#all ive been is just a broken mess

[the-yearning-astronaut]

As if I need something else to dwell on right now, I'm having a hard time with my orientation again. Like I just.... Idk. I feel like I don't fit in with the queer community because I'm aroace spec but I also feel alienated from the aroace community because I'm demi aroace. And it makes me feel very lost and very isolated.

[nightly-ruse]

Dang this song is amazing but kinda makes me want to burst into tears

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

[nanaslutt]

nana forgive me for i have sinned :((( ive been thinking about whiny choso getting frustrated because he thinks our moans are so cute but it’s gonna make him cum too fast he wants to tell us to shut up but he just cant bring himself to do it

Contains: fem reader, established relationship, dirty talk, teasing, fantasizing, choking, rough sex, mating press, protected sex (that's a first), multiple orgasms, Choso discovers his breeding kink, talk of pregnancy, lactation kink, cockwarming

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Choso was in quite the predicament. You were underneath him, your legs over his shoulders as he fucked you into a mating press, your knees by your ears, and you were being so loud. So much so that Choso thought that long after you were done fucking he would hear your moans and whines of his name ringing in his ears. That wasn't the problem though, the problem was you sounded so needy and perfect, especially when you tried to call out his name which always ended in more whines and broken syllables of the word on your tongue.

Choso wanted to tell you to shut up so bad because every time a whine left your lips; which was every single time he thrust his cock into you; his cock would twitch and throb, threatening to spill. It had only been a couple minutes and he had already pulled his cock out of you for the 4th time and gripped his cock hard at the base to prevent himself from cumming-- closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as he tried not to focus on how cute you sounded whining at the loss, and how breathless you sounded trying to swallow air into your lungs while he gave himself a break.

"Chosoo~" You wined, grabbing his hips and pulling them back towards yourself in an effort to get him back inside you. "Stop pulling out~ wanna feel you 'smore." You whined, tilting your head against the sheets and pouting out your bottom lip needily as you looked up at him with clouded eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut harder at the sound of your voice begging him, he couldn't take it, even having pulled himself out of your too-wet, too-tight cunt.

"What's wrong? Hmm?" You cooed, rubbing your hands along his waist as you watched him take in deep, steady breaths. Choso thought about spilling the beans and telling you what had him pulling out every ten thrusts, you gave him a perfect opening after all! After a. couple of seconds of contemplation, Choso released the hold he had on the base of his dick and opened his eyes, leaning forward to rub the tip of his cock through your wet folds before he caught the tip in the ring of your cunt and pushed in slowly. "Nothing." He responded, gulping at the feeling of you around him once more before he started up a rough pace again.

Once again your sweet moans and loud slaps and squenchles filled the room as he fucked into you with reckless abandon. He shook his head at the sound of your voice invading his ears, his jaw dropping in a small o when your cunt got tighter around him. He watched your hand slither between your bodies and rub small circles furiously against your little clit, trying to push yourself toward your orgasm.

Choso's breath caught in his throat and came out stuttered when he felt your cunt constrict around his cock as he fucked you through your first orgasm. He had to clench his jaw and bite down on his teeth hard to keep his hips moving and somehow not cum from your rapid twitching and pulsing of your walls. Your jaw dropped open when you felt your orgasm wash over you, your moans going silent for a se cond until you really felt it, then you were a moaning and squirming mess.

Choso couldn't take it anymore, thinking fast he moved one of his large hands that was steadying itself next to your head on the mattress to cover your mouth as your moans increased in volume, and doubled in how desperate you sounded. His eyes rolled back in his head at how your cunt seemed to twitch and pulse around him endlessly through your orgasm. He held his breath throughout the entire thing, the both of you gasping in tandem when you finally came down and were thrown into oversensitivity as the man didn't let up his thrusts inside your cunt.

"C-choso" You tried mumbling agaisnt his hand, your smaller one reaching up to grab at his wrist and dig your nails into it in support as he fucked ruthlessly into you. His breathing and soft moans felt so much louder in your ears now that he had shut you up, the sound going straight to your cunt and making you even wetter somehow. "S-sorry." He moaned, shutting his eyes as he let out a loud groan when you squeezed around him a little too tight as you were worked through the last bit of your overstimulation and were thrown into another spiral of getting fucked towards another orgasm.

"I cant t-take it." He groaned, tipping his head back to groan before he opened his eyes once more and made contact with your glossy ones. "Your moans." He specified, making you scrunch your eyebrows together as you tried to understand what he meant. "'S why I had to keep t-taking it out." He kept talking, panting through his words. "Made me feel like- hahh- like I was gonna cum just l-listening to your voice." He confessed, feeling his own face heat up at his revealing words.

You groaned behind his hand which covered your mouth at the revelation. Your face turned crimson as you thought about how by just your voice alone you could bring a man such as Choso to his knees. You spoke behind his hand, bringing your other hand up to pull his wrist away so you could speak properly as he let you move his hand to your neck and rest it there softly, "So d-o it." you whimpered with a mischievous smile on your face. "C- ahh- cum~" You finished.

He breathed in a shaky breath, his hand squeezing your throat on instinct as he registered your words. Abliet, he was worried about cumming before you and leaving you unsatisfied as his refractory period was a little longer than yours, so the fact that he had already made you cum once made him more susceptible to your words. His hips pulled back slowly, pulling almost all the way out, before he fucked his cock back into you, keeping his eyes glued to yours as he watched them roll back in your head. "Yeah?" He asked, repeating the process of fucking into your slowly but heavily.

"Y-eah" You stuttered through his thrusts, "C-cum inside me Cho~" You begged, biting your lip at him while you smiled at him like he was the only man in the world. Although he had a condom on, he still felt himself throb at your words. "You want me to cum inside?" He asked, picking up his thrusts more steadily as he felt his orgasm creep up on him. "Yes, b-abyy~ F-fill me up with 'ur cum Cho-so!" you whined, your voice coming out strained when his hand squeezed around your throat.

He changed his position slightly, bringing one of his feet up to plant itself next to your torso as he gave himself better leverage to fuck you into the mattress. Your wines somehow made it through your vocal cords even with the tight grip he had on your neck, which made him feel dizzy. Your eyes were rolling back in your head, your jaw was slack as moans freely fell from your lips, and Choso absolutely pounded you into the bed, making your body dip into the matress and bounce up to meet his already rough thrusts.

He couldn't stop your words from echoing in his head, telling him to fill you up. His mind wandered to a scenario if him fucking you without a condom, freely filling you to the brim, and watching his seed spill out of your abused hole as he used two fingers to scoop up the seed and stuff it back into your cunt. He wasn't sure if he could even get you pregnant with him being a curse and all, but damn it if he wasn't going to try.

His thoughts kept traveling, to you getting pregnant, fucking you in celebration, sucking your milk-filled tits because they were sooo sore and who would he be to let the mother of his child suffer like that? He never knew he wasted a child but just a couple words from you sent him in an absolute spiral, and he couldn't argue that a little you running around wouldn't be so bad.

He was thrown back to reality when he felt both of your hands wrap around his that were choking you out. You were nodding dumbly, a fucked out smile on your face as he destroyed your pussy; loud squelching noises echoed through the room, and a nice white ring of your cum had formed around the base of his cock and some was smeared on your thighs form how wet you were. "C-chosooo~" You moaned when his thrusts started losing their rhythm.

"W-wanna fill you up- I- I want to cum inside you." He said, keeping his eyes on your face as his bottom lip started to quiver, he was so sensitive right now. "P-please Choso C-cum for me~" You whined. That's all it took for the dark-haired man's high to wash over him. His thick seed filling up the condom as he fucked his hips into you, each time his hips met your ass he pressed himself as hard as he could agaisnt you, imagining he was trying to get his seed as deep as possible inside your cunt to make sure you got pregnant.

"F-uuckkk~" You wined underneath him, your walls spasming around him as you came together. Your walls milked his balls dry, and the man pressed his hips flush against yours as he relished in the feeling of your walls squeezing him while he groaned loudly as the aftershocks of his orgasm wracked through his body.

Your legs slid off of his shoulders and fell weakly against the sheets as he released your neck in its iron grip and collapsed against your body, breathing shakily as your hands rubbed soothingly agaisnt his back. "That was a big one~" You teased, giggling while he caught his breath with his face cradled in the crook of your neck. You started to wiggle from underneath him, signaling him to pull out of you so the two of you could clean up. "W-wait-" He whispered into your neck.

Your hands came up to run through his hair as you waited for him to finish speaking. "Wanna stay inside you f-for a little longer." He whispered, slightly embarrassed. You nodded, humming in agreement as you continued running your hands through his hair, over his shoulder and back, all while you felt his cock twitching inside you.

"What made you cum so hard Cho?" You giggled, turning your head towards his and pressing a kiss to the side of his head as his hands wrapped underneath you and held you snugly against his body. He paused, gathering his thoughts before he mumbled into your shoulder, "Think I wanna get you pregnant."

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter iv

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader (not poly)

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 11.3k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, tornado of emotions (you might laugh, you might cry, and you might just wanna punch something after this chapter), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, denial, self-deprecation in some aspect, etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: So, elephant in the room....how did this get past 11k when other chapters are significantly shorter? Well...I had ideas? I'm sorry!! 🫠 ANYWAY more angst in this chapter. Sorry not sorry for what you will consume here. I honestly love this chapter so much though! Okay, I won't say any more bc spoilers are cool but not in my fic! (hehe) Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

Numb.

It’s the only word you can rummage up to describe the sudden shift in your demeanor. You’d think one’s typical response to their ex-husband’s drunken confession would be one of confusion, anger, hurt, or the like.

But you’ve gone stone cold instead, barely able to feel the steaming hot water that kisses your skin from within the tub. The room seems to have become a bit of a haze too, your vision blurring as you grip your cell phone in your hand.

The absurdity of it all—the man who handed you divorce papers now professing his love—feels like a cruel joke. The sheer impossibility of the situation is almost laughable, yet you can't even bring yourself to do that at this point. You've exhausted all of your emotional resources.

You’re unsure how many seconds pass before his voice calls your name again.

“__? Are you still there?” His voice is a muffled echo in your mind. It sounds so far away, though you know he’s right here on the other end of the line.

"Honestly Jungkook…I don’t know what you expect me to say.”  The words come out slow, measured, and almost emotionless.

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of his confession. "I guess—I'm not sure either. But I just needed you to know. I needed to tell you everything."

“You're drunk. You realize that, right?"

“I had a few beers, yeah," he admits. "Maybe I'm a little tipsy. But it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. I miss you, __, a lot."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re back in the past, back when those words would have meant the world to you. But now, they feel hollow, devoid of the warmth they once carried. And how can they not? You tethered yourself to your ex-husband for three years, learned his patterns, became acquainted with his needs, and danced with his indifference. In the end, the result is always the same, and this time is no different. By morning, he'll likely forget everything he's ever said to you and return to his normal habits.

You take a deep breath, your head resting on the cool porcelain tub, and close your eyes. "I can’t do this," you say quietly. "Not now."

"It's late. I understand-"

"No," you interrupt, voice firmer, "you don't understand, Jungkook. You don't understand me and you never have. I'm hanging up now."

"Please don't. I know I've hurt-"

"Stop. Do you know how patronizing that sounds to me? Please don't call this number again."

"But... I love you, __," his voice is barely a whisper. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"Goodbye, Jungkook." You end the call before another word can drop from his lips, or yours for that matter. It's time you accept that you are never more than an impulsive decision, a temporary solution, and an item on his agenda. Tonight's conversation solidifies that for you.

Despite being sleep-deprived the next morning, you refuse to let fatigue keep you from fulfilling your promise to visit Taehyung at the hospital. You've been anxious about him all night, tossing and turning without respite. The weight of your ex-husband's drunken confession added to your restlessness as well. Nevertheless, you push it out of your mind as you bound out the front door.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by an abundance of flowers, cards, and thoughtful gifts scattered around Taehyung’s hospital room. One bouquet on the windowsill catches your attention in particular—its familiar scent of lavender is instantly recognizable.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind you. You turn to see Dr. Min entering the room, Taehyung’s chart in hand. He seems more lively than last night, his expression noticeably brighter with a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” you reply. “I’m guessing these are from Taehyung’s fans and colleagues?”

He nods. “Indeed. Lavender is a calming scent. It’s no wonder people chose it for him.” The corners of his mouth lift slightly before he continues, “My girlfriend loves it too. She says it helps her relax after a long day.”

The comment is unexpected yet sweet. You notice the suppressed grin and the warmth in his eyes easily, signaling his deep affection for her. You wonder how it must feel to love someone so purely and without restraint. Before the thought lingers, your gaze shifts involuntarily to the man on the hospital bed, still asleep. Though the bandages are gone and his breathing is stable, your concern deepens as you take in his nearly still form.

“How’s he doing?” you ask, moving closer to his bed. Your heart tightens with each step as the cuts and burns on his face become more visible.

“He’s lucky,” Dr. Min says, walking to the opposite side of the bed, his tone growing serious. “He has multiple rib fractures, a mild concussion, and a few burns, but it could have been worse. Taehyung is stable now, and we’re monitoring his progress closely.”

“How long will it take for him to heal?”

“His face burns are only second-degree, so they should heal in a couple of weeks. The concussion should also resolve with ample rest and by avoiding strenuous activity—both physical and mental.”

“Which means he won’t be able to act for a while?” you ask, reading between the lines.

“Afraid not,” Dr. Min dismisses the idea. “Hopefully, his projects can accommodate his absence.”

“What about his rib fractures? I imagine those will require the most attention.” You feel like you might be asking too many questions, knowing Dr. Min will likely need to repeat everything to Taehyung later, but you can't hold back. After all, you made a promise to yourself last night that you'd ensure he'd be alright.

“Yes," Dr. Min answers carefully, "they could take up to three months to fully heal. We recommend applying ice for 20 minutes at a time, several times a day. As long as he remains stable over the next few days, he can be discharged to continue his recovery at home." He pauses, allowing you to process the information before continuing. "It's crucial that he rests. Even if he feels bursts of energy, he needs to let his body heal. Light activities like breathing exercises and short walks are fine, but he should avoid intense exercises until we give the all-clear.”

You nod thoughtfully, absorbing Dr. Min’s detailed prognosis. Taehyung’s condition sounds serious but manageable. After such a traumatic accident, it's clear he'll need months to heal. Getting him to adhere to the doctor's orders will be challenging, given his profession and active social calendar. However, if you need to be the one to remind him, you will.

“I’ll make sure he follows your recommendations,” you assure Dr. Min, your voice tinged with concern.

“I have no doubt,” Dr. Min replies with a reassuring smile. “You know, you're the first person who’s shown up for him both last night and today. Aside from that young man who came in briefly. Namjoon, right?”

“Yeah,” you respond slowly, the revelation catching you off guard. “He works as my secretary but he's also a good friend of Taehyung's. His family really hasn’t come in yet?” You circle back to Dr. Min's first point with a sense of urgency.

