. “You had the sense to start a good day nice and early. Make the most of it.” The frown was replaced by a content smile that showed off dimples in his cheeks.

“Gonna certainly try,” she told him, offering forth a tight-lipped smile. As much as she appreciated Ashton’s kindness towards her, and the way it evoked a feeling in her she hadn’t felt in longer than she realized, her heart still ached for the way she would much rather be spending her day.

“Alright,” he conceded, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to bare your soul to me. Fair enough. We can just be two strangers sharing a table while they enjoy a good cup of coffee.”

Despite the softness in his eyes and smile as he wrapped his lips around his straw, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d offended him by being so “mysterious” as Ashton had put it. “Sorry, I’m being rude, I know. I just… don’t do this, I guess?”

“Get coffee, or flirt with cute strangers?”

“Oh, we’re flirting?” She wasn’t sure which surprised her more. That he willingly admitted that they were flirting and she hadn’t misread the conversation, or that he had called her cute in the process.

He chuckled, giggled really, and he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “Was trying to anyway…”

“Sorry,” she apologized for what felt like the millionth time. “Like I said, I don’t do this.”

“Boyfriend?” Ashton guessed. “In which case, it’s me who should be apologizing. I’ll, uh…” His fingers tapped against the seat as he moved to stand up.

“No,” she shook her head. “No boyfriend. It’s, uh… a bit more complicated than that.”

He sat back down in the chair. “More complicated than not having a boyfriend?” His eyebrows quirked in question, his lips quivering with held back amusement. What could complicate him possibly standing a chance with this woman? “Girlfriend?” he tried again.

She laughed, a small nervous sound, and Ashton felt his heart jump at the sound. “Nope. Definitely single. Complicatedly so.” Her eyes darted around them. “I’m not keeping you, am I?”

He shook his head, a shock of his red hair falling into his eyes. She fought the urge to reach out and slick it back into place for him. “Nah. So, what’s this complication? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She pushed a hand through her hair, deciding to just cut straight to the point. Ashton seemed like a nice enough guy to be choosing to spend his morning with her when they didn’t know a thing about each other. And it was better to let him make his choice with all the facts at hand, rather than risk potentially spending more time together and getting more invested than just a schoolgirl stomach flutter. “I have a son. He’s two.”

“Oh… and the dad? Is he…?”

“Finn’s in the picture, yeah. But we just broke up about a month ago.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that. That’s gotta be rough. Is that what the research is? Tips on how to co-parent after a breakup?”

“A little bit yeah. But it’s mostly new studies about nonverbal communication. Mason, my son, doesn’t talk.”

“Oh, shit…”

“Yeah… so that’s the mystery girl with her mysterious research for ya.” She took a last sip of her coffee before grabbing her laptop and placing it in her bag. “Well, thank you. For listening I guess. That’s very kind of you,” she started to say goodbye.

“Off so soon?” Ashton asked, standing up when she did.

Vanessa fiddled with the strap of her bag, not meeting his eyes. “I- Look, you seem really nice. And it really was sweet of you to sit down and have a conversation with me. It’s been awhile since I’ve had time to be Vanessa, not Mason’s mom. But, that’s my reality. I am Mason’s mom. And right now, that person is trying to adjust to living down the hall from him every other week, so he doesn’t have to adjust to having a second home on top of his parents splitting up. And yeah, sure, one of these days I’ll figure it out. I’ll learn how to balance being a mom to a kid with special needs while also being a woman with needs of her own. But today’s not that day. And I certainly don’t expect anything from you based on a single twenty-minute conversation, no matter how handsome I do find you to be.”

“Wow… rejected before I can even ask…”

“I’m not rejecting you, Ashton. I’m saving you from the mess of the woman that I am.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved. Maybe I like messes. Did you think about that while you decided our entire future in 30 seconds?”

“I-” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a slow, steady breath.

“Look. I’m here every morning for the most part at about this time. I’m not saying we have to go out on a date. I’m not saying you have to introduce me to your son. I’m just saying that what you’re going through doesn’t make me want to get to know you any less.”

For the rest of the week, before heading into work, she made a pit stop at the little cafe three blocks for her apartment complex. And every time, Ashton was already waiting for her.

On Saturday, he even had her drink waiting with him. “You didn’t have to do that,” she smiled, greeting him with a hug.

“Yeah, but it was worth it to see that smile of yours,” he replied as they took their seats. “So, you get to see Mason today, right?”

She smiled bigger as she nodded. “Yeah, Finn and I switch off on Saturdays after we all go out to eat.”

“Oh, you guys all have a family dinner? That’s nice.”

“Yeah. It’s a way for us to touch base with each other about what the week was like. We do daily check ins too, but that’s mostly just a quick text that things are going okay.”

“That’s really good. I mean, I’m not a parent, so I don’t know what that dynamic must be like. But it seems like you guys got a healthy system.”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not perfect by any means. We lose our temper with each other, and with Mase. But ultimately we’re both just trying our best for our son, and that’s all I could ever ask from Finn. I don’t need to have a romantic relationship with him, I need one that works. And right now, this is what works.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever actually said it, or just thought it a lot. But you, Nessa, blow me away with the strength you possess. I may not actually know Finn or Mason, and I know I still have a lot to learn about you too. But I also know that they are lucky to have you.”

She blushed at the compliment, muttering a small, “Thanks.” Then, “I know I was skeptical at first, but I’ve really come to enjoy having coffee with you. I’m actually gonna miss it this coming week.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be around in a week. I’m not going anywhere for awhile.”

“Right,” she teased. “The famous drummer who decided to use his break between tours to slum it with the single mom. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

He laughed. “1.) I’m hardly famous. 2.) I’m not slumming it with a single mom, I’m trying to date a woman I’m interested in trying to date.”

“Well, 1.) you show up Google and have paparazzi follow you around, so definitely famous. And 2.) I still think you’re crazy for trying.”

“But…” he pressed. 

“But, I’m glad you’re trying. And I’m hoping that a week apart doesn’t make you come to your senses, because I really have enjoyed spending time with you.”

“Well, here,” he said, pulling out his phone and unlocking it. “Put your number in.” He slid it across the table to her. She quickly did so before placing it back in his hand. The keys made the clacking sound before making the little whoosh of him hitting send on whatever he had typed. Then, her phone pinged in her purse. “There,” he grinned. “Now we can Facetime our coffee mornings instead.”

~~~

“So, how was everything?” Vanessa asked as she slid into the booth across from Finn and Mason. 

“His new color is yellow,” Finn answered with a wry smile. “Went through all the macaroni.”

“There were like 10 boxes…”

“I know… I bought more when we went to the store this morning.”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking at Mason with pizza sauce smeared on his cheeks. “Did you go to the store with Daddy, Mase? How’d that go?”

“Not too bad. I told him all week that on Saturday we were gonna go shopping, then we’d go to the park before seeing Momma.”

“No fits?”

“Besides him screaming about not being put in the seat of the shopping cart, no. Pretty quiet. How was your week?”

“Pretty quiet.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed sadly. “It’s an adjustment. But we’re doing the right thing for him, right?”

“Of course,” Vanessa replied. “Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you miss me?”

He thought about it for a beat before shaking his head. “No,” he confessed. “God, that’s so fucked… After 4 years and a kid, you think I would, right? That I’d miss you. That this should hurt. But I don’t, and it doesn’t. Do you miss me?”

She chuckled a sad, defeated half laugh. “No. The only part of this that hurts is being away from Mase.”

“Yeah…”

Later that night, after putting Mason to bed, Vanessa rummaged around in the cupboard under the bathroom sink for a new roll of toilet paper, knocking over a box of tampons in the process. Her movements stilled as her eyes went wide. How long had it been since she had last reached for that box? Too long. “Shit…” she cursed under her breath. She straightened up and reached for her phone, opening her period tracker app. “Fuck…” she swore again as the little blood droplet happily reminded her to input the start of her period because she was two weeks late.

~~~

It was a slow week of trying to figure out to break the news to Finn that she was pregnant again. A dilemma heightened with every Facetime session with Ashton in the morning for coffee, because Vanessa knew that she would have to tell him too. She hadn’t even told Finn that she was seeing Ashton, because it was all so new and she didn’t want to jinx anything.

If Ashton picked up on how she seemed to be more in her head than normal, he made no comment, instead distracting her with funny stories from the latest studio session he had with his bandmates. Like how Luke, their lead singer, had ended up having dinner with his girlfriend’s daughter’s dad and someone had mistaken him and Cory for a gay couple. 

She laughed at the story, but it didn’t have the fullness to it he remembered. “You okay?” Ashton asked her. 

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m good,” she smiled into the camera, and again he took notice of the ways her eyes didn’t crinkle in the corners.

“So what’s on the agenda today before you meet up with Finn?”

“Grocery shopping, and then the park. Mase?” She flickered her eyes over to the toddler sitting in his chair at the table with his plate of scrambled eggs that had thankfully ended up mostly in his mouth than on the table and floor. “Finished?” she asked, pretending to dust her off her hands.

Mason pushed his plate away and copied her hand movements. All done.

“Okay. Shoes,” she said, pointing at her feet first and then his.

He lifted his feet to show her he had on socks.

“To put on over your socks. Can’t go shopping in socks, Mase.”

No.

“Yes. No shopping in socks. Need shoes. Can you please go find some?”

No! The movement was followed by a throaty whine. 

“Mason Nicholas,” she warned. “If we can’t go shopping, then we can’t go to the park.”

“You know the drummer in Pink Floyd was named Nick Mason. Was that intentional, or just random happenstance?” Ashton’s voice asked from the phone. 

“Intentional. Good catch.” The throaty whine in Mason’s throat grew in volume. “I know, Mase, but you need shoes to go outside. I’ll help you, okay? Do you want me to help?”

The little boy folded his arms over his chest, and titled his head back, screeching loudly in anger.

Vanessa winced at the sound. “Duty calls. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Ashton giggled. “Yep. I’ll be here. Bye, Mase!”

Vanessa smiled gratefully at Ashton’s face before hitting the button to end the call. “Okay, you,” she said, turning to Mason. “Do you want to go to the park?”