You wouldn't normally be this insistent on the matter; however, past conversations with Taehyung have revealed how much he cherishes his family, often sharing stories about their reunions with warmth and enthusiasm. With such a loving family, you’re taken aback that they haven’t shown up yet. Then again, his accident was sudden, and there could be various reasons for their delay. Do they even know about his accident, for that matter?

“They called, of course, but you’re the first to actually come in,” Dr. Min clarifies, his gaze thoughtful as he responds to your concern. "You must be quite an attentive boss to show this level of care for your colleague."

There's an underlying suggestiveness laced in his tone, but you're quick to brush it off, redirecting the focus to Taehyung’s condition. “It’s the least I can do, given what he’s going through,” you say, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “He’s a valuable member of our team, and I want to make sure he gets back on his feet as soon as possible.”

Dr. Min's eyes twinkle, as if holding back further commentary. “Even from a professional standpoint, not everyone would go to such lengths for a coworker. He’s fortunate to have you.”

You feel a slight flush as his subtle implications continue. “Well, I just…care about his well-being. Besides,” you glance back at Taehyung, your expression softening more than you intend, “I know he'd do the same for me.”

For a few short breaths, Dr. Min remains silent as your attention remains fixed on your colleague. “I need to check on a few other patients so I’ll leave you two alone for now," he finally says, breaking the silence. “I'll be back to check in on him again later, but if you have any questions or need anything in the meantime, the nurse is nearby."

With a nod and a soft "thank you," you watch Dr. Min exit the room, leaving you alone with Taehyung once more. After settling into a chair beside his bed, you silently observe the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic sound of his breathing is a small comfort amidst his vulnerable state. Despite everything, you're glad he's going to be okay.

As each minute passes, nurses come and go, and the hum of activity outside the room gradually fades into a background murmur. You had only planned to stay for an hour this morning, but time seems to slip away as the clock now nears 1 p.m. You had hoped Taehyung would be awake by now, but he remains still.

After a brief sigh, the thought occurs to you that you don't have to spend so many hours here, waiting for Taehyung to wake up. It's the weekend, and there are plenty of other things you could be doing instead. Dr. Min could easily call you the moment Taehyung wakes up. But something in your conscience urges you not to leave. Just give it another hour, you think. If he isn’t awake by then, you can come back tomorrow.

Suddenly, a slight movement catches your eye. Taehyung's fingers twitch, and his eyelids flutter. You nearly missed it with how lost you were in your thoughts.

Leaning forward with nervous relief, you softly call his name. It takes him a few seconds, but slowly, his eyes blink open. He turns his head slightly, gaze eventually finding yours, and you feel momentarily transfixed. It's unlike you to respond this way, but you had forgotten how piercing and comforting his eyes could be. A genuine smile immediately spreads across his face once your eyes meet, though not as boxy as usual due to his condition. Nevertheless, it's encouraging to see him awake and responsive.

“Hi," his voice is strained but recognizable. "It's...nice to see you."

“The feeling's mutual,” you respond gently. “How are you feeling?”

He shifts slightly, wincing a bit. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he mutters. “I’m sore all over.”

“You had a close call, but you’re in good hands now. Your doctor, Dr. Min, says you'll be okay, as long as you take it easy for a while. He was here earlier this morning, but he'll check in with you again soon.”

"You..." He hesitates, surprise flickering in his eyes. "You've been here since morning? What time is it now?"

"Oh, uh, it's around 1 in the afternoon," you say, gradually realizing the weight of your words. You consider whether or not to tell him the full extent of your stay. “I got here a few hours ago. Don’t worry.”

Taehyung nods slightly, a mix of gratitude and concern evident in his expression. “Thank you for being here,” he murmurs. “I wasn't sure if I'd be alone.”

A sinking feeling settles in your chest at his words, your throat tightening. Before you can ask what he means, he continues, “I must have taken a lot of your weekend from you.” His tone is apologetic, and your heart aches. Here he is, lying on a hospital bed, in pain and vulnerable, and he’s worried about inconveniencing you.

“I'm glad to be here,” you reassure gently. “I promise, you’re not alone. A lot of people care about you.”

Taehyung glances around, taking in the gifts and flowers scattered throughout the room. “From my fans, I’m guessing?” he asks, attempting to keep his tone light.

“And your colleagues too,” you reply. “We all want to see you get better." Taehyung returns his gaze to you, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Neither of you says anything, which unsettles you.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask, the question coming out more hurriedly than intended.

“I drifted in and out for most of the night. It’s hard to get comfortable,” he admits, "I think I could still hear a lot around me. It felt like someone was holding my hand for a few minutes too, but I’m not sure how much of it was real or just dreams, though.”

Oh shit. You weren't expecting that answer.

The possibility that Taehyung might have heard you talking to him last night shouldn't be that embarrassing, yet your mind races with thoughts of what he might have heard or understood in his semi-conscious state. Not only did you share more than you probably should have, but you also touched his hand to feel his pulse, and he felt it.

“Well, um, I'm sorry to hear you had a rough night. You should rest more,” you suggest, trying to compose yourself. "I should get going anyway and let you sleep.” You begin standing from your seat but don't get far before the gentlest of touches brush against your wrist. When you look at Taehyung, he quickly retracts his fingers, concerned he overstepped.

"Shit, I'm sorry, __. I didn't mean to grab at you like that," he says softly. "It's just...would you mind staying with me a little longer, please? I'd really appreciate the company."

You can hear the yearning in his request. It's clear that he doesn't want to be alone, and you don't blame him, especially after the accident he's endured. Settling back into the chair, you agree to stay a bit longer, perhaps another half hour, before heading home; you realize you haven't eaten lunch yet.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks. "We haven't talked in bit."

His question triggers a flood of thoughts, the most recent interaction with your ex-husband being one of them. Up until now, you've managed to push his drunken call out of your mind, preferring to focus on Taehyung instead. However, Jungkook's unexpected confession still throws you for a loop. It's not that you're riddled with the need for clarity on its validity, especially since you don't believe him anyway. How could he claim to love you when he also admits he doesn't understand his own feelings? On top of that, being drunk while doing so—it doesn't make sense.

No, the real question now is what happens next. How do you proceed? Will he try to reach out again? The way he asked if you still loved him before you ended the call weighs on your mind even now.

You know you'll need to discuss this with Melody during your next therapy session.

Before you spiral further, you decide to steer the conversation away from personal matters and opt for a safer topic.

"The company is doing well," you reply with a smile. "The new campaigns we've put out recently have been pretty successful. Although," you add, a hint of curiosity in your tone, "the team has missed your frequent drop-ins, especially Namjoon." If you're honest with yourself, you've missed them too.

"How is he? Namjoon?"

"He's okay, but he's been concerned for you," you answer carefully. "When we heard the news, we came to see you together, but he was quite affected. He promised to visit once you woke up."

"So," Taehyung takes a moment to process. "That was this morning, right?"

"No, actually, it was yesterday."

There's a brief, awkward silence as you sense Taehyung might be thinking the same thing you are—about your presence last night. Surprisingly, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he eyes you curiously, biting down on his lip slightly.

"I meant to stop by last week," he admits. "But we were wrapping up the final scenes of my film shoots. The producers were eager to finish them. I'm just thankful we got them done. I wanted to spend a day riding my bike along a scenic route until... well, until all of this happened. I don't remember much, but I'm just grateful Tan wasn't with me."

"Tan?" you ask, curious now.

"Yeontan, my pomeranian," Taehyung explains with a soft smile. "He means the world to me. My parents take care of him when I'm busy with filming. I was actually planning to drive up and visit them this weekend. And, of course, bring Tan back home with me. They live pretty far from here, so it's better that I go up to them if I can."

Well, that answers the question about his parents not being here yet, you think to yourself.

As Taehyung speaks, you can see a flicker of fondness and relief in his eyes when he mentions his dog. It must have been months since he last saw him.

"I bet you miss him a lot," you comment softly, "Tan."

"I do," he admits with a slight smile, "but I know he's being well taken care of. Hopefully, I can see him soon. And my parents too."

"I understand that feeling," you reply, nodding thoughtfully. "Pets have a way of becoming family, don't they? I had a cat named Evie when I was growing up. She was a feisty little thing with green eyes, always getting into mischief. We got her from the streets and she was so slim, but it didn't take her long to beef up with all the treats we gave her. Whenever I was feeling down, she would curl up next to me, as if she knew. It's funny how they have that kind of intuition, isn't it?"

Taehyung listens intently, a small smile playing on his lips. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment at your tangent. It's one of the few times you've shared something personal about yourself that wasn't work-related. Feeling like you might have overshared, you decide to stop, assuming Taehyung isn't interested in knowing that much.

You chuckle inwardly at yourself.

Jungkook was your husband for three years, and he never seemed to care about such personal details.

I—" you start, intending to apologize, but Taehyung interrupts.

"Did you have any other pets?" he asks, curiosity piqued.

You chuckle softly, reminiscing. "Yeah, we had... uh, god, you don't want to know how many pets we had."

"Try me," his eyes become playful, yet there's a seriousness behind them, like he really wants to know. It's unfamiliar.

"Alright," you chuckle, "aside from Evie, there were three other cats. Calvin and Misha were the adventurous ones, always climbing trees, while Pip was the cuddly lap cat. Then there were two dogs: Toby, our sneaky Chihuahua, and Bella, a terrier who growled at everyone. Oh, and we had three rabbits too. Cute, but also feisty."

Taehyung laughs, "I sense a theme going on."

"What theme?"

"Well," he grins, "It seems like your household was filled with some strong main characters."

You chuckle at his joke. "Yeah, our house was never quiet, that's for sure. Each one had their own personality and quirks."

"You don't have any now though? Pets, I mean," Taehyung asks.

"Sadly, I don't," you reply with a hint of regret. "The company takes up a lot of my time, and I don't think it would be right to leave a pet alone for extended periods. I might consider getting another cat, but right now, focusing on running the company leaves me with little spare time. I miss having them around though."

Taehyung mulls over your word carefully. “If I ever get out of this hospital...maybe I—”

Before he has the chance to finish, the hospital room door opens, and Dr. Min enters, his expression serious yet composed. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, not expecting to see you still here and Taehyung awake. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he begins, glancing between you and his patient. “It’s good to see you up and looking a bit better."

Dr. Min approaches Taehyung's side, opposite to you. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

Taehyung's demeanor shifts instantly, his playful expression fading as he turns to answer. “Pretty sore, honestly,” he replies.

Dr. Min nods. “Let’s run a few checks to see how you’re doing.”

Sensing this is your cue to leave, you rise from your chair and reach out to touch Taehyung's hand. But you stop yourself short. Something about performing the physical action while he’s fully conscious instills a flutter of nerves within you. Instead, you gently tap his shoulder, causing him to meet your eyes. “I think I'll be going now, but it was nice talking to you,” you say softly. "Was there something you wanted to say earlier, though?"

He pauses for a moment before replying, his expression reminiscent of the time a few weeks ago when you declined his dinner invitation. You still don’t understand why he seemed somewhat disappointed; it's not like it was a date. He had made it clear he wanted to go out as colleagues. The only reason you declined was because you didn’t want him feeling pity for you, or the struggles that came with the divorce.

"It's okay, we'll have to save that conversation for another time," Taehyung's voice brings you back to the present. "Enjoy the rest of your day, __. Thanks again for staying with me."

"Of course," you reply, then turn to Dr. Min. "If you wouldn't mind letting me know when and if he can be discharged, I'd appreciate it. And Kim Namjoon too, since we're both nearby." Dr. Min nods in agreement. With that, you sling your bag over your shoulder and exit the room.

“He said what?!” Your best friend Jimin almost shouts through the video call, eyes wide with disbelief. You’ve just finished recounting your ex-husband's unexpected, drunken confession from the previous night. Jimin, who already holds a deep-seated grudge against Jungkook, looks livid.

“He had the nerve to say that to you? While he was drunk?” Jimin continues, his hands clenching into fists.

You nod, feeling a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “Yeah, I told him not to call my number again and he hasn't contacted me since.” As expected, he likely forgot all about it.

“Good,” Jimin declares with a fierce protectiveness, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need that kind of drama in your life, especially not from him. And if he even thinks about calling you again, just say the word, and I'll come down there and handle it personally.” He emphasizes 'personally' with such intensity that it makes you giggle for the first time tonight.

“Thanks, Jimin,” you say, a warm feeling spreading through you at his unwavering support. “I’m just trying to move on, focus on work, and other things.”

Jimin’s expression softens, and he nods firmly. “You're incredibly strong, __. Are you really okay though? It was a huge blow for him to make a confession like that and even though I dislike him, I know you still have some lingering feelings for him. I'm not a fool to believe you're unaffected.”

You take a deep breath, appreciating your best friend's perceptiveness. “It’s complicated. I’m trying so hard to move past everything, especially with Melody's help, and then he just…throws that at me. It’s like he’s trying to pull me back into his mess.”

Jimin’s eyes are filled with concern. “You don’t owe him anything. Remember that. He made his choices, and you have every right to move on without his baggage.”

“I know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “It’s just…easier said than done. But I’m working on it.”

“You’re doing great,” Jimin reassures, his voice gentle. “And you have every right to focus on yourself now. Don’t let him mess with your head.”

You nod, feeling a bit lighter with the support. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”

“I'm always here for you love,” he says, his protective demeanor softening into a warm smile. “Now, enough about that idiot. How’s everything else? Work? Taehyung? Everyone at the office is talking about his unfortunate accident, poor sucker.”

At the mention of your colleague, you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks. Did the heaters in your apartment just turn up or something?

“He’s slowly recovering," you answer. "I saw him this morning and we talked for a bit. He’s... he’s been through a lot.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, “You saw him yesterday too, right? And if my memory serves, you were at the hospital with him until the afternoon. I remember I texted you to see if you were free to call earlier than planned. Something you'd like to tell me?” A teasing grin suddenly spreads across his face, and you shake your head, knowing exactly what he's insinuating. It's like talking to Dr. Min all over again.

“Seriously, Chim, no, it's not like that," you deny instantly, heart racing a little. "He's been my company endorser for a little over six months now, and he’s been nothing but kind to me. With everything he’s been through, I just want to make sure he'll be okay. I feel somewhat responsible for him. Maybe I'm crazy.”

“Responsibility, huh?” Jimin smirks, unconvinced of your denial. “Sure. Because ‘responsibility’ usually makes people blush.”

You wave off his suspicions, a nervous chuckle escaping you. “I’m not, so if you wouldn't mind ceasing your teasing, that'd be great."

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you ask me, it sounds like more than just responsibility. Taehyung seems like a sweet guy, and you care about him. And I sense he feels the same way about you. Don't think I forgot about his little dinner request weeks back.”

You chuckle, brushing off his suspicions. “Oh, come on, enough. Believing that Kim Taehyung has any kind of interest in me is like believing that Jungkook loves me. It’s unfathomable. Taehyung's a colleague, that’s all.”

“Okay, excuse me? Unfathomable?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Someone help! My best friend is selling themselves short, again. __, you’re amazing, and anyone, including Taehyung, would be lucky to have you. That ex-husband of yours was an idiot, but just because he couldn't see what he had doesn’t mean others can’t.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but Jimin’s words hit a soft spot. “Chim, you're sweet, but I'm just saying that Taehyung is on a completely different level. I’m just me... a 30-year-old divorcee with a half-decent startup.” Those alone are enough to have any man steer clear of you.