Mason’s wail cut off at the word “park,” and he pointed tearfully out their kitchen window. Outside?

“Yes. We’ll go to the park after we go shopping. But you need shoes. Can you show me where your shoes are?”

The boy climbed down from his seat before toddling over to the shoe rack beside the front door. He reached for his pair of navy rain boots decorated with green and yellow dinosaurs, and jumped like he was pretending to splash in a puddle. 

“You can wear those,” she told him. “But look,” she pointed out the living room window. “No rain. No puddles.”

He pouted and jumped again.

“Yes, we can still jump.”

He pointed at her own pair of rain boots and then at her feet.

“Okay. Momma will wear her rain boots, too.”

He jumped for a third time.

~~~

“Rain boots, huh?” Finn asked with an amused look as he looked at Mason and Vanessa’s feet as she helped Mason out of the car.

“Yes, because he wants to jump, and these are his jumping shoes.”

“Is that so?” he smiled down at Mason, pulling his hand back right before he went to ruffle at the boy’s hair. “Mase? Hi-five?” Finn laid his hand out palm up.

Mason jumped and then pointed at his dad. Your turn. 

Finn bounced up on the balls of his feet.

Mason pointed again, this time at his dad’s sneakers, then at his and Vanessa’s boots. He grumbled.

“Tomorrow,” Finn promised his son. “Jumping shoes tomorrow. C’mon, let’s go eat. Hungry?” He brought his hand to his lips, signing “eat.”

The two year old nodding, repeating the action. Eat. Yes.

“So, beyond jumping now, anything new I should know about?” Finn asked Vanessa as they walked into the pizza parlor. 

“Not with Mase. Still on his only eating yellow foods streak. Only apparently bananas don’t count because it’s not the same yellow that is on the inside like it is on the outside.”

Finn laughed. “Yep. Had that fight too. Wait… is something new with you?”

“Yeah… um, last week when you had Mase, I started to go to this coffee shop on the corner of Fifth. And there was a guy there, Ashton. And we’re sort of seeing each other.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s great, Nessa. Why didn’t you tell me last week?”

“It’s still really new. Like we’re just talking. He knows about Mase and us, so we’re just seeing where things go. We’re not like official or anything. We haven’t even been on like a real date.”

“But that’s still good. Just because it didn’t work with us, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to try, and be happy with someone else. Do you like him?”

“Yeah. I really do. He’s really sweet. I think you and him would get along. But, I don’t think it’s gonna work out.”

“Why? It sounds like things are going pretty good? Why wouldn’t it work out?”

“I’m pregnant…”

“Oh, shit… have you guys…?”

She gave a fast shake of her head. “No. We haven’t even kissed.”

“So, it’s mine?” Finn gulped. 

Vanessa nodded, her bottom lip quivering. She blinked rapidly to keep the tears in.

“Fuck…” Finn sat back against the booth, looking over at Mason. “I’m barely getting this right, and now there’s gonna be another one?” He wiped a hand down his face. “Oh, fuck…”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, biting down to stop her lip from quivering. “I’m scared, Finn. I know we used to talk about having kids in the plural sense, but… this wasn’t how I pictured it happening. Like, not even close. And what am I gonna do about Ashton? Being okay with starting a relationship with a single mom is one thing. But a single mom who’s pregnant with her ex’s kid? Like there’s a line of acceptability, and we are so far over that line!”

“Whoa…” Finn’s hands grabbed at hers as she spiraled. “Look, you have me, okay? You’re not gonna do this alone. I’m here every step of the way. I’m still gonna keep being the best dad I can be to both our kids. And if this is all too much for Ashton, then he’s an idiot because he’d be walking away from a goddamn super hero of a woman.”

“Thanks, Finn,” she told him with a watery smile.

~~~

Vanessa awoke early the next morning, a churning in her stomach. It was a different churning than the one she had the last time she woke up in the empty apartment two weeks ago. This wasn’t a not- knowing-what-to-do-with- herself churning. It was a not-knowing-how-Ashton-would-react churning.

But she got ready anyway, and went over to the coffee shop. And despite the churning, she still felt a flutter when she found Ashton already sitting at their table with 2 coffees. “Hey!” he greeted, giving her a warm hug hello. “Gotta say, as much as I liked our Facetimes, I missed seeing you in person.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled softly as she stepped out of his embrace and sat down. “You know, if you keep buying my coffee, I’m gonna change my schedule so I beat you here.”

Ashton laughed. “Well, I’ll just get here even earlier then. See, I’m trying not to push my luck by asking you out on a real date, so this is the next best thing I got.”

“What makes you so sure I’d say no to a real date?”

“The fact that you can’t let me buy you a simple coffee. How the hell am I gonna get you to let me take you out for a full meal?”

“Asking me would be a good start.”

Ashton laughed again. “Alright. How’s Friday sound?”

She swallowed, watching the way he leaned on the table towards her, a shock of his slicked back hair threatening to fall forward in his gorgeous eyes. “I don’t know if we’ll make it to Friday…” she whispered.

Ashton’s eyebrows furrowed together in concerned confusion. “Why won’t we make it to Friday? We could go tonight if that’s better for you.”

“No, Friday’s fine. It’s just um… okay, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it.”

Ashton pursed his lips together and sat back. “You’d rather we just be friends. Okay… that’s fine. No harm, no foul, right? We can dial it back and be friends.”

“No, it’s not that. I really do like you. It’s just… I’m pregnant.”

“Whoa… that was… not what I was expecting. I’m assuming it’s Finn’s?”

“Yeah. So, if you want to take back your date offer, I won’t blame you. Hell if you left right now, I’d get it.”

“Why would I take back my offer?”

“Because I’m pregnant with my ex’s child, and we’ve only been seeing each other two weeks. I like you. I like seeing you. But this isn’t your life, Ashton. You don’t have to keep seeing me if this is all too much for you.”

“Are you getting back with Finn?”

“No… I mean, he’s going to be involved, but no, we’re not getting back together.”

“Well, I’d hope he’d be involved. So, how’s 7 sound?”

“How does 7 sound for what?”

“For our date on Friday.”

“You still want to go out? I- I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand? Did you think this would be a deal breaker for me?”

“I mean…” she stammered. 

He leaned forward again, “I get that your life is crazy. My life’s crazy, too. Crazy doesn’t scare me. I like crazy. I like you, Nessa. I’m not sure how much clearer I can make that.”

“I like you too,” she confessed, leaning in to meet him halfway. Her eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips against hers. Flutters erupted inside both of them and he was about to deepen the kiss when her phone rang, making them jump apart. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” She blushed as she dug around her purse for her phone. “Finn?” she asked in confusion as she answered. “Is everything alright?”

“MASON CALLED ME ‘DADDY’!” Finn whooped in glee. 

She held her hand out away from her ear as Finn broke into happy laughter. “He actually said it?!” she asked, matching his enthusiasm. “Like he actually said the word?”

“YEAH! Oh, my God, Nessa! Our boy talked! C’mon, Mase! Tell Momma what you said.! Who am I?!”

“Daddy,” she heard Mason say slowly.

“OH, MY GOD! I’m coming home. I’ll be right there.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you in a bit! That’s my boy, Mase!”

She hung up, throwing her phone in her bag and rushing to her feet.

“Is everything okay?” Ashton asked, a thumb reaching out to brush away the tears on her face. 

“Mason called Finn ‘daddy.’ He talked, Ash! Mase talked! I- I gotta go!”

Ashton laughed, wrapping her tightly in a hug. “Oh, that’s great! Go. Go be with Mase.”

She smashed a bruising kiss on his lips. “I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” He watched Vanessa take off running out of the shop, chuckling softly to himself. She made it very hard to not be totally smitten.

__

Tag List

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[musette22]

OKAY so I just learned that Scott Evans is gay (how did I not know this???) so what if Scott was the first person Chris told when he realized he may possibly be bi, and Scott helped him come to terms with it (and get some Romanian ass)

OKAY so, I kid you not, I had the exact same idea when I was in the shower this morning and when I came out, I saw you sent this ask. So then of course I had to write a thing. I realize I could’ve written it from any point in the past, but I had just seen that video of Chris rolling on the floor laughing, and I thought, why not make the most of that bright spot in these weird times and continue where that video left of? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Hope you enjoy this! It was meant to be a short little drabble, but of course it turned out over 2k 🙄 so most of it will be under the cut!

*******************************

Scott giggles to himself as he posts the video to his Twitter and Instagram. He has no doubt that Chris laughing his ass off on the floor is going to put a smile on so many people’s faces – something that’s sorely needed right about now.

Chris, having exhausted himself, is stretched out on the couch next to him right now, Dodger lying on the floor next to him. The rest of the family is playing board games in the living room, but Chris and Scott decided that a movie night was in order. For a moment, Scott just watches his brother, until Chris notices and turns his head, meeting his eyes.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothin’.”

Chris kicks him gently in the thigh. “Come on, out with it.”

“Suit yourself,” Scott shrugs. “How are you doing, Chris?”

Chris frowns, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “What do you mean, how am I doing?” he asks. “I’ve got my family around me, we’re having a movie night, I just rolled around on the floor laughing. I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”  

“Okay, but how are you really doing?” Scott presses.

“We talk every day,” Chris says obstinately. When Scott doesn’t answer, instead just giving him a pointed look, Chris’s expression turns thoughtful, like he’s really considering his answer. “I mean,” he starts, picking up his beer from the floor next to the couch and propping it on his stomach, “you know I’m no good at just sitting on my ass, but I know why I’m doin’ it, so it’s okay. And I get to spend some quality time with my family and my dog so I really can’t complain.”

“Sure,” Scott allows, nodding slowly. “But this has been a weird time for you, hasn’t it? Leaving Cap behind, going into politics, then everything suddenly being cancelled at the last minute… Must leave you feeling a bit unsettled, right?” Holding up a finger, he adds, “I know we talk every day, but it’s been a while since we actually had time to do some soul searching together. Like we used to, remember?” He smiles at the memory. “We’d sneak off to the attic with a few bags of chips and some coke and talk about our feelings” – he makes sure to inflect that last word with as much dramatic flair as he can muster, which is quite a lot of it – “while everyone thought we were playing video games or looking at porn or whatever it is ‘normal’ teenage boys do.”