“Stop this, __. You're much more than that, and it's pretty damn incredible,” Jimin insists, his voice firm. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. That’s not something to brush off. Taehyung sees that. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

You sigh, feeling a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “I appreciate it, Chim. But let’s just drop it, please?”

“Alright, I won't push it," he concedes gently, "just know I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” you reply, feeling a warmth in your heart. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably explode from all that bottled-up stress,” he jokes, making you laugh again. “But seriously, you’re doing great. Just keep taking it one step at a time, and call me if you need anything!”

As the call ends, you’re left with a lot to think about. Jimin’s words echo in your mind, and for a brief second, you find yourself wondering if maybe your best friend is right—that perhaps you do care about your colleague more than you’re willing to admit.

Well, either way, it doesn't matter; you've got enough on your plate as it is.

Starting with the stack of papers laid out on the coffee table, work you brought home that's awaiting your attention. It's a critical deal for your startup, one that could secure much-needed funding and propel your business to the next level.

Sighing softly, you reach for your laptop and open the latest project proposal.

You start your Sunday as you always do, with a book in hand, heading to your favorite café. It’s a ritual that’s been with you since your teenage years, and today, you feel a desperate need for its familiar comfort. After wrapping up the project proposal late into the night, your brain craved a break.

Entering the quaint café, you’re greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversation. Finding a cozy spot by the large window, you settle in for a day of reading, occasionally looking up to observe people passing by outside.

Hours slip away unnoticed in the serene atmosphere, lost in the pages of your book. Somewhere along the way, mid-sentence, your thoughts subconsciously drift to a conversation with Taehyung weeks before his accident—the day of your six-month anniversary.

You remember how he mentioned his interest in books that day, leaving you curious about what he enjoys reading. You imagine he might be into classic authors like Charles Dickens or Oscar Wilde. Then again, you might be mistaken.

Refocusing on your book, you manage to read another paragraph before thoughts of Taehyung intrude again. Did he have any company today? You quietly hope Namjoon paid him a visit. "Okay, __, calm down," you tell yourself, "Taehyung will be fine, and Namjoon definitely would have visited him now that he's awake." With a determined effort, you return to your book.

It isn't until the sun begins its descent that you decide it's time to pack up your things and head home. Passing by the hospital on your way, a sense of restlessness tugs at you once more. Should you stop and see Taehyung, even if only for a few minutes? The thought lingers, but then you recall Dr. Min's pending update on his discharge status. Maybe it's best to wait for his confirmation.

You continue driving, but the concern refuses to leave your mind. Eventually, you make a decisive turn, heading back towards the hospital. It wouldn't be as lengthy as last time—just a quick visit to check on how he's doing.

When you arrive at the hospital, you hesitate for a moment outside the entrance. It's Sunday evening, and visiting hours are likely limited. You check your phone quickly to see if Dr. Min has sent any updates, but there's nothing new.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to go in anyway.

Taehyung is awake when the nurse leads you to his room, casually flipping through a magazine. He looks up, his expression softening into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping inside. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I hope it's okay."

"It's more than okay," he replies warmly, setting the magazine aside. "I'm happy to see you."

You nod, feeling relieved that he isn't disturbed by your presence.

"Though, in all honesty," he continues, "I didn't expect you back today."

"I just wanted to check on you and make sure you're okay," you admit quietly, taking a seat nearby. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm better, just a bit sore still," he says sincerely, his gaze meeting yours. "What about you? How's your Sunday been?"

"Quiet," you respond with a small smile. "Spent most of it reading at a café, and then decided to stop by here."

"Really?" His interest piqued, he asks, "Which one? Sometimes I do the same thing when I have some free time. Or, I'll read at the beach too. It's relaxing."

"Well, have you tried the one on Willow Street? I've been a regular there since I was 16."

"No... I'm not familiar with that one," he admits, "I usually go to the one on 5th."

"5th? You know, I don't recall a café on 5th, unless..." you pause, realization dawning, "oh no," you blurt out unintentionally.

"What?" Taehyung's eyes twinkle with amusement at your spontaneous reaction. "Have you been?"

You hesitate to answer, not wanting to risk offending him.

"Yes..."

"And?" Crap, you were hoping he wouldn't ask for details.

"Um... it's okay," you reply simply.

"What? Just okay?" Taehyung exclaims, feigning offense. "Their coffee and tea are decent, and they have those comfy armchairs by the window."

"I know, but there's just something about it," you reply with a playful shrug. "Maybe it's the lighting, or maybe I'm just picky."

"Fair enough," he chuckles. "Maybe I'll check out this Willow Street café sometime. You've been going there for years, so it must be good."

"Well, I highly recommend it." You can't help but feel a bit smug, though you try to keep a straight face. It's just nice to have someone take your suggestion seriously. "You'll have to tell me your review of the place if you go."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully in reply, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of admiration. You look away, pretending to straighten your jacket. Why is he staring like that? You're not used to being looked at without some sense of hostility.

Just as you begin to feel a bit awkward, the door swings open, and a nurse peeks inside.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says kindly, "but visiting hours are over for the evening."

You glance at your watch, surprised at how quickly time has flown. "Oh, okay," you reply, a touch disappointed. "I'll be heading out then, thank you."

Once the nurse leaves, you direct your focus back to Taehyung. He smiles understandingly, sitting up a bit straighter. "Thanks for stopping by," he says warmly.

"Yeah, of course," you reply, gathering your things. "Did Dr. Min mention having you discharged any time soon?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing yet. Might be here for a couple more days."

You nod, feeling sympathy for his extended stay. "Well, take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Taehyung assures you with a grateful smile. He watches as you make your way to the door, but just before you can twist the metal knob, he speaks up agian. "Uhm...if you have time tomorrow, I wouldn't mind if you came in again. It was nice to...chat."

For the first time, Taehyung seems to stumble over his words. As someone who's naturally charismatic, not to mention a skilled actor, there's a hint of nervousness in his voice.

When you turn your head to glance back at him, his smile has faded, replaced by a hopeful look, hands gently clutching the blankets.

"Sure," you agree to his innocent request, somehow unable to resist. "I'll try to stop in tomorrow if I can."

His boxy smile returns instantly as he bids you one final goodnight.

As you walk out of the room, that same smile lingers in your mind—you're glad you decided to come by.

In the days that follow, you find yourself at Taehyung's hospital bed every evening after work. Initially fulfilling his wishes, you gradually realize you've grown fond of his company. Taehyung turns out to be easy to talk to, a good listener who encourages questions you wouldn't normally ask within office walls. Here you are again, immersed in yet another spontaneous conversation that neither of you minds.

"So, what's it really like?" you inquire, curiosity lacing your voice. "Being an actor? And what about kissing strangers? I've heard some co-stars end up together after playing an onscreen couple for so long."

Taehyung chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Being an actor is both exhilarating and challenging," he begins, reflecting on his experiences. "Kissing scenes... well, they're not as glamorous as they seem on screen. There are a lot of technical aspects to consider, like camera angles and timing. As for getting involved with co-stars outside of filming, I wouldn't be familiar with that. I prefer to keep those lines pretty separate."

You listen intently, fascinated by his insights into a world so different from your own. But one thing sticks out to you—how does he handle kissing scenes if he were to be in a relationship? Wouldn't that get complicated?

"I often wonder what I'd do if I had a partner," Taehyung muses suddenly, his voice thoughtful, as if sensing your unspoken question. "About the kiss scenes, I mean. I haven't actually dated for a while." Really? You think, he cant be serious...

"I'd imagine they'd be understanding since it's part of the job," you offer, trying to match his contemplative tone.

"Is that how you'd respond?" Taehyung's question catches you off guard.

"Me?" you ask, feeling slightly dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I'm just curious. Would you be okay with that?"

"Uhm... well, honestly, probably not," you admit, feeling a bit awkward. "I think I'd have a hard time wrapping my mind around it. I'd kind of feel like I was sharing my partner. I don't want to share like that."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, you mentally chastise yourself. You definitely said too much.

To your surprise, Taehyung merely gives a small smile in response. "I think I'd feel the same," he says softly.

The subject ends there, as the conversation soon shifts to his latest project instead—a romantic comedy series titled with a playful nod to a four-leaf clover.

"You know, I've never seen a four-leaf clover in my life," you admit with a slight chuckle.

Taehyung laughs softly, his eyes brightening. "Really? They're supposed to bring good luck, you know."

"Good luck, huh? I guess I've never had the pleasure," you replied with a grin.

"Well, then it's settled," he declared with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll find one for you once I'm out of here," he promises warmly.

You smile, exchanging a silent moment before hitting him with your next question. "Do you watch your own shows or movies?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Taehyung's expression shifts subtly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Honestly, I don't," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I guess I've always felt a bit awkward seeing myself on screen. It's strange, right?"

You reassure him with a smile. "It's not so far-fetched, but I don't think there's anything to be embarrassed about. You're talented, Taehyung. I'm sure your performances are amazing."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully but then quirks an eyebrow at you. "But have you actually seen any of my work? It's a little cheesy."

You hesitate, feeling a touch sheepish. "Honestly, no," you confess. "I've never watched any of your shows or movies. But I will!"

A flicker of déjà vu crosses Taehyung's face, his expression turning thoughtful. "That's funny," he murmurs. "I feel like I've heard those exact words before, recently."

You chuckle nervously, trying to lighten the mood. He can't be referring to that night you spoke to him while he was asleep, right? "Maybe it's just a sign that I need to catch up on all the great acting I've been missing out on," you quip, hoping to diffuse any awkwardness.

Taehyung grins, his playful demeanor returning. "Well, I'll hold you to that. You'll have to give me your honest review."

"Deal," you agree with a nod. "So, as much as I hate to cut this short, I think I'm going to have to get going now."

"I understand, it's past 6:30 pm. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," you reply warmly. "Get some rest."

By Thursday afternoon, you finally receive the long-awaited call from Dr. Min, informing you that Taehyung will be discharged the next morning. You're relieved that Taehyung is healthy enough to continue his recovery at home. Seeing him yesterday, he looked the best he's been since his accident. However, a small part of you feels annoyed that Dr. Min didn't call you—he called Namjoon instead.

It was an ordinary afternoon when your secretary's phone rang. Namjoon was crouched over at his desk, concentrating on a number of spreadsheets just moments before. You remember leaping over to him as soon as you heard the words, "he's ready for discharge tomorrow," leave his lips.

It's now Friday morning, and you're standing in front of your secretary's desk.

"So, you're off to pick up Taehyung now?" you ask, as casually as you can. You do your best to ignore the lingering irritation growing inside you.

"Yeah," your secretary finally replies, glancing up from his screen. "I'll drive over to the hospital in about half an hour."

"Okay." You nod, biting your tongue. So what if Namjoon gets to pick him up instead of you? It's fine, you should get over it.

It's just a little odd that Dr. Min chose to call Namjoon instead of you though. You know for a fact you've been much more involved with Taehyung's well-being than he has.

Of course, Taehyung and Namjoon are good friends, but your secretary has only gone to see him twice over the past week his buddy's been in the hospital. You've been there every day, so wouldn't it make sense that you be called first?

Evidently not.

Namjoon will be taking Taehyung home, and you likely won't be seeing him at all today. In fact, you're not even sure when you'll see him next. Technically, you have his address stored away in an HR file, but you're no creep. And you most certainly are not about to show up at his place unannounced.

It's not like Taehyung has texted you today either. Not even a quick update on his condition.

"Um..." Namjoon starts, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "Is there something else you wanted to say? I feel like you're kinda hovering over me now, to be quite honest."

"Oh, sorry," you respond, stepping back a bit. You didn't realize you were staring at him, wordless, for longer than normal. "Nothing else. Drive safe."

As if seeing right through you, Namjoon's expression softens. "If you want to see how Taehyung is, you can just text him. I'm sure he'll respond to you."

"No, it's okay," you quickly dismiss the suggestion. You don't want to bombard a man who's just getting out of the hospital with your texts. You'll leave him alone to rest.

Namjoon gives you a knowing look, eyeing your slightly hesitant state. "I'm serious, boss. Text him. You've been at his side this entire week, so if there's anyone who'd be more deserving of knowing what's up, it’d be you."

Deserving? That's a bit far, is it not? Yes, you've been visiting him, but it's not like you saved his life or anything. It's not that big of a deal. You just wanted to...make sure he was okay.

"I—When did you decide to call me boss again?" you switch subjects, but Namjoon remains unaffected.

"Text him," Namjoon says for the final time before reaching for his keys in his desk drawer. "I gotta get going, but I'll be back after I drop Tae off."

"Tae?" You haven't heard him called that before.

"Yeah, it's kinda a pet name. Sorry, I started calling him that once we became friends, so it slips out here and there. It's like second nature now."

"Got it," you nod, a bit disappointed. Maybe you weren't as close to Taehyung as you thought. "Make sure he gets home okay," you finish.

"I will." Namjoon gets up from his desk and heads out of the office. You turn around and return to your own office once he's out of sight.

While Namjoon is out, his phone rings incessantly. You find yourself getting up from your desk multiple times to take calls. By the afternoon, you're exhausted from the constant interruptions.

Maybe you should consider giving the poor man a raise.

Before the thought fully develops, his phone rings again. You don't even bother checking the caller ID anymore; you simply pick up the phone and answer in your sweetest voice.

"__? I thought I’d be hearing Namjoon first... hey," his voice is hesitant. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"Jungkook," you reply cautiously, instantly recognizing his voice. "Why are you calling my work phone?"

"I... I didn't know how else to reach you. Can I come in or can you come into the parking lot? I have something to give you."

You pause, feeling a rush of unease. You haven’t spoken to Jungkook since last Friday when he called you out of the blue. Honestly, you hoped you wouldn’t hear from him, especially after telling him not to call again. It's strange that he keeps finding ways to show up unexpectedly.

"What is it you need to give me, Jungkook?" you ask bluntly, "I'm very busy."

There’s a brief silence on the other end before he answers, "It’s... It’s something personal. I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Please, can you just come down for a moment?"

You weigh your options, torn between curiosity and apprehension. His unpredictability lately has left you unsure of what to expect. "Jungkook, I really don’t think—"

"Please," he interrupts, his voice sounding more urgent. "I promise it won’t take long."

Taking a deep breath, you decide to handle this with as much grace as you can muster. "Fine. I’ll be down in a minute."

You end the call and sit back, trying to steady your thoughts. His sudden request feels odd, and part of you worries about what he might say or do next. As you make your way to the parking lot, you mentally prepare yourself for another potentially difficult encounter.

When you arrive, Jungkook stands near his car, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His usual confident demeanor seems replaced by a sense of unease.

"Hey," he starts, his voice tentative, "thanks for agreeing to meet."

You give a brief nod, keeping your tone neutral. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting yours. "I wanted to apologize," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for calling you up drunk."