Chris is smiling too now, soft, just a hint of melancholy to it. “’Course I remember. Had some of the most eye-opening conversations of my life in that attic.” He bumps Scott’s leg with his foot again. “It’s where you came out to me, Scottie. That’s not something I’m gonna forget any time soon.”

Scott hums in reply. He has fond memories of that afternoon, too. “So?” he asks after a while. “You wanna tell me how you’re really doing?”

Looking a little hesitant, Chris says, “I don’t know what to tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Sure you do,” Scott says easily. “How ‘bout you start with telling me why you were going around telling everyone you were going to take a break from acting, only to then sign up to two big new projects in the past month or so?”

Chris picks at the label of his beer bottle, looking a little sheepish. “Ah,” he says. “I was kinda hoping everyone’d forgotten about that.” He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I mean, I was honestly planning on taking a break, but then I had a couple of weeks off and I just- I just realized I would have all this free time on my hands and no one to spend it with, you know?”

There it is, Scott thinks.

Chris is lonely. He’s good at pretending he’s fine on his own, happy with Dodger to keep him company and spending as much time with his family as he can. But deep down, he longs to have someone to love. Someone to settle down with. It’s just how he’s wired.

“I know,” Scott replies honestly. “You’ve been on your own for a while now, Chris. That isn’t like you.”

“No,” Chris sighs again, “no, it’s not. It’s just… it’s hard, meeting new people. Especially in our business.”

Scott huffs out a laugh. “I appreciate your attempt at inclusive language, but I think we both know that even though you and I might be technically in the same business, your experiences are very different from mine. I’m an actor, you’re a superstar.” He pauses a moment before adding, “Also, I’m gay, you’re not.”

Chris doesn’t reply straight away. “Anyway,” he says eventually, “point is, I’m just so tired of that perpetual cycle of meeting someone, getting to know someone, wondering if this might be it, and then having it all fall apart again. I just don’t know I can do all that again. It’s never worked out before, so why would the next time be different?”

“Okay, now you’re just being defeatist,” Scott remarks, giving his brother an unimpressed look. “Not to mention dramatic. Look, why don’t you let me set you up with someone, huh? I know you think that’s weird, but I know so many amazing women who’d jump at the chance to date you. All you have to do is give them a chance.”

“I don’t wanna give them a chance,” Chris mutters sullenly. “I’m sure they’re lovely but I just…” He makes a frustrated sound. “I just don’t think I want to meet anyone new right now.”

“But you just basically said you’re lonely,” Scott cries, throwing his hands up. “And I know you want to get married and have a family, because you talk about it all the goddamn time.” He sighs, and in a softer tone continues, “Look, I know it’s hard, but you will have to get out there again if you want to have that future. You know that right?”

Chris inhales deeply through his nose, rubbing a hand over his newly-buzzed head. “Yeah.”

“Unless…” Scott says.

Chris’s eyes flicker to Scott’s face. “Unless what?”

Watching Chris closely, Scott says, “Unless, maybe you don’t want to meet anyone new because you’re still hung up on someone old?”

Silence.

Chris averts his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

Scott gives him a disbelieving look. “Fuck, Chris. You’re kidding me, right? Are you honestly still carrying a torch for one of your exes?”

Chris doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself. “Oh my god, you totally are. Who is it? Jesus, I bet it’s Minka, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Chris shakes his head. “No, it’s not Minka.”

“Oh. Hmm. Jenny? Is it because she’s getting married? Is that what brought this on?”

“God–” Chris lets out a frustrated huff, sitting up and rubbing both his hands over his face. “No, Scott, it isn’t Jenny and no, I don’t care that she’s getting married. I’m happy for her, truly.”

Scott deflates a little. “Okay, well. Then who is it?”

“It’s –” Chris starts, then stops again, swallowing hard.

Scott waits – not exactly patiently, but he knows he needs to give Chris time to gather his thoughts. When Chris sighs again, it’s wearier than Scott has heard him in a long time.

“Do you remember,” Chris says finally, “in 2016, after I came back from that press tour in Asia, and you picked me up from the airport and you said… You said I was glowing?”

Scott nods, thinking back to that time four years ago. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “I remember thinking you looked the happiest I’d probably ever seen you. I thought you must’ve just really liked China.”

Chris huffs a laugh that lacks any real mirth. “Yeah, it wasn’t just China.”

“Did you meet someone in China?” Scott’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, did some Chinese girl sweep you off your feet and break your heart? She the one that got away?”

This time, Chris actually laughs. “No, no Chinese girls either. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Then tell me,” Scott presses, bumping their shoulders together gently. “What happened? Who happened?”

This time, Chris is silent for so long that Scott thinks he’s probably hoping they’ll just drop the topic altogether.

But then, after a full minute, Chris opens his mouth. “Scott…” he says, sounding pained. “Please believe me when I say that I didn’t purposely keep this from you. I swear I would’ve told you if things had turned out differently, but… they didn’t. And I didn’t know if – I still don’t know if… what it was.” He finally lifts his head, turning to look at him, a pleading look in his eyes. “That’s why I never told you, because I was just – I was very confused. Still am. I’m so sorry.”