You feel a flicker of irritation. This is what he wanted to give you? An apology that's seven days late? You figured he would have just forgone the apology by now.

"Why now?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, a defense mechanism you've developed. "It's been a week. I’m not sure if you realize that or not though."

"I know," he says quickly, his eyes earnest. "I wanted to come sooner, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or just never hear from me again."

You scoff slightly, "Well, for the first time, you are completely right. I don't want to see you, Jungkook." You try to keep your voice steady, but the raw edges of your emotions bleed through. There’s no point sugarcoating it at this stage; he’ll just keep pushing your boundaries if you don’t become firm with him.

He winces at your words, nodding slowly. "You have every right to feel that way. I messed up, big time. I just wanted you to know that I'm truly sorry. You deserve someone who isn't as screwed up as I am. But I still mean everything I said that night. I do love you. It took me until now to realize that, apparently."

You sigh, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Love? Now? After everything? Somehow, it feels more like a burden than anything.

"Jungkook, love isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card," you say slowly, your voice somewhat shaky. "It's not something you can just throw out there to fix things. Not only did you divorce me, but you also led me to believe we could actually be something. All those weeks of you being attentive and showing up for me after I shared my feelings made me believe that you were honestly trying to make our marriage work, that you were committed. You lied to me, discarded me, and now that I'm not around, you suddenly miss me? No, I'm sorry. You broke my trust, and that's not something you can just apologize away."

You pause, feeling the weight of your words settle in the tense air between you and Jungkook.

He looks down, nodding again. "I get it. I really do. And I don't expect you to forgive me or anything. I just wanted you to know that I understand how much I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I understand if you hate me."

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to stir inside. "Jungkook," you begin carefully, meeting his eyes. "What happened between us was painful. You calling me drunk last week was also painful. I'm sorry about the challenges you had with your parents, but it's no excuse to put that on others. If you need someone to discuss personal matters with, I suggest you see a professional."

You pause, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I don't hate you, okay? I'm not that cold-hearted. There's still part of me that I think might always hold space for you, but I can't just forget everything. I need to move on, and that means you can't keep calling me at random times. It’s not fair to either of us. I appreciate the apology, but I don't think we can go much further."

He nods solemnly, understanding your stance. "Okay," Jungkook replies softly, his voice filled with a sadness you hadn’t expected. "I understand. I'll respect your wishes and leave you alone. Take care of yourself, okay? I...I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me," he says, his eyes earnest. "And... I'm really sorry for everything."

He begins to back away toward his car, and as he does, it hits you—it’s over.

"Take care, Jungkook," you say gently. "Don't overwork yourself, alright? Stay healthy."

He looks at you, forcing a smile. "You know I can't do that. It isn't in my blood." He sings the last part, referencing a song you both used to joke about, and you let out a small chuckle despite yourself.

"God, Jeon, I thought you'd stop with that song by now." you say, shaking your head.

"Nah," he replies, shaking his head with a faint grin as he opens his car door. "I'm taking it to my grave. I'll see you later, __."

You know the last part is a lie, an empty promise to soften the blow. Still, you respond, "Yeah, see you."

With that, you part ways in the parking lot, each going your separate ways. As you walk back to your office, the weight of the finality settles in. It's all over, you think, feeling the sting of a single tear trailing down your cheek. Unbeknownst to you, a similar tear streams down Jungkook's face as he drives away, each tear falling for completely different reasons.

Two weeks pass, and Jungkook keeps his word. He hasn’t called, texted, or shown up at your work. It’s as if he’s become a stranger, someone you once knew but is now part of a distant past.

Your days begin to regain a sense of normalcy. The emotional weight of the past few months slowly starts to lift, allowing you to refocus on your work and personal well-being. The company demands your attention, and you dive into projects, meetings, and strategies with a renewed energy.

Yet, despite the return to routine, there's a persistent sense of something missing. You haven’t talked to Taehyung at all since he got discharged from the hospital. You haven’t seen him either, and the silence pulls at you more each day.

Every time you try to get information about him from Namjoon, he gives you the same response: "Just text him. Don’t overthink it; he’ll be glad to hear from you." Once, you sensed that Namjoon wanted to say more but stopped himself short, making the excuse that it wasn’t for him to say. Whatever that meant.

You’re on your way home from running errands when the thought enters your mind for the umpteenth time: should you text Taehyung?

You’re torn between respecting his privacy and wanting to check in on him. He hasn’t reached out, so maybe he’s trying to distance himself or just needs time to recover alone, now that he’s in the comfort of his own home. On the other hand, you can’t shake the feeling that checking in would be the right thing to do.

As you approach your apartment building, you pull over into a quiet parking spot, letting your car idle. Gripping your phone, you take a deep breath and finally decide to text him.

You: Hey, Taehyung. I hope you’re doing well. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling. Let me know if you need anything. We still miss you at the office!

You stare at the message for a moment before hitting send. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as you wait. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he doesn't want to hear from you?

You end up deleting the message entirely.

Forget it, you think, if he wanted to hear from you he would have texted by now, right? Just leave it alone. You said you'd support him while he was in the hospital and you did. Now he needs his space to finish healing. He'll reach out when he's ready.

Your phone buzzes the next minute, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glance at it, half hoping that Taehyung was secretly telepathic. But it isn’t from him. Instead, it’s a notification from a friend inviting you to a small get-together this coming weekend.

Smiling, you accept the invitation.

Turns out your friend's get-together was a singles mixer. Unsurprisingly, you weren't approached much, if at all. It seemed the men were either too nervous, still associating you with your ex-husband, or not quite into accomplished women. That didn't stop them from ogling you, though, as your friend insisted that you dress for the affair. You didn't choose anything flashy, but it was certainly flattering.

Leaving without a phone number didn't bother you, though. At thirty years old, most of the people were younger than you, including your friend who was a couple of years younger. Plus, you found your mind often wandering to the one man you hadn't heard from in nearly three weeks—Kim Taehyung. Should you stop overthinking and finally listen to Namjoon's suggestion? Maybe it's time to contact him.

Lost in thought on your drive home, you snap back to reality when you slam on the brakes at a sudden red light. Damn, you hadn't noticed it change so quickly. Shaking off any lingering daze, you refocus and spot a man crossing the street ahead, a little dog trotting beside him on a leash.

"Taehyung," you whisper to yourself. "What is he doing out here, especially on this slipper—shit!"

Your heart skips a beat as Taehyung stumbles on the ice, struggling to keep his balance. Concerned, you pull up to the side of the road as soon as the light turns green, parking quickly and jumping out of your car to rush over to him. He leans against a brick building, his dog, Tan, yelping at your approach. Cute little guy, but you're focus is on Taehyung.

"Damn," he mutters, trying to steady himself. His eyes widen when he catches sight of you. "__, I—" he begins.

"What are you doing, Kim Taehyung?" you scold gently. "Are you trying to hurt yourself again?"

Taehyung meets your gaze, his Gucci scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. "No," he replies earnestly. "I just needed some fresh air. It's been nearly three weeks since I was discharged, and Dr. Min said short walks with Tan are okay now. My parents were here for a while, but they left this weekend."

His explanation sinks in as you take in his appearance. Despite the chill in the air, he looks better than the last time you saw him. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the cold, and there's a determination in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You should be more careful," you reply softly, stepping closer to him. Tan, sensing the shift in attention, continues to bark happily, tail wagging. "Are you okay? My car is right here, if you need me to take you home or anything."

Taehyung nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know, I know. Sorry for worrying you." He gestures to Tan, who is now circling around your legs in excitement. "Tan here doesn't seem to mind the ice at all, and surprisingly, he doesn't mind you either."

You chuckle softly, crouching down to pet the little dog. "Is he usually this friendly?"

"Not at first, no," Taehyung replies, his tone lighter now. He glances down at you, his eyes softening. "I'm glad I ran into you, though. It's been...a while."

You nod, standing to your feet. "It has. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"I am," he affirms, his gaze steady on yours. "Thanks to you, mostly. You were there for me when I needed it the most."

"Oh, come on," you say, waving off the comment. "I didn't do that much."

Taehyung's smile widens, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You did more than you realize."

You feel a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at his words, but you maintain eye contact, appreciating the warmth in his gaze. The longer you stand there, staring at each other, the uneasier you feel. Perhaps you shouldn't ask the question that's been on your mind, but it slips out before you can stop it.

"Why didn't you call?" you ask, surprising both yourself and Taehyung as he simultaneously voices the exact same question.

Taken aback by the simultaneous question, you both chuckle nervously, breaking the tension. Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

"I thought about it every day," he admits, his voice quiet but sincere. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted to hear from me. I already took so much of your time, and I didn't want to ask more from you. So, I asked Namjoon to pick me up from the hospital. I thought maybe it would be better for me to wait for you to reach out and focus on recovering."

You nod, understanding flooding your expression. "I felt quite similar. I thought maybe you asked Namjoon because he's your friend. I didn't want to hound you when you just got released from the hospital, so I decided to let you recover in peace. I guess in the end, I was also waiting for you to reach out with an update of some kind."

Taehyung takes a few seconds to fully absorb your words before replying. "I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes reflecting genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was avoiding you. I would have been more than happy with you picking me up instead of Namjoon. I realize that I should have at least reached out to update you instead of going silent. I'd like to think of you as my friend too. But I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I just didn't want to burden you." His gaze becomes downcast as he stares at the ground beneath him.

You're unsure where you find the courage, but you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, gently lifting his face so he meets your eyes. You have to stand on your tiptoes a bit, which he finds endearing.

"I’d like to consider you my friend too, and that means you shouldn't worry about burdening me anymore, Tae," you say softly, your touch lingering momentarily on his face, caught up in the moment. When you realize what you've done, you pull back slightly, flustered. "Um… sorry, I didn't mean to call you that."

"It's okay," he responds, his voice gentle. "I don't mind. You can call me Tae from now on if you'd like. Also, you're not a burden either, you never were to me."

You're speechless for a second before replying. "So, friends then?" you ask. "No more mixed signals and reaching out when we want?"

"I mean, I’d like that as long as you do too," he confirms with a warm smile, though his eyes say there's more that he's left unsaid. You don't notice, however.

"Text me whenever you have something on your mind," he continues.

"I will," you promise. “You too.”

"Definitely.” Taehyung pauses, glancing down at Tan who's decided to lay down by his feet. "So, I was going to take a walk with Tan at the park nearby. Any chance you'd like to join me?" His gaze shifts back to you, hopeful yet uncertain.

"I'd like that," you reply genuinely. "But we're taking my car over, so you don't break a hip on this ice, old man."

Taehyung's mouth gapes open as he shakes his head. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm only two years older than you. Two!"

It's surreal.

How much you and Taehyung have started becoming friends, that is.

Almost two months have already passed, and it feels like just yesterday you were merely colleagues, you his boss.

Saturdays have become your day with Taehyung now. While part of you insists it's to prevent him from slipping on the ice again, deep down, you both know there's more to it now that he's almost fully recovered from his injuries.

Each weekend, you find yourselves exploring different parks and streets, swapping childhood stories, and sharing laughter over the dumbest things. Today, however, would be different. With rain threatening to drench the city, Taehyung suggested a change of plans—a cozy movie day indoors. Little did he know, you had a surprise in store for him.

You dash up to the front door, a bag of homemade food in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

Taehyung opens the door with a grin, holding his own umbrella. "Hey! Perfect timing," he chuckles, taking the umbrella from you and gesturing inside. "Come in. It's freezing out there today."

You step inside, shaking off the raindrops and removing your shoes. The warmth of his home envelopes you, a comforting contrast to the chilly rain outside.

"I brought something," you announce, holding up the bag. "Guess what it is?"

Taehyung looks at you curiously, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Hmm," he muses, pretending to ponder. "Knowing you, it's probably my favorite spicy chicken wings from that place near your office."

"Very close, Tae. Except these chicken wings were made by your favorite person in the whole world," you tease, handing him the bag with a grin.

Taehyung's eyes lit up as he takes the bag from you. "No way," he says, a mix of disbelief and excitement in his voice. "You made them yourself? You're the best, __. Seriously."

"It's the least I could do," you reply with a smile, following him into the living room where the TV flickers. "Besides, it's pouring out there. Movie day with good food seems like the perfect plan."

"Absolutely," he agrees, setting the food down on the coffee table. "I was thinking we could start with that new action flick I heard about."

"Aww, but I thought you said we could watch one of your movies instead?" you argue playfully, sinking into the couch. Tan bounds over, wagging his tail in excitement at the prospect of company. You scratch behind his ears while Taehyung sets up the movie.

"What? I don't remember saying that. Was I drunk that day?" he jokes.

"Well... maybe?" you tease back.

"I told you, __, I don't like watching my own films. It's weird, and half the time it's me kissing the female lead. You're going to need to watch those on your own time," he quips, his tone more serious than intended. The truth is, he really would rather not be there when you watch him kiss his co-stars.

"Alright, alright, getting aggressive over there," you chuckle, not seeing the faint rosy tint that's crept up on his cheeks. "We'll watch the action movie."

As the opening scenes roll, you can't help but steal glances at Taehyung. Despite the seriousness of his recent health issues, he seems more at ease today, a genuine smile gracing his face as he takes a seat beside you. It feels good to see him like this, relaxed and feeling more like himself.

Halfway through the movie, he nudges you gently. "Thanks for coming over today," he says softly, his gaze warm as it meets yours. "And for the food, of course."

"You don't have to thank me," you reply sincerely, nudging him back with a smile. "I'm happy to do it."

Unexpectedly, Taehyung reaches for the TV remote, pausing the scene playing in front of you. "Hey, __," he says, turning to face you, a hint of nervousness in his eyes as they shift from side to side.

"What is it, Tae?" You feel a slight unease, sensing tension. He's once again just staring into your eyes, wordless.

"Do you..." he starts but stops short, his voice trailing off.

"Yes?" You search his face for clues as to what he's trying to say.

"Would you want to go to a party with my family?" he finally asks, his words coming out in a rush. "My parents are hosting to celebrate my recovery, but really it's just an excuse to get the family together."

"So, a family reunion?" Your voice drops slightly, a mix of surprise and...disappointment? Why had you been expecting something different?

"I mean, yes, sort of. You don't have to if you don't want to," he adds quickly, almost anxiously. "I know it might be uncomfortable for you, but you've been here for me during so much of my recovery. It would mean a lot to have you there. My parents want to meet you too."

"Um... well, I've never been to a family function before," you admit hesitantly.

"You haven't?" Taehyung looks genuinely surprised.

You shake your head. "My family's never been one to do those types of things."

"Well, consider yourself part of my family then. Come with me, __. They'll love you."

"I-I don't know about that," you say softly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. "How can you be so sure that they'll like me?"

"Because I do," he urges gently, "and if I like you, so will they."

You're taken aback by his words, unsure how to respond. Surely he means this in a platonic way. Despite growing closer, you and Taehyung are just friends, setting aside any previous suspicions of romantic interest. Maybe if circumstances were different—if you weren't divorced—then maybe you could entertain the idea.

For now, you'll leave that side of him alone and simply be his friend. You feel a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

"Okay," you finally say, nodding your head. "I'll come. When is it?"

"They want to do it next weekend, weather permitting. We can carpool if you'd like, or you can take your own car," he offers.

"I'll think about it," you reply, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Great." Taehyung flashes a boxy grin. "Thank you, I was so nervous to ask."

"Of course," you say, offering a tight-lipped smile. Taehyung unpauses the movie, and you return your attention to the TV screen. Minutes following your phone buzzes and a text message from Jimin appears on your screen.

Chim 🐥: __! Hate to be bringing this up, but have you seen the news about Jungkook? Looks like he's preparing to step down as CEO. Did you know about this?"

What? You had no clue.

a/n: If you are mad at me, well....I'm sorry but pls blame jk instead. But I am hoping you enjoyed! 🥰 vote jjk or kth

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[seichv]

❛ WITH YOUR MOUTH.❜

clean up after yourself when you make a mess. 2.3k words.

contents: nsfw content (mdni), f!reader, daddy kink (mentioned like once), oral (both receiving), p in v, creampie, squirting, toji calls you: brat, sweetheart, slut, baby, etc.

note: i have risen from the dead friends ;D seriously though, its been a while since ive written... life's been wild of late and i was lacking motivation but im back on my zoom now hehe (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

you might have fucked up.

down spills the coffee that you chucked at toji, the brawny man standing motionless with a look of amusement as the hot liquid poured down his body, the sound of the cup tumbling onto the ground echoing in the kitchen. what exactly led to that? you may ask. quite frankly, you don’t even remember. it was likely another one of those days where you had a stick up your ass just because; with your bratty attitude leading you to get all pissy about every little thing.

and here you are, your pupils dilating as you freeze in place while watching toji’s expression. it remains indifferent for the most part, as you would expect from someone like him. that’s until his eyes trail back up to meet your face, and there’s something about his gaze that just shifts in a way. you’re gulping, your body stiffening in alarm. there’s a faint chuckle that escapes his lips before he speaks up with that gravelly voice of his. 

“c’mere.” he tells you. you know better than to disregard him, so you start stepping closer to him. though just because you’re listening to him doesn't mean you’ll do away with the bitter expression you got going on, as it's still very prominently plastered onto your face. and these steps youre taking, they’re slow as fuck. you’re definitely mistaken if you think that he’s got the patience for that shit right now.

because of that, in a blink of an eye you’ve got your throat seized by one of his meaty hands, yanking you closer and forcing you to maintain eye contact. his figure looms over yours, and you can almost see some veins seeping through his neck. “you just had to pull that shit on me, huh?” you could practically just say that he’s spitting venom with the way he's speaking. you narrowed your eyes, sucking in a sharp breath before speaking. “well, had you not been a total jackass—” 

“yeah?” toji cuts you off, his face lowering some more as his head tilts to the side, giving your throat a little squeeze. you've got some real nerve with the back-talk, and he really isn't in the mood for tolerating that shit anymore. he looks down at his drenched, coffee-stained shirt, his tongue poking out to lick the scar at the corner of his mouth before he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh.

“clean up the motherfucking mess you made,” he says. now, that would initially give you the thought of wiping the ground with a towel or mop, and maybe doing him the favor of throwing his shirt in the laundry, right? 

“with your mouth.”

… wait, what?

your eyes go wide, and you're glaring up at the man like he’s got 10 heads. he doesn't look like he's joking, really. and that’s because he’s not. it takes you a hot minute before you could get words out of your mouth. “... huh? the fuck is wrong with you? clean the damn floor with my mouth?! what’s that supposed to mean, you gross bastard—”

“to hell with the fucking floor.” he interrupts. “i didn’t say nothin’ bout the floor, dumb brat.” toji adds, his fingers trailing up toward your jaw, taking your face in his hand as he turned it side to side as he spoke, as if he were trying to get your attention. i mean, there's only one other mess other than the one on the floor. the mess on him. before you could open your mouth to muster up a response, toji speaks again. “tch, yeah. keep staring at me like a dumb little girl,” your body temperature begins to soar with his words. “take off my shirt.”

you honestly cannot believe this man. you blink rapidly with furrowed eyebrows, stuttering like a broken record. “toji, what are you even going on about right now—” 

“nah, sweetheart. don’t give me that crap.” what is this, the 1000th fucking time this man has interrupted you? goddamnit. “take. off. the. shirt.” toji repeats himself, putting emphasis on each word like he’s talking to a complete moron. you started chuckling to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head with a look on your face that read, ‘he’s got to be kidding.’

“yeah, no. toji, give me a fucking break.” you responded, snickering between your words, and ooh toji was just itching to bend you over the damn counter and fuck you till you’re screaming… to get those vocal cords to rupture. there will never be a single day where he’d hesitate to get you to straighten the fuck up.

before you know it, both of toji’s hands grab your wrists, almost painfully. he then starts walking, backing you up to the kitchen counter. once he’s got you pushed up against it, he pulls your hands onto his abdomen, staring dangerously into your eyes.

though you wouldn't want to admit it, you can’t help but feel a growing ache between your legs at the feeling of those shredded abs of his. his body is something different. toji’s eyes flicker up and down from your hands and back to your eyes, a smug grin laying across his face at how small your hands are on his big, muscular body. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, your tough and bratty facade slowly diminishing as you leisurely began lifting toji’s shirt, a satisfied hum escaping his lips at your compliance; though it took rather longer than he wanted.

you now have got quite the nice look at his abs, and there goes the throbbing sensation again in your cunt. fuck… he’s hot. “yeahh, now you got that mouth shut, huh? drooling and gawking over my body. hah, go on then.” toji boasts, his teeth showing through that damn smirk. you’re unable to hold it in any longer, your hands dragging toji’s shirt up as he pulls his head out, letting the fabric drop to the ground with your stomach churning at the sight of his bare upper body. you quickly kneeled, your composure flying right out the window. 

your mouth latches onto his lower stomach, your tongue roaming along his skin. if your eyes peered a bit lower, you’d be able to get a peek at the growing bulge in toji’s sweats. you can hear slightly muted curses coming from under his breath, and you were being sloppy with it, your lashes batting as you looked up at him. your tongue started traveling upward, just barely reaching his chest until a grunt-like huff is let out from toji.

he now pulls you off by the hair, coaxing a small gasp for your lips. “fuck .. you’re putting that slutty mouth on my cock now.” he mutters, reaching for his pants before you take care of them for him, eagerly dragging them down along with his boxers, his girthy length springing right out.

without another second to waste, your tongue lolls out, one of your hands wrapped around the base of his dick while you slapped the tip on your wet muscle, drawing a throaty grunt from him. he loved it when you put on a show for him like that. you then take him all the way in, a nasty moan slipping from your throat at the way his big cock had given you a whole mouthful. saliva drips down from your lips, and you begin bobbing your head up and down, the lewd noises blaring in your ears. 

“shiiit… look at you. fuckin’ pacified by this dick, huh?” his voice is gruff yet slightly shaky, and god… you’re obsessed with hearing his noises, how you make him feel. “one minute she’s yappin’ like a bitchy little brat, next minute she’s mmf— taking this dick down her throat like a dirty slut... tch.” his words had your pussy leaking, you can feel your panties beginning to soak. your eyebrows curled inward as you kept your eyes on him, tears threatening to prickle at the corners of your eyes from how full he was stuffing your mouth, hitting your uvula.

in the middle of sucking him off, you pulled up your shirt with one hand, just enough for your tits to show out. now both your hands begin to fondle with your tits as you continue to suck him off, and this draws a long ass moan from toji, watching you slobber on him with no hands had him fucked. you can see how his lower abdomen was caving in with each breath he took, and that's when he takes a hold of your jaw, pulling you off of him, your lips sliding off with a pop. you had him on the brink of cumming, and he didn't want to just yet. he needed your pretty pussy.

you lick your lips with a smile, standing up on your feet as toji hoists you up by the waist, propping you up onto the counter. he hauls your shorts down in an instant, a string of your slick following your panties and toji sneers at the sight. “pretty pussy’s all wet f’me, hm?” you nod eagerly, and he slides a thumb down your clit, causing your hips to jerk, which has him chuckling to himself yet again. “mhmm… relax yourself, needy girl.” 

toji hikes your legs up, your hands hooking beneath your knees so you could hold them up for him. he gets between your legs, blowing on your clit and prompting you to clench around nothing. “tojiii…” you drag his name out in a whine, before toji kisses on your pussy.

“didn’t i tell you to relax? don’t fuckin’ ‘tojiii~’ me.” he mocks, finally diving in to your heat, his tongue delving right between your folds. your head immediately falls back, your lips parting open while lewd little mewls flee from your lips. he’s a messy eater, a mixture of your arousal and his saliva smearing all over your pussy lips and drizzling down his chin. it’s slurp after slurp, your body twitching with no stop, your eyes rolled back to your skull with your toes curling. “ohh, fuuck… toji–!” you croak out, your thighs shaking as you start to fail to hold your legs up, his mouth had you stupid already. as he notices this, he holds them for you with force, but throws him over his shoulders.

 because now he's standing again, spitting on your cunt one last time before he does so. “keep those eyes on me when i fuck this pussy, you hear me?” toji says, and you quickly nod in abidance. 

he’s so fucking girthy, his thick length stretching you like elastic. his veined hands grasp at your waist, his hips starting to snap into yours at a steady pace. he’s reaching deep, hitting all the right spots inside you that triggered the sluttiest moans from you, your back arching as your walls clamp down on him. “only now you wanna get your shit together, hmm? only when i stuff you full of this dick?” he grunts, the sounds of your skin slapping blasting all throughout the place. “mngh–! y-yeah… feels so g-good…!” you blabber, the tears you had poking through your eyes were now starting to blur your vision. his cock was just made to fuck you, he felt so damn good.

“h-hah… that’s what i thought.” he grumbles, the pace of his thrusts immediately escalating. now the next thing he does drives you fucking mad. he grabs your arms, pulling them up so that they’re around your neck. he then snakes his hands beneath your legs and now has them over his forearms, letting your feet dangle. he’s got you off the counter, and starts fucking you standing, picked up in his arms. a squeal breaks loose from your mouth, your arms clinging around his neck for dear life. “oh m’god, yes–! ‘m cumming, d-daddy!” you cry out, your body going limp like a ragdoll, like a toy just for toji to fuck relentlessly. 

you can feel that coil in your lower stomach that's just mere seconds away from snapping. and he does this thing when he’s close, his jaw clenches and you can see how the veins in his neck contract. that gives you the sign to clench around him even harder, a loud groan breaking out his throat.

“fuckin’ milking my shit when you s-squeeze me like that… holy fuckkk, baby—” toji’s breathing is uneven, coming out in raspy huffs. and it's only a matter of time before you let out your final moan, a real salacious one at that. you shook violently, gasping for air as you squirted all over him, your orgasm hitting you like a damn bus.

toji’s jaw goes slack, his head falling back as he chases his own high, still ramming into you despite you being fucking gone. tears start to spill from your eyes from the overstimulation, your eyes barely even able to stay open properly. 

his load finally spills into your cunt, coming in thick, hot spurts. he twitches inside you, before placing you back down onto the counter and pulling out slowly, his cum oozing from your hole. he steps forward and cups your face, pressing a kiss on your nose before letting his forehead rest atop yours. “you alright, pretty?” he murmurs, and you look up into his eyes, nodding slowly with a soft smile. he grins, wiping the tears that stained your supple cheeks with his thumb.

“you did real good f’me, baby.” he murmurs, his words going straight to your core, fluttering in your stomach. he then catches your eyes wandering away, staying on the ground. he then turns to look as well, and his eyes fall upon the absolute mess made of the floor. it was the coffee you had threw at him, now mixed with your squirt. oh, fucking hell.

“... well, good luck with that, sweetheart.” toji says, laughing to himself as you land a smack to his arm.

“oh, fuck you toji!”

[inbabylontheywept]

your life stories are always so interesting so i shall poke a stick into the cage and ask for more. do you have any fun stories of near death experiences? personally i choked on a lifesaver as a child and could not breathe

personally? not really. ive got a pretty decent hospital story though.

see, my grandpa was in charge of the easter pageant in my state. its a big mormon thing, a lot of other churches come because its just good easter worship. anyway, in part of the pageant, theres a pony for jesus and mary to ride around on. technically supposed to be a donkey, but ponys are just so much more photogenic. anyway this happened when my little sister was going through her little-girl-pony phase, so this was so major-league shit to her. so much so that my grandpa, who i still miss so much, brought this pony to our house so she could ride it.

my little brother? he also wanted to ride it. and i didnt really want to ride it, but they were both so small someone kind of needed to hold those two onboard, and i was the lighest person capable of doing so, (didnt want to overload the pony) so i went on the back too.

and it was a stellar time until the donkey went under a tree, then my little sister hit her head on a branch and fell left, and her fall took my little brother out because he was holding onto her, and both of them took me out, so we all fell off the pony, but me with 2 kids on my left arm.

god blessed me with a third elbow that day.

here are the things that followed after the Miracle of the Third Elbow

my autistic dad came outside to check on me. id broken my arm the year before, so i knew what it was, and i knew what it felt like, so i was able to pretty clearly go "yeah, dad, i broke my arm." and he was able to go "whew. yeah. thats like, harry potter broken." and i was able to say "yeah. yeah it hurts pretty bad." and he said "oh, yeah, definitely. that looks horrible." and then i basically said something like "hopital" and he was like "right" and then we left. my memory after that gets weird.

i can remember driving up main street, and seeing this guy dancing. like, full on dancing down the street. and i asked my dad about why that guy was dancing, and he said that man was a schizophrenic, and he was medicated, but the medication had just made it so that his voices told him to dance instead of hurt himself. now he danced all the time. i should clarify that my dad worked in the ER so he knew a lot of the local homeless on a life-story kind of level. my dads a good guy.

i can remember sitting in the waiting room with a magician that had sliced his right hand open pretty bad while cooking. he was trying his best to keep us entertained with his cards, but because he was doing all his tricks left handed, he'd mess them up sometimes and it was actually kind of more fun to watch than just him in expert mode. another good guy. very friendly, but visibly repulsed by my arm.

i can remember being in a bed, and a nurse coming up to me and saying that they could give me some painkillers, which i was super stoked about, but the IV from the painkillers basically required being stabbed with a needle as thick around as a pencil. she recomended saying the alphabet backwards when she put the needle in, and i said i didn't know how, and then she stuck in the needle in. over 4 seconds i was able to go from z to c, a feat i have never since been able to replicate.

after the painkillers, i watched a tv show called Jackie Chan Adventures, which was an animated cartoon with an animated Jackie Chan, voiced by the real Jackie Chan, solving mysteries. i actually assumed that whole thing was a hallucination until i was an adult, and i was describing it to my wife, and she was like "no, that actually happened." which was funny to happen to me, because when me and her started dating, she just kind of dropped how awesome it was that obama was the first muslim president, and i was like what, no hes an episcopalian, and it turns out that her dad, who sucks for many reasons, had told her that obama was a muslim, and she was sweet enough to believe that, and also to just be like oh, neat, our president is black and a muslim, we are truly moving forward as a counry." i love her so much.

no memories of it after that. not even sure when i got home. just a straight up weird time.