Frowning, Scott searches Chris’s drawn face. “You were confused? About what, Chris? What had you so confused that you’d be scared to tell your own brother – Oh.”

Scott feels his jaw drop, comprehension breaking over him like a wave. Chris, meanwhile, looks miserable, looking at him like he thinks Scott is going to punch him in the nose and storm out.

They’re both silent for a minute. Dodger, sensing Chris’s distress, has sat up, resting his head on Chris’s thigh in an attempt to comfort him.

“Oh, Chris,” Scott says finally. “You should’ve just told me, you big idiot.”

“I know,” Chris says, hanging his head. “I should’ve. You have every right to be mad at me.”

“Oh no.” Scott shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you, Chris. Believe me, I know exactly how you feel right now. I’d be a massive dick if I turned on you now, wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I still should’ve told you,” Chris says stubbornly.  

“You should’ve,” Scott agrees, “but I understand why you didn’t. It was hard for me when I was seventeen and a nobody. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you these past few years, being who you are.”

The look Chris gives him at that is tentatively hopeful. “You really aren’t mad?”

“No. I just wish you’d have told me so I could’ve been there for you when you were hurting.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m still hurting. So technically, you could be there for me now.”

Scott punches Chris in his stupidly well-developed shoulder. “Well, then you’d better start talking.”

Chuckling wetly, Chris nods. He sits back, leaning heavily into the couch cushions and absently petting Dodger’s head.

He draws in a deep breath. “It’s –”

“– Sebastian,” Scott interrupts.

This time, it’s Chris’s jaw that drops. He blinks at Scott for a second. “You knew?” he asks, sounding almost accusing.

“Not until just now. But you coming out to me and mentioning that Asia press tour…” Scott shrugs. “It makes sense. That kid gives off some serious bi vibes. Plus, something tells me you’d be just his type.”

Chris gives him a wry smile. “As it turns out, he’s just my type, too.”

“Now that you mention it,” Scott says, cocking his head thoughtfully, “he really is, isn’t he?”  

“Yeah.” Chris smiles, his eyes getting this dreamy, faraway look in them that Scott hasn’t seen for a long time.

“Oh boy,” he says, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he? Fuck, Chris. I can’t believe I never noticed.”

“Well,” Chris says, hitching his right shoulder up to his ear. “I am an actor. I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I know how to hide something I really don’t want anyone to see.”

“Clearly.”

“Besides,” Chris continues, ignoring him, “he didn’t exactly do a number on me. I was the one who was too scared, too cowardly to stick to my guns. I just couldn’t do it.” He shakes his head, as if he still can’t believe what he’d done. “We started sleeping together a couple of years before, but it was never serious. We just – ended up in each other’s beds a few times, I guess. Well, a lot of times. But on that press tour, something changed. We grew closer, and we were happy, and I wanted it to work. God, I wanted it so bad, but everything seemed so daunting, and I didn’t know what was going to happen after Marvel and the press and the internet were already vicious enough as it was. I just couldn’t deal with the thought of amplifying all of that by like, a gazillion.” His voice grows progressively quieter as he goes on. “So I fucked it up, and I let him go. And I miss him, every day.” The last words are barely more than a whisper.

Scott reaches out, wrapping an arm around Chris’s hunched shoulders pulling him closer. “I’m so sorry, Chris.”

Chris sniffs, shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he says, “it was my own stupid fault.”

“Come on,” Scott protests, shaking Chris a little. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t ready, back then. It sucks, but that’s just how it was. You can’t change the past.” He pauses, before softly adding, “But you might be able to change your future?”

Giving him a sidelong glance, Chris asks, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Scott says slowly, you and Sebastian are still friendly, right? You didn’t fuck things up so bad that he never wanted to talk to you again.”

“No, I sort of… Let him down gently, I think. He seemed to take it alright, but…”

“He’s an actor, too,” Scott finishes sagely. “I just think that if you really fell so hard for the guy that you’re still not over him years later, then you guys must’ve had a real connection, right?”

This time, Chris’s face almost crumples. “Yeah,” he says, sounding utterly forlorn. “Scott, I – I think I loved him. I think I love him.”

For a moment, Scott is stunned. “God, Chris,” he breathes. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear you say. I gotta tell you, as much as I know this sucks for you, it’s kind of amazing for me.” Realizing how that sounds, he makes a face. “Sorry. This isn’t about me, I do know that. Please continue.”

Chris barks out a laugh, bumping their knees together amicably. “It’s okay, I get it. Believe me, it’s a bit of a trip for me, too.”

“Phew, okay. So. You love him,” Scott says simply. Chris winces beside him. “Do you think he loves you? Or loved you, a least?”

“I don’t know. I mean, maybe? He said as much, back in Singapore, but then when it ended, he just seemed to move on pretty quickly. So I don’t know.”

“Chris,” Scott says dryly, “I think if he said he loved you, you can assume he loved you. The guy was probably as devastated as you were but just didn’t want to let on, especially since you guys would still be working together after that.”

Chris stares at a spot on the coffee table, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Scott says, “When have I ever been wrong?” He ignores the deadpan look Chris gives him. “So, my next question would be, is Sebastian single right now?”