[uch3na]

i’ve just sent out this same exact request to another writer but im going mad about the amount of fics (zero) with kai from voyagers (ARCHEIIE)

𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚

| pairing - kai x reader

| warnings - sub!kai, kai jerking off while thinking of reader, praise (m recieving), riding, finger sucking, mindbreak (if u squint hard enough), kai really wanting to pleasure the reader

| a/n - im ngl i was so happy i got this request bc ive been wanting to write for him so here u go🤫🤫

you always had your eye on kai. not in an attracted way, but you were always closest to him than anyone else on the ship.

but its just like one day everything — changed. when you stopped drinking your “medication” you just saw him differently. every time you looked at him you just wanted to do these things to him. break him. you didn’t know what came over you. kai always seemed like the type (sexually or not) that could break easily; even with the way he acts around the ship. all tough on the outside but when he’s alone he’s just a puddle of mush.

and to the least of your knowledge, kai felt the same way about you. he would think about the things you could do to him. he would try to sleep but all he could think of was you controlling him. taking what was yours. he would fist his cock at the thought. imagining it was your own hand wrapped around his thick length. he would shut his eyes and just try his absolute hardest to go to bed but he would just end up with his hand down his pants like a helpless little boy. and what made it worse was that you were in the room right next to him. and you heard everything. all his tiny moans and whimpers. this was the only thing that made you happy about the terribly thin walls on the ship.

you would’ve never thought kai thought of you the same way you thought of him until one day you had woken up to get a drink when you heard the faintest cry of your name while the hallways were dead silent. the voice sounds familiar so you instantly forget about the water and tiptoe to kai’s door and put your ear against it. it was almost like a mouse and a trap. and you fell for it. you just stood there — listening to him. the way his moans were broken each time he was about to orgasm. the way he would call out your name when he was close. the vague wet noises that were because of all of the pre-cum leaking from his tip mixed with his own spit. he had no shame since he was so loud and the ship was the complete opposite; so silent you could hear a mouse walking across the floors.

you just waited. waited until you could hear whatever little noises he made when he finally came. but what really caught you off guard was when he stood up to walk out of the room once he was done. you had to be quick to make it look like you had just walked out of your room too. once his door open you had turned your head to make it look as if he scared you. “what’re you doing up…?” he yell whispered. “i’m thirsty. why are you up?”

the question caused him to freeze in place. he squinted his eyes at you out of annoyance and whispered back “me too…” you could see his breathing quickening. he thought he had gotten caught. but you just continued to act clueless. so you got your water and went back to bed.

the next day during lunch you saw kai sitting down playing with his food. you walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. when he looked up at you he almost instantly looked back down. “hey kai.” you say softly. he flickered his eyes back up at you, flashing a little smile at you. it was so cute that it almost made you crack a smile yourself. “hey…” he whispered back. you decide to tease him a bit when you see how nervous he’s acting. he doesn’t usually act this way. he seems… guilty right now. “how’d you sleep?”

kai keeps his eyes off of yours, still picking at his food. “i slept… i slept pretty good. you?” you decide to mess with him some more but this time by actually doing something.

this time you reach up to his face, tilting his chin up to look at you. he swallows. hard. he can feel his face heating up at your touch. his eyes are soft and glossy. the way he looks up at you is enough to make you go weak in the knees. he licks his lips and moves his eyes to look at something else. “no no no… look at me.” you whisper firmly. “don’t get all shy on me now kai.” he looks confused. almost like he actually doesn’t know what you’re talking about. his eyes widen slightly and his hands start fidgeting with his shirt. you lean down, putting your mouth close to his ear before whispering again, “i know how dirty you really are…” his breathing gets deeper at your words, and his heartbeat accelerates. “w-what?”

you pull away from his ear and let go of his face. you flash a quick innocent smile before turning around to walk out of the lunchroom. by the time you make it to the door kai finally snaps out of the daze he was in and stands up to follow you. when he gets close enough he reaches out to grab your arm and flip you towards him. “what the hell are you taking about, ‘i know how dirty you are’?” he says continuing to walk towards you as you bump into your bedroom door.

he’s towering over you at this point — trying his best to intimidate you but it’s just not working.

“you know exactly what i mean… i know that you touch yourself while thinking of me.” he freezes, his eyebrows go up in realization and he starts to slowly back away from you. he stops moving when you grab the hem of his shirt, pulling him in closer to you. he looks down at you with pleading eyes. almost like he was begging you to make another move. but then he does something that catches you off guard. he tangles his hand in your hair before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. you both moan into like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life.

his grip on your hair gets tighter as his moans turn into whines. little desperate ones that got you so fucking wet that you soaked through your panties. kai used his free hand to open your room door and as soon as he shut the door behind him he began to take off his shirt and pants. once you were both naked, you reached down to stroke him slowly. he choked out a whimper when he felt your warm hand wrap around his pretty dick. the tip was already so wet from the stimulation of his pants rubbing on it before you two took your clothes off. “cmon baby… lemme hear those pretty noises you make all the time.” you whisper as you guide him to the bed. he lays down on his back as you climb on top of him.

his hands instinctively go to your hips as you reach around to line his cock up with your leaking entrance. when you finally sat down on him he cried out in pleasure. he gripped onto your hips so tight you were sure he was gonna leave a mark on you. you just sat there, letting him nestle inside you. you let him take a few seconds to adjust before you started to move your hips. you slid alllll the way up on him just leaving the tip in. you wanted to see how he would react — just wanting to tease him for a bit. “nononono- please just lemme feel you baby please-“ he choked out as he felt your tight cunt leave off his dick.

once you slammed your hips back down onto him little mumbles of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’’s left him. he was very vocal. even more than he was the night before. his whimpers were so sweet and soothing unlike his demeanor when he’s not just with you. you could feel his hands gripping onto the flesh of your ass as his moans got higher in pitch with each slam of your hips.

the room was filled with the sounds of lewd squelching and skin on skin. kai just kept getting louder with every move of your hips onto his pelvis and he wouldn’t get any quieter each time you told him to — so… you did what had to be done. you stuck your middle and ring finger into his mouth, muffling his sounds quite well. and by the way his cock twitched inside you, you could tell he liked it a lot.

you could feel his tongue swirl around the digits and his whining still getting higher even with your fingers that were just wrapped around his cock in his mouth.

“cmon lemme make you cum… can i? pleaseee just lemme make you cum baby.” kai mumbled out onto your fingers. you could still understand him quite well in this predicament. as soon as those words escaped his mouth he started to slam his own hips into yours. he wasn’t in this only for himself — he wanted to make you feel good too. your pleasure was his. the only sound that left him were muffled mewls and moans escaping his already distracted mouth. “awh kai… you’re doing so good f’me… wanna make me cum?”

his head nodding with a quickness when you asked that question, his hips stuttering slightly. his moans got a bit louder but only for a second when you removed your fingers from his mouth and replaced them with your own lips. one of his hands once again went up to your hair, tugging at it slightly. he was so close he didn’t know what to do with himself. “ohmygod, keep going m’malmosthere-“ he cried out into your mouth as his eyes slightly rolled back from all the pleasure he was feeling at once.

you could feel this coil in your stomach about to snap with each thrust kai did. you could see his eyebrows knitting up each time he hit your cervix. “there u go kai, make me cum baby…” he could feel himself losing his mind each time your tight little pussy would clench around his length. kai couldn’t even speak if he really wanted to. he was so vulnerable right now that he didn’t know what to do. “fuck fuck fuckkk- m’gnnacum ple-“ is all you hear before you can feel kai spill his load inside you. soon enough you clenched down onto him, your orgasm coming right after his. he was panting beneath you, trying to calm down from what just happened.

his hand was still in your hair when he pulled you down to kiss him sloppily once more before wrapping you in his arms to fall asleep.

“i think you broke me…” he huffs out with a quiet laugh.

୨୧ 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮: @ludicdoll

[gamesetart]

In the Open relationship au at one point maybe Art actually asks her to help him out, he’s been aching so much since the talk with Patrick and seeing reader with Tashi didn’t help at all, so she gives him a hand (literally 🫣) and as he is close to reaching his high she makes him pray to god for forgiveness for that sinful act or else there’s no release 😩

ohhh wait yes

because art's been like this for a couple weeks now. needier than before, even after his composure started to slip. genuinely needy. waking up to his hard-on pressing into you, he's half-asleep and he's still needy, still gagging for it, because he just wants you so, so bad. and eventually, he caves. reasons it away to himself, thinks that it'll be alright if it's just your hand, that much he and his god can forgive him of.

you play off your immediate excitement. act concerned - is he sure? you don't want to take advantage of him, is he sure he really wants this? - and when he finally "persuades" you that yes, this is what he wants, you finally get to see his cock for the first time.

and it's pretty, a nice girth, long and very quickly going red at the tip. you were right, you think, he does flush all over. and you kneel in front of him, tell him he needs to spit on your hand so you can stroke him.

"you want me to... spit on you?"

"just on my hand, artie, right here."

he won't admit he enjoyed it, likes the idea of you so sweet and pliant he could spit on you and you'd take it - want it. but you feel his cock throb nonetheless.

he doesn't last very long, but you don't expect him to. you're on your knees, revert, beautiful, and he thinks for a moment about how much like prayer this is, how much like your god this would make him. it's a sinful, prideful thought, and he pushes it away in favour of bucking up into the warm, slick grip of your hand. he's never realised how wet things could be before, his cock rapidly leaking precum, leading to a mess of wet shlick, shlick sounds as you fuck him with your fist.

"fuck, fuck, oh god, baby, 'm close," he whines, "please--"

"don't ask me," you say, slowing your hand, drawing it out. "ask him."

you jerk your head up to the ceiling. he stares at you, eyes wide, cheeks flush, pupils blown, cock throbbing in your hand. even his balls twitch, as if to win your sympathies.

"you're being so bad, after all," you continue in a low voice, giving him a rough stroke, root to tip. your thumb swipes over his slit and he whines. "you should ask for a bit of forgiveness. tell him you're sorry, and ill let you cum."

like art isnt sorry every damn day. like he isn't plagued by sin every time he looks at you. he doesn't have to try to come up with the right words.

"f-forgive me, heav-- ah -- heavenly f-father," he chokes. "for i ha-ah-ve sin-sinned."

you resume your torturously slow hand job. all the breath leaves arts lungs in a single, shaking breath.

"i- i've had lustful feelings and--" his voice breaks. "god, oh, god-- ive been bad, ive been so bad, im so sorry, 'm sorry, im sorry, oh god, please, please, 'm sorry--"

it's like his brain is broken. he knows the words, but his mouth can't form them. he knows this prayer back to front. this very confession. but his tongue is tied, everything lost somewhere on the path from his head to his lips. it's exactly what you were looking for.

"that's a good boy. cum for me, artie."

and he does. all over your hand. his stomach. it's sort of beautiful. take that, you think vindictively. i made him like this. he's mine, now. im his fucking god.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 

Until now, of course. 

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 

And Simon? 

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious. 

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more. 

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 

The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 

Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 

This man saved your life. 

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 

Graham. 

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning. 

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You. 

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance. 

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 

You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 

It wasn’t like the termites could help. 

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 

Run. Run. Run. 

Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 

Lose him in the storm. 

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder. 

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 

Simon Riley was dressed for war. 

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 

You nod, but he still waits. 

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 

Your body is shielded in an instant. 

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you. 

Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 

But Graham. 

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent. 

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better. 

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[cemeteryvalentine]

astro observations part 4 !!! ^____^

(specifically based off my family :3 pleaseee don't get offended at anything that doesn't resonate)

🗝️: one thing about a sag placement, they are gonna hang up FIRST !!! i swear, if anyone misses flip phones, it's a sag placement/dominant. i just know they miss snapping that phone shut in a petty manner LOL. my mom is a sag moon AND rising, and she'd call me and demand me to do something in such a bitchy tone and then hang up on me like girl who tf do u think u areee 😭😭😭😭 LMFAO. but honestly good for her, i love being petty like her.

like i swear i take after my mom because everytime she does that annoying hang up before i can respond thing, i call her again just to say a snarky remark, and hang up on her back!

🐇: i swear, virgo placements have no problem being the grossest people alive, but suddenly it's a problem when someone else does it :/// it's really annoying. my brother has a pigsty of a bedroom, doesn't wash his hand when he pisses unless i make him, and leaves his trash everywhere, but constantly gets on my sister for the same things 😭. like the calls coming from inside the house !!! i think basically, (some) virgos are like picky(?) with what areas they'd want clean. like they're only really comfortable with THEIR mess and no one else's.

🗝️: i love how pisces mercury communicate because it's like what the hel are u awn about 😭 in the NICEST way though :3 they're so kewl and interesting to talk to, plus they're so nice and understanding. maybe because they're water mercuries after all. speaking of, my favorite artist ever kurt cobain was a pisces mercury and it SHOWSSS. a lot of nirvana lyrics feel artistic and metaphoric, or just realllyyyy silly. liiike "angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. lack of iron and or sleeping" from milk it, one of my nirvana faves. and "i vomit C*M and DIARRHEA". like girl whatever that means !!!! (song, mexican seafood)

🐇: mars influence on the asc makes for prominent features. especially eyebrows. my brother has an aries rising and he has such a bad case of RBF. i swear he never looks happy 😭 his virgo sun and cap moon definitely don't help at all either. then im a mars rising and i have big eyebrows like my brother. like we're the only ones with big eyebrows, while our parents brows look invisible LOL. also i'm a virgo rising !! and ppl are always saying i look mad which honestly pisses me off :P so in conclusion, mars influence + virgo placements = major rbf

🗝️: i HATE to add on to the cancer hate train since i'm one myself and i loveee being one + we get soo much hate, but i feel a (unevolvled) cancer makes for the worst pick me girl ever !!!! this def doesn't apply to all cancers, but the few cancer women i know can be so mean to other women so unprovoked. especially my mom, it gives me the ick when she calls random women b*tches or makes fun of them to me for their features or success or soemthing. i used to be a pick me too up until i was like 13 (im soooo happy i grew out of that mess QUICK!). i would constantly strive for male attention, it was embarrassing 😭. ik another girl who values her shitty boyfriend over her (girl) friends and i haaate it. like ive only known a few cancer women, but a lot of them are like the meanest pick me bitch ever, or such a sweeet, caring soul :). i feel like being a pick me stems from cancers being feminine AND traditional. yk? i pray i make sense, but yk how it's traditional for girls to be perfect for her man, and value him no matter the circumstance ?? and cancer/moon being **traditional** ? yeahhh 😭

anywayzzz that's all :3 tyyy for reading !! i had sm making a new observations, considering it's been a year since my last LMFAOO. and again, if it doesn't apply, let it fly. ty bye ^__^

[pupyuj]

campus rebel! g!p wonyoung who fucks the shit out of the stuco president for getting her into trouble 😵‍💫😵‍💫 OH MY GOD I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

bad girl wony... yeah.. yeah exactly. i giggle every time i get g!p ive asks esp annyeongz i just want them to double team me tbh—

LISTENNNN ... ever since 230423 wonyoung i have never been the same, that look is literally how i picture rebel wony 😭😭😭

wwhat if she has never gotten in trouble for all the bullshit she did when you weren't the stuco president :(( wony got away with everything scot-free bcs the previous presidents were scared of what might happen to them (like expulsion) bcs wony had a bit of a hold in the school 😟😟 but then you got elected, and things changed real fast 😁 teachers were actually scolding her?? giving her shit when she was late to class or wandered the halls during?? and she has never gotten detention before... until you personally put her in one 😭

the detention in question being held in the student council meeting room, it was just you and her. wony was pissed, she could be out partying and getting laid right now but instead, she had to stare at your pretty face while you did your work and babysat her at the same time! looking up from your desk briefly and seeing that the paper in front of wonyoung was still blank. "it's a simple apology, jang. i'm doing you a favor by saving you from a criminal charge. this won't hurt your reputation, you know." you said with a sigh.

"oh trust me, it's been hurt the moment you stepped up that stupid podium in the gym and did your campaign speech like you were the leader of the nation." wonyoung picked up her pen and started scribbling on her paper. well, at least you wouldn't have to deal with her eyes just burning holes into your head anymore! she doesn't even get why she has to apologize 🤨 spray-painting cock and balls to that creepy janitor's truck was funny! and he deserved it!

and then a few minutes later, here comes wony marching over to your desk and slamming her paper down in front of you. what you didn't see was a proper apology but rather a big drawing of a middle finger. this was useless.

"do you wanna go to jail, jang? don't forget that this isn't the first time you've broken a literal law!"

wonyoung merely shrugged, a cocky smile on her lips, "you're just afraid you'll miss me."

you grabbed a new piece of paper, stood up, and pushed it on her chest, "get your shit together. not even your daddy can pull you out of the mess you want to create." but wonyoung was not at all threatened! see, she has always thought that as much as you were a pain in her ass for always scolding her about what she wore, her attitude, and everything... you were still hot. and to you, even when wonyoung was the bane of your existence, you still wanted her badly deep down (pretty, charismatic, cute smile... who could ever resist?), so you didn't complain at all when she suddenly grabbed your waist and kissed you 😳😳

it was messy, what with wonyoung biting your lips and forcing her tongue in your mouth,,, and it wasn't until she lifted you on top of your desk that she finally pulled away, busying her hands with unbuttoning your shirt, her lips now on your neck,,, the way she wouldn't stop teasing you 😭😭 "d'you get me in trouble just so you can have me alone? you could have just told me that you wanted me, prez." shes so annoying 😩

shhdfdkffbf wony marking you all over and you complaining about it 😭😭 AND YOU'RE ARGUING EVEN WHEN SHE HAS HER DICK INSIDE YOU BCS SHE'S TOO FAST OR SOMETHING 💀 you really have no fucking idea why girls throw themselves on her all the time when all she's focused on is her pleasure 🙄 but wony doesn't give a fuck, she's still pissed at you for making her look weak and small now 🫠🫠 so she doesn't care that her pace is too fast, or that she practically forced her big cock inside your tight walls, or that she left too many bite marks on your neck and shoulders... people were gonna know what happened here, and people will know that it was all her doing 😈

wony forcing your legs open for her while she pounds your cunt 🤤🤤🤤 but she's baby so she was whining and groaning in your ear, head buried on your shoulder bcs you feel really good :(( and she gets addicted to the way you say her actual name, totally different from the usual spiteful way you say 'jang', so she makes you say it again and again :((( your voice becoming the thing that grounds her but god she literally can't help but just ruin you so after coming together for the first time, wony immediately puts your legs on the ground and bends you over :((((

her saying mean things to you while she's destrying your cunt from behindddd 🫠🫠

"you're a f-fucking bitch, prez... i hate you.."

"be thankful that you're so pretty, and that this pussy is fucking sweet c-cuz.. ahh, fuck...! i would have gotten you expelled a long time ago... mhmm.. feels so good... so good..."

"from now on, i'm gonna make you my slut... i'm sure you'd like that, unnie.. j-jang wonyoung's cute little cocksleeve sounds more of a better title than student council president..."

needless to say, she fucks you stupid until detention was over! but since you still had stuco prez things to do until sundown, you had to stay in school and ofc wony did too 😁 tho you didn't complain this time bcs cockwarming her while you did your work and kissing her from time to time made everything a little less boring! 🤤

[fettiowi]

Broken heart

So basically, ive been thinking abt what it would be like if spinel had her gem cracked and drew a lil thing. Heres some fun stuff i thought of:

Obviously, her limbs get uncontrolably noodly like amethyst's did, goes all over the place. Her limbs give out and she falls to the ground like sad spaguetti

Her pigtails stop defying gravity and are always down

One of her eyes is always in those crazy spirals, while the other is blanc (i imagine she might not be able to see very well)

Her tear streaks keep running

Her mouth movements become a lot more exagerated whenever she speaks. I like to tuink her accent gets a little thicker as well and harder to understand. Also maybe she starts speaking backwards like ame did as well?

I had like a whoooole scenario where she got her gem cracked, and started thinking up ways where it would mess with her.

(It also reminded me of an idea i had a while ago of an AU of the movie where she had her gem cracked and it just made her crazier lol) i think its a fun thing to explore

[elliezlils11utt]

Bad idea - girl in red. (E.W)

content: You cant get your on & off ex, Ellie Williams, out of your head. So you decide to call her over.

song link: https://open.spotify.com/track/57j65yC2HggQfmYNc6rdOK?si=2416f86b42e84be8

warnings: nsfw, hate sex, angst, smut, mean!ellie, degration, reader is a hot shit mess. (me!) if i missed anything lemme know!

a/n: Im still sick asf and my phone is broken so ive kinda just been writing the past few days. this is not my best work, like at all. (its so bad) but the storyline is kinda interesting. (based on "bad idea"- girl in red)

proofread?: none of my work is ever proofread lmao.

You and Ellie had been broken up for a couple months now. But of course you had not been able to get her slick ass smile out of your head. She plagued your thoughts, being the only thing you could think of. She was the worst partner you could ever have. But, god was she ethereal. 

So when you sat at the edge of your bed with her image glued to the inside of your eyelids you picked up your phone. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Did you care? Nope. You sat there staring at the past messages. The fights, then the make up texts. Then more fucking fights. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. Contemplating the mistake you were about to make. Its like she was a fucking drug you were addicted too. You couldn't get enough of her, even If you tried. Which you really did this time. Really hard. This had been the longest you and Ellie had stayed apart. Ever. You always somehow ended up back with her. Ignoring the pleas of your family and friends to dump her ass for good this time. It was a bad idea, to think you could stop. Because now here you were, your phone up to your ear with Ellie on the other line. 

“Hey, ellie?” You stumble over your words. 

“Hey.” Fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Her voice.  

“Uh- um. What are you doing right now?” 

“Nothing.”

“Wanna come over? Like, for a smoke.” bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. 

What you can only assume is an amused chuckle muffles the phone line. “Sure.” 

“Kay, cool! Uh, see you soon?”

“Mhm.” 

The line ends abruptly. Oh fuck. Ellies coming over. Again. Fuck why did you do that? Your totally fucked now. You spend the following minutes pacing around your house. One little horny butt dial can turn into a series of bad decisions. You knew this. Yet Ellie is sitting across from u on your coach. Blunt in mouth, eyes on u. 

“You know, ive missed us.” she admits while passing the weed to you. You take a drag of the blunt, ignoring her blatant attempt to ‘win you back’ (it was working)

“Why did you call me over..?” 

“You want the truth?”

She just stares back at you with those droopy red eyes of hers. Those gorgeous fucking eyes that got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Im horny. and i missed you.” Smoking always makes the whole truth come out of you. Even if you didn't want it to. 

“Yeah?” There it is. That cocky lopsided smirk. 

“Yeah.” Blowing the smoke out of your mouth you lean closer to her. And she does the same. The tension makes the air thick and foggy. A competition to see who will break first. (that she always wins) and surly this time was no different. You close the gap between you two. Pressing your lips onto hers. She cups your face with her hands, desperately pulling you farther into her. She put her hands under your shirt. Undid your bra and said these words. “Darlin you're so pretty it hurts” breaking the kiss she pulls your shirt over your head. And threw your clothes down on the floor. Your brain goes numb. Allowing Ellie to take complete control. All you can think about is her lips on yours. Too busy thinking about the wet kisses trailing down your neck to worry about the consequence to this pleasure. 

She said “darling are you ready for more?” Her hands found your tits rubbing the fatty flesh in her hands while she kissed your collarbones. Her lips pecked kisses down your body. Her tattooed hand slipped down and into your painties, feeling your heat. her finger explored your slippery folds. You throw your head back while whimpers leave your mouth. She plunges a finger into your sopping cunt. “F- Fuck els” 

 “Yeah? You like that pretty girl? You missed my fingers, yeah?” 

You just nod repeatedly. Another finger finds its way into your cunt. Her digits curl into you relentlessly. 

“Words baby.” 

“Fuck els. Yes. y- yes.” You moan 

“Fucking slut.” she chuckles before returning her mouth onto your tit. Her tongue swirling around your pebbled bud and her fingers pumping in and out of your pussy makes your back arch. But you can't help but be pissed at yourself for letting her bring you this pleasure after the pain she caused you. This is wrong. You shouldn't be doing this.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ellie. Ellie stop.” you push her head away.

“What's wrong? I thought you wanted this.” 

“I do, I mean. At least I thought I did.” You quickly throw your shirt back on.

“I don't get it?”

“It was a bad idea, calling you up. I shouldn't have said anything. We are bad together ellie. I fucked up.” guilt rushes over you. You shouldn't have said anything. And that was the truth. You told yourself that you would never get back with Ellie again. Ever. You told yourself that you would never let ellie fuck you again. You told yourself that you wouldn't let Ellie get in your head again. “I need to be alone. Just, go? Please.” 

“Yeah alright. Call me when u wanna finish this, kay? Cause u always do” She says bluntly before rolling her eyes and leaving. A tear breaks free from your glossy eyes. Thats fucking problem. She thinks that you will call her again. Because ‘you always do.’ And she's not wrong. You always end up calling her again, Whenever u get lonely, or horny, or miss her. Who the fuck would miss Ellie, fucking, Williams? You. You miss her. Because you can't get enough. 

a/n: I apologize for this. :D

[1d1195]

Love and Dryer Sheets IV

Read the rest here: Love and Dryer Sheets

~4.2k words

Warnings: emotional cheating, pining, angst, maybe some fluff if you squint

Now I know I have a heart…because it’s breaking.

Ava texted Harry to let him know she made it to the restaurant. She even apologized about the thing with her keys. There was even a heart emoji. Harry was spending the time she was out, face down on the sofa, trying not to scream. But it felt like he needed to. In fact, it felt like he needed to lay face down in traffic but obviously he couldn’t actually do that.

Harry’s conscience decided now was the time to give up on him. Maybe the little voice thought Harry was just simply too stupid to deal with right now. What was he even supposed to do? The voice in his head all but told him exactly what would happen. It tried to warn him. It was completely, totally Harry’s fault for fucking up so. Very. Badly.

Harry sat up about ten minutes before Ava was set to be home. He made a list on his phone of things he needed to do; there was no order to the list as the last item was probably most important…but his already broken, stupid mind didn’t have it in him to put it first, out in the open like that.

-Work portfolio -Gemma b-day present -Laundry -Tell Ava -Tell...

He didn’t want to finish the last sentence.

What were his options? 

He could tell Ava. But that ensured a blowout fight. They would probably break up. Would Ava leave? Technically Harry found this place. Naturally, she complained how her fifteen-minute commute to work was brutal every couple months (usually around holidays when the traffic would amplify to thirty minutes—not that she ever left a moment earlier to account for the time differential) and made sure to tell Harry that she didn’t like living here. 

But…Harry didn’t like the idea of breaking up. It felt like he was losing. Everyone had sympathetic eyes for him when Ava made him mad–especially in public. There goes the poor sap that can’t get out of a bad relationship. But it wasn’t bad. At least…it wasn’t always bad. Harry had to stay for a reason right?

What are those reasons? The voice of Harry’s heart was turning into his second conscience but almost entirely for the benefit of Harry’s happiness.

The sympathetic eyes would soon become I-told-you-so-eyes. That was the last thing Harry wanted. 

Maybe he needed to call Gemma. Gemma was like a compass. She always knew what to do to help her little brother and this might be the stupidest thing he had ever done. But he didn’t need to call her. He knew exactly what she would say. It’s not fair to you or Ava to be in a relationship that makes you both so unhappy. Gemma would be kind. She probably wouldn’t even say I told you so just to be nice.

But he would know.

He cheated. Plain as day. There was no if ands or buts. There was no way to deny it. No taking it back. He messed up.

But the little voice in charge of his heart wasn’t going down without a fight. This is a good thing. It insisted. You want to break up with Ava. You haven’t been happy in a while! Sunshine. You need Sunshine.

But Harry, now taking over for his conscience that abandoned him on the elevator ride back to their place, knew that it was easier said than done. It was way more complicated. Perhaps most importantly, it was so irreconcilably stupid on his part that despite how much he needed some sunshine in his life, he did it the very worst way possible.

Because even though what he did to Ava was despicable, the thought of hurting that sweet girl in the laundry room hurt his fragile heart even more.

*

Harry could hardly sleep beside Ava. He tossed and turned for the better part of the night. By the time six in the morning rolled around he was completely exhausted and restless. If he got four hours’ worth of sleep, he was lucky. It was Saturday. He wanted to sleep in. If he slept in, he wouldn’t have to deal with the shitty situation he got himself into for a while longer.

But instead, his restless mind was punishing his stupid behavior by making him wallow in it. Making him wake up at six in the morning on a Saturday so he could recognize his stupid, stupid mistake.

“Harry?” Ava sounded sleepy of course. “Y’okay, baby?” She asked.

Harry felt the warmth of her kind voice seeping through his whole body. Especially with the name baby on her lips.

Shit.

“M’fine, love,” he lied.

“S’early,” she slurred tiredly.

“Can’t sleep,” he shrugged, starting to roll out of bed. “I’ll go to the other room,” he mumbled. She frowned and Harry couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked when she wasn’t at his throat for every little thing. Her concern made him warm over a little more. The guilt he felt ached a little more.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Hope you feel better,” she murmured. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. It was like he was on autopilot. As if he had done it thousands of times before. It was moments like this, the quiet, gentle ones, that made him believe in the reasoning behind staying in a relationship that drove him crazy most days.

Moments like that made him understand he had to tell his laundry partner the bad news.

*

Ava wasn’t stupid.

She had a degree, a job, and two eyes that told her Harry was happy. Happier than he had seemed in a really long time.

Of course, his happiness didn’t involve her.

And that made her mad.

She wasn’t quite sure what had changed about Harry specifically; why he got so happy so suddenly. As far as she knew he went to work and came home. But with the way they argued and how irritated she felt just looking at Harry some days, she knew something was off in his demeanor.