A pause.

“I think so,” Chris replies eventually. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while but…”

“But?”

“I’ve spoken to Mackie,” Chris admits, looking a little guilty. “They’ve been filming together, these last few months, and I… I may have called him a few times to check how things were going.”

“To check if Sebastian was doing alright, you mean?”

“I mean, not just that. Mackie and I are friends too, you know.”

“Sure,” Scott smirks. “Okay, so according to Mackie he’s single. According to my latest intelligence, you, Christopher, are also single.”

“… Yes.”

“Yes,” Scott nods. “So what do you think I’m going to suggest you do, right now?”

Chris scrunches up his face. “Call Sebastian?”

“Call Sebastian.”

Chris blows out a long, slow breath. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I could give him a call to check how he’s holding up, under the circumstances. That wouldn’t be weird, right?”

“Of course not,” Scott says decidedly. “These are strange times, they remind us of what’s really important to us. If anything, I think he’ll be very glad to hear from you right now.”

“Okay,” Chris says again, nodding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Yay,” Scott says, doing an excited little wiggle. “God, I love this.”

“This?”

“Talking about cute boys with my big brother. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Chris fondly rolls his eyes at him. He silent for a moment, before he looks at Scott curiously. “You think he’s cute?”

“Are you kidding me?” Scott says incredulously. “He is delicious. Lord, I probably would’ve tapped myself that if I’d had the chance.”

“Hey.”

Scott holds up his hands. “Okay, sorry, I get it. Back off, he’s yours.”

A soft, almost mushy look steals over Chris’s face. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hope so.”

A thought occurs to Scott suddenly. “Oh. My. God.”

“What? What is it?” Chris asks, looking alarmed.

“I can’t believe all those tinhatters on the internet figured this out before I did. About my own brother.”

“Oh god,” Chris groans, “please don’t remind me of the internet right now.”

Scott chuckles. “You know the internet’s opinion doesn’t matter, right? The only opinions that matter here are you and Sebastian’s. Fuck everyone else.” Reaching over to grab Chris’s phone from the coffee table, Scott hands it to Chris. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger. Go get your boy.”

Chris gives him a brittle but hopeful smile. “Wish me luck.”

Scott gets up off the couch and leans down to press a kiss to Chris’s fuzzy kiwi head. “Good luck, big bro.”

He notices Chris’s hands are shaking as he scrolls through his contacts, but he doesn’t comment, instead making to leave the room to give Chris some privacy. Before the door closes fully behind him, he hears Chris start to talk.

“Hey, Seb. It’s me, Chris. How, how’ve you been?” There’s a pause. “Yeah, I’m sorry it’s been a while. I just. I wanted to check how you’re holding up. And, um.” A shaky inhale, and then, softly, “I- I miss you.”

Scott smiles to himself as he pulls the door closes behind him. Something tells him they’ll be alright.

[maariarogers]

i was distracted, in traffic

Summary: Suho deals with the aftermath of realising that life doesn’t and couldn’t resume for him in Korea. He remembers his conversation with Seojun that night after he saw him hugging Jugyeong, and decides on a few new decisions. Characters: Lee Suho, Lee Selena, Han Seojun Mentions: Suho x Jugyeong Other Parts: PART 1, PART 2, (but this can be read on its own, in the beginning of chapter 16)

Author’s Note: A re-write of episode 16, with a more considerate Suho and more background to what happened after he flew to US and took care of his father. Also featuring Suho’s mental state now that he’s returned to Korea and how he’s coping with cutting everyone off two years ago.

READ HERE ON AO3

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For a while, Suho doesn’t do much except studying.

He contemplates sticking with his sister, even if it means he has to follow the tiring schedule Selena always has line up, and the long hour on sets, and being in a place with people he doesn’t know gawking at them. But that train of idea dies quickly. He can’t bother Selena.

And, plus, he considers with this heavy sense of dread, he really doesn’t want to run into Jugyeong.

He hasn’t - though he’s tempted to. He could just waltzed in, he thinks a couple of time, there at the bookstore they always met, and if Jugyeong’s there, maybe he can steal some of her time. Can ask for - a coffee. Or tea. Or whatever she would like and maybe they could talk.

Maybe even over a ramen, like that moment when they reunited the first time.

But he left her, he thinks with a piercing regret.

He left her, and the one who cared for Jugyeong all the while had been - Seojun. And Suho has to understand this, has to accept it; even if apart of him hoped that Seojun was right when he seemed to determine that Jugyeong will only be rejecting him by the end. Still, he had told Seojun to go for it. Good luck.

“Are you crazy?” Seojun had sounded so offended that night for some reason, and it broke Suho’s heart. How long had he kept his feelings inside, this friend of his, how much pain had Seojun endured, and how massive had the courage been for Seojun to finally make his feelings known? Too long, too much, and too many.

Suho likes to think he’s cold - but not heartless.

“No,” He told Seojun that night, a small smile surprisingly came up to his face and Suho realised he wasn’t lying. He didn’t want to hurt Seojun any longer. “You love her, too. You need to do it right. Go for it. Try your best.”