It wasn’t that she wanted Harry to be unhappy. It was more of the fact that she was unhappy. Ava knew very well that misery loved company. Seeing him happy set off some kind of switch in her head that Harry was in fact her boyfriend and they were supposed to be happy. Seeing him get joy from something else, especially when she wasn’t part of it, irked her more than the way Harry snapped his gum while they watched TV or how he left socks outside the laundry basket and forgot to put the toilet seat down (consistently) late at night.

Harry was a wonderful boyfriend. He always had been from the moment they started dating. Her mom even teased him saying he was too good for Ava. Ava didn’t see it that way. Ava enjoyed her personality and herself and didn’t think anything needed to change. She didn’t see anything wrong with the way she behaved or acted—as her mom put it. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted.

Right now, she wanted Harry right where he was.

“Do you feel better now?” She asked him as she entered the sitting room.

“Yeah, a bit,” he nodded. “I’ll try t’nap later,” he shrugged as he continued reading the book in his hands without looking up.

She pressed a hand to his forehead. He wasn’t warm. He seemed fine. For a moment she gazed in his eyes and noted how green they looked. There was no denying Harry was beautiful—even though the constant fighting made her irritable with him. It was a face she fell in love with because he was so pretty. Soft skin, gentle smile, deep dimples. He was simply dreamy. Someone would have to be blind not to fall in love with him.

Part of her thought someone had fallen in love with him because of the way he looked so happy after the many months of the mutual feeling of misery that flooded their apartment. That simply wouldn’t do. 

It wouldn’t take much, she knew it. Harry was a romantic. A few gentle smiles, a bat of her eyelashes, and some light touches and Harry would be putty in her hands again.

His lips parted slightly like this was the first time he had seen her in ages. He didn’t know how to speak. It was so unlike her to worry about him even a little these days. In fact, it was so shocking, he thought he was transported to the laundry room and the gentle touch was coming from the girl that made his heart skip a beat and had the little voice in his head shouting to be heard.

“You don’t feel feverish or look very sick.”

Harry knew he wasn’t feverish. He knew he wasn’t sick either. Maybe lovesick. But that wasn’t something he could tell Ava.

Or maybe it should have been the exact time he told her.

“I can get you medicine if you want while I’m out,” she said softly.

“Oh...uh...thanks, love. That would be good, thank you,” the words felt weird in his mouth, he hadn’t thanked Ava for anything in ages. What was there to thank her for? Hours of worrying and fighting? “You’re going out?”

“Yeah...laundry at mom’s,” she reminded him.

“I could do your laundry y’know,” he offered quietly. He noted the way the slopes of Ava’s face curved so beautifully when she wasn’t scowling at him for the littlest of things. She was a beautiful girl. No question about it.

“I don’t like the way the washers make the clothes smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

It was as if a shadow cast over her at the very moment she spoke. A backhanded comment for sure—whether she meant it or not, knowing full-well that Harry washed all his clothes in the apartment washers. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Right,” he murmured. “Well, tell her I said hello,” he returned to his book.

She nodded silently. 

Returning down the hall, Harry thought it was awfully mature of her to ignore the eyeroll. It was an instinct and he knew he shouldn’t have, but it was hard to feel—

“The eye roll was unnecessary.”

Here we go. “Ava, y’know I do m’laundry down there. Y’basically said I smell.”

She returned the very same eye roll dropping the laundry bag at her feet. “Harry, I didn’t say that.”

“Y’may as well have,” he grumbled.

“It’s too early to argue.”

“M-hmm.”

She would be better later. It would take a lot of active reminders to not fight with him. Sighing, she headed out the door.

For a fleeting moment, she was Ava, the girl he loved and had dated for so long. The little bit of kindness she showed didn’t deserve Harry’s infidelity. It was all his fault and Ava wasn’t that bad.

So, Harry made his way to the laundry room, knowing he would find her there because it was Saturday morning, and it was her favorite time to do laundry—before anyone else was there.

Except Harry. She seemed to make every exception for Harry.

He hoped she would make one this time too.

*

“Hey munchkin,” she smiled sweetly as Harry got down to the laundry room. He didn’t tell Ava. He knew he should have. Of course, he should have. But there was something about the sunshine that lived in the laundry room that made his brain short circuit. There was something in the air that made him lose all train of thought. All rationality escaped him when he thought about this girl obsessed with The Wizard of Oz.

But it was a mistake on his part. He didn’t tell Ava. Especially after her kindness this morning. The kind of kindness that made him love her—like when they first started dating. Why didn’t he go after her?

“I have t’tell y’something,” Harry said. He looked exhausted. His eyes were red rimmed. His face paled as he spoke.

She frowned. “Uh...okay?”

They weren’t a couple. They weren’t even...anything. Maybe she could say they were friends. Harry owed her no explanations for anything. Maybe kissing was a bad idea. It would ruin their friendship. Or maybe it was worse…

He closed his eyes. “I have t’jus’ say it, Sunshine. But y’have t’let me explain.”

She felt totally rattled. It was obviously a mistake. Completely. Thank God they didn’t have sex in her apartment. Thank God he asked about the picture frame; that they spent nearly an hour talking about music, books, and recipes.

Thank God, they stopped. It was so obvious he regretted it. Was she a bad kisser? Maybe she could convince Niall to help her out. Niall had a lot more practice than she did. No, there was no way Niall would help her with something like that. He would get all grossed out. He would probably lie and tease her and say she was a terrible kisser regardless. Or maybe he–

“I have a girlfriend,” he whispered.

The words hung in the air for a moment in suspended animation. It was like the clocks had stopped ticking, the world stopped turning, the washing machines stopped spinning.

If she was attached to a machine, her brain would show zero activity.

No.

She felt her stomach turn violently and felt her whole body tingle with heat. Part of her thought she was going to throw up.

No, no, no, the voice in her head shouted. No. He’s supposed to be mine!

But there was no reason for her to think like that. Harry wasn’t hers. This was just proof of what she already knew back when she felt that connection to him so instantaneously. She knew he was too good to be true. Her voice stopped working. She wanted to cry but she didn’t want to do that in front of Harry. If she was going to have a breakdown, she couldn’t do it here. She left all her stuff and bolted past Harry, taking the steps two at a time to get away from him without even a word.

He hurried after her. “Kitten,” he cooed gently. She shook her head and continued running for the elevator, grateful it was there, open, when she got there. She rapidly pressed the button to shut the door, but Harry had much longer legs and trapped himself inside the small space before it closed the pair of them in. She turned to the back of the lift and pressed her forehead to the cool metal. “Kitten,” he tried again.

“No,” she sniffled. “No, you can’t call me that.”

“Sunshine, y’supposed t’let me explain.”

“Explain what exactly, Harry?”

He grabbed her arm. Immediately, she yanked it away from him with a shake of her head. “No, you can’t touch me.”

He ran a hand over his face, and she exited quickly as soon as the door was barely open enough to fit her through the space. Naturally, he followed her. “Please let me explain.”

She wheeled around so quickly Harry nearly bumped into her. “Explain what?” She whispered. If there was any more volume in her voice, she would lose complete control. She would cry. She would sob. She would lose any sense of herself because even though she was mad at Harry and how she had foolishly kissed him without knowing she was ruining some poor girl’s relationship because of their kiss...

She was selfishly thinking about how unfair it was that she couldn’t have him.

“Love.”

“Harry. Stop calling me names.”

Closing his eyes, Harry thought he might explode. This was so unfair. He was breaking her heart. All he wanted was to hold it in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” She gasped. “I...I don’t...I don’t even know what to say to you,” the tears were about to spill over her lash line. She couldn’t hold the emotions she was feeling much longer.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t want to watch her cry. It felt private. Plus, it made him feel guilty that he was the cause. “If it means...anything. M’relationship isn't...good a lot of the time.”

She glared at him and his horrible betrayal. Of her trust. Of her belief in him. In hurting her reputation. “That’s not a reas—”

He put his hands up defensively. “I know, love. I know. S’not an excuse. M’jus’ trying t’give y’details. M’sorry. S’my fault. All my fault,” he promised. Harry felt like he would start crying if she did. “S’nothing...you didn’t do anything wrong,” he promised her. It was a little comforting that he seemed to know what she was feeling and maybe part of her was grateful that he knew she would feel so down on herself about it. “I lead you on. I made the mistake.”

It felt like Harry had taken a steak knife and stabbed it right through her heart with the word mistake coming from his mouth. She thought he would say it when he first entered the laundry room. But it felt so much worse hearing it out loud. Knowing truly why it was a mistake.

“I don’t think we should be around each other… for a while.”

Harry deflated, his face paling. “Love,” he whispered. “I know I messed up...I know...that...” he rubbed his hand on the back of his head. “I want to be friends.”

She wanted that too. She wanted more than that. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want, Harry,” she whispered quietly. “I’m sorry too.”

He deserved this. He didn’t even want to hear the I told you so his conscience was probably singing and dancing in the back of his mind. If he could focus on anything other than the terribly sad girl, and how his heart was breaking at the thought of not chatting with her over laundry. This hurt worse than any fight he had with Ava by a long shot.

That seemed like damning proof more than anything.

“Okay,” he murmured taking in her expression one more time. He wished it was happy. Somehow, some way. He wished he hadn’t broken her heart like this—even if her heart wasn’t his to break. He didn’t want the last time he saw her for a while, was her feeling sad and upset. But it was his fault. Completely. There was no question about it. “M’sorry, love,” he whispered.

She nodded. “Me too, Harry.”

God, he wanted her to call him munchkin. He wanted it to be okay. More than okay. He wanted it to be...different. If only he hadn’t fought with Ava. He would have told her. Telling Ava first meant that she would have screamed and yelled and left.

Harry could rationally explain the situation to the girl before him. Explain that it was bad. He wouldn’t get tongue tied. He wouldn’t get his ideas mixed up. He wouldn’t mess this up as well the way he messed up everything else.

“See you around...I guess...” he mumbled and backed toward the elevator.

“Bye, Harry,” she whispered as the elevator slid close.

*

She had to get her laundry but the idea of going down to that room made her nauseous. Once alone in the comfort of her apartment, she released the sobs she didn’t want Harry to see. There were so many things she needed to think about; she needed a list. A list of things to do. She typed them into her phone.

- Laundry - Pay bills - File paperwork - Harry’s…

It hurt to think about the end of that little chore. Taking deep breaths she closed her eyes and ignored the feeling of more tears that she wanted to fall.

Of course, he had a girlfriend. He was gorgeous, funny, sweet…why would he be single?

As much as she hated herself for hurting his relationship with someone else, she couldn’t help but think about how he mentioned his relationship was bad. The thought made her…sad. She couldn’t help it. The idea that someone as sweet as Harry was in a bad relationship wasn’t…fair. In school, she did rounds of different counseling methods and practices to see which ones she liked best. If she didn’t have her current job, she would strongly consider relationship therapy of some kind. The complexity of staying in a relationship that didn’t make sense was hard to navigate for anyone. She couldn’t imagine the stress and anxiety that Harry was going through on his own. Part of her wanted to recommend a therapist for him despite how he had changed her heart in the last hour.

I wouldn’t let our relationship be bad. She thought to herself.

Shut up. She whispered to the voice that was getting independent thought.

This was horrible.

The thoughts rolled through her head so quickly, she didn’t know what to deal with first. Laundry usually calmed her mind but she thought if she went down there she might go crazy. It wouldn’t be calming knowing they kissed in the very spot they had chatted for the last few months while Harry knowingly had a girlfriend. While they shared secrets, banter, recipes, and all things that people who flirt share.

She hated him.

No you don’t. The voice in her head sounded like it was rolling it’s eyes if it were capable.

But I want to hate him. She responded.

You don’t want to hate him either, you idiot.

Fortunately her phone rang with Niall’s picture taking up her screen. Good. Niall would ground her, help her.

“Hey princess,” he said softly.

That didn’t sound good. With an even heavier heart she swiped the tears away from her eyes, took a deep breath and frowned. “Oh, Ni, what’s wrong?” She asked.

“I…” he sighed. “You know how I was helping with the new office for those two weeks?”

Her heart dropped. She already knew. Part of her wished she didn't even finish the conversation. She knew where it was going. Lay on the heartache. The theme for the day. “Yeah…”

“They…can’t find anyone competent to run it.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t tell Niall. Not now. He had his own stuff to deal with and adding to his stress was the last thing she wanted to do. “So you’re competent now?” She asked lightly.

He chuckled softly, grateful that she could make him feel better. “Feels like the worst thing, darling.”

“How long?” It was the most important question. How long would she be without her best friend? How long would they be thousands and thousands of miles and plane rides away from each other? How long would he be gone? How long would she have to hide the horrible thing she did? The horrible thing Harry did? Niall would threaten to kill him. For hurting her heart. She knew it in her bones.

The silence was deafening. He didn’t want to say it. It was going to kill her.

“Just say it, Ni.”

“A year,” he whispered quietly. “Longer if they can’t find someone.”

Fortunately, she was already so heartbroken it was easy to combine her sadness of Harry and Niall together without Niall suspecting a thing. There was so much devastation in her head and heart in such a short amount of time. “A year?” She whispered.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

“What about…the missus?”

She listened to Niall’s deep sigh. “I haven’t told her yet…she can work from anywhere…so I’m hopeful. I wanted to tell you first.”

Her heart fluttered with so much love for her best friend. He told her first. She couldn’t tell him about Harry or the kiss. He would worry and change his career all for her and that wasn’t fair.

She already hurt one relationship today. She wouldn’t hurt another.

She needed a trip to the Emerald City like never before. She had to be brave and strong for him. It felt like she needed courage and a brain for not seeing so many obvious signs before. “Now I know I have a heart…because it’s breaking,” she whispered, quoting the Tin Man. She was going to need a heart too.

He chuckled. “Well m’gonna call every day,” he promised.

She nodded. “You better,” she sniffled and giggled. “When do you leave?”

“Next week.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. This was a good distraction. At least for a little while. “Well, we better make the most of it,” she whispered.

“M’glad you have Harry,” he said. Like a knife to the chest. “You can’t replace me with him, though.”

“Never,” she promised. She had to tell him something. “I…actually have some news on that front,” she sniffed.

“Oh princess,” he said, hearing the crack in her voice. “What happened?”

“He has a girlfriend,” she croaked.

“Oh, darling,” he cooed.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” she shrugged.

“M’sorry, still. I was…I mean…I still think he’s your soulmate. What kind of person quotes The Wizard of Oz like a lunatic?”

She smiled through her tears and nodded. “Yeah…”

“Let me talk to the missus. We’ll do dinner, yeah?”

“Please.”

“See you later, princess.”

What a twister of a day.

-

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[sun-stricken]

Things that have [probably] happened at a Team Sleepover

so many games. so many.

they cant play monopoly unsupervised until they learn how to be grownups

“fuck communism, im gonna take everything youre worth and then some”

“if someone doesnt bail me out right fucking now consider yourselves on my hit list”

“how the FUCK ARE YOU SO RICH??” “idk what to tell you, i just decided not to be poor