Seojun had looked taken aback. Gaping. “Wah,” He managed after a minute. Suho sipped on his drink. “You’ve changed. What happened in America?”

Has he? Suho feels like he’s stuck in time, always. Like he’s desperate to be at the same pace as everyone, but he keeps missing the steps. He keeps falling behind. He’s still doing the same thing he’s always done. Half-mourning for the mistakes he can’t seem to correct, and half-in-wait. As if his life is on pause, and any time now, someone will reach the remote and hit it to play.

“Nothing,” he assured Seojun. “I’m just your friend, too.”

Seojun had seemed flabbergasted, like he hadn’t expect that particular explanation to spill from Suho’s mouth. But how can it not? Suho’s hurt enough people since the beginning — always a little too slow, always a little too sharp or dismissive, always too much in his head — it’s time to stop.

He has to understand. Seojun had held back for two years, all for Suho’s sake, and Suho can’t - he can’t be responsible for it anymore. Can’t hold it against Seojun just because he felt what he felt, and pursued something he’d always second-guessed merely out of respect to their friendship.

Isn’t it time for Suho to return the favour?

That was nights ago. Or had it been a week? Suho isn’t sure. Time blurs easily in between unpacking, seeing Selena and crying, sorting out issues at the embassy, waiting at a certain set of time to call Dad, then updating his therapist about what he’s been up to and how he’d been feeling — which, not great. But aside from getting to the root of what’s causing him his anxiety, nothing much changes.

Suho takes his pills. Still struggles finding things to fill his time with. Sometimes he still sleep for long hours and wake up at times he really shouldn’t be. He knows it can’t be jet-lag, though. He knows it’s just - his meds, maybe. Or it’s his head.

So, he starts studying.

He goes to a famous bookstore instead of the one he always knew, the one he’s scared he’ll bump into Jugyeong in, and he picks up exercises book — the one he’s so familiar with, but also seems so foreign at the same time. In the US, all of the textbooks are in English. Here, the Korean alphabets are crisp and clear. It makes him smile for some reason, makes his heart ache in familiarity.

Suho picks up maths, and some physics. He’s always liked calculating. It’s easy, straight to the point.

For a while, it - isn’t so bad.

Seojun texts him everyday, asking him how he is and threatens to barge in every time he’s late in replying. Suho - doesn’t know what to say, most of the time. Not necessarily due to the topic of Jugyeong, either, but more because he’s not sure how to start explaining to Seojun that there would be days where he thinks he won’t ever answer any messages or phone calls simply because he won’t even have the energy to reach for anything but lay there, empty, on his bed.

Those days are hard, and his head is heavy.

But so far, Seojun’s own busy schedule keeps him busy, distracted. He doesn’t have to go running around caring for everybody else. Suho shouldn’t be, but - he’s glad for it.

Taehoon texts him too, and that - still surprises Suho.

Best Friend, Taehoon would call him, but what’s so good about him, he wonders? Even after all these years? Even after the way Suho left, and never responded no matter the amount of pictures and links to some random game Taehoon would give him?

Maybe I should set a time, he thinks briefly, checking the schedules he has lined up.

And maybe, he thinks a little sadly, I should finally change my number, too.

The only reason he’d kept it was — was the same reason he still sometimes want to go to the roof, still has the studio where Seyeon’s pictures sat by the piano. He’s still stuck in the past. Still hopes, for some odd reason, he goes back to being eighteen and never ending that phone call with Jugyeong the way he did.

Maybe I should consider moving, Suho thinks, sitting back and leaning in his chair. These walls have too many memories, too many things he can no longer undo. Selena, she - she offered to stay at their family’s place, and it’s big, Suho’s been there before, and it’s comfortable. New. He can start afresh. And, he thinks with more consideration, Selena will be there most days. Even if she would come late, or would have to go out often.

But there’d be someone with him, by the end of the day.

I think I want to move in, he texts Selena, almost impulsive, but no - not really. Not when it took him about twenty minutes just staring there wondering if he was truly ready to let this apartment go. He’d just settled in, what if it will - get better? What if these blue walls won’t make him feel so sad anymore one of these days?

But then, he gets a reply. See me tomorrow. I’ll text an address. Let’s have lunch.

It’s - easy, Suho finds. Talking with his sister. He appreciates that she rarely wastes time, and she almost always takes him seriously. She's not - like him. Suho waits so much, and Selena is impatient. Talking with her would... It would be scary, but it would be what he need. Maybe with her attitude, it could help straighten him out too.

Help him focus.

Suho goes to the bookstore again - the one that’s far away, with high ceiling and good lighting, in the city. He takes the car again. He can’t stay in the house; can’t stand having his eyes peering to the lamp with the sticker on, and there’s this absolute silence because his TV doesn’t work anymore. He’d been meaning to have it fix, but he keeps forgetting.

And now the house is too quiet, and his lunch with Selena tomorrow haunts him.

He goes to the bookstore and this is okay, he tells himself, because he’s been meaning to anyways. He’d wanted to smoothen out his Japanese and English, aside from just mindlessly doing calculations and solving equations. Maybe he can take the international exams. That seems like it could fill his time and help in the long-run.

He bumps into Lim Juyeong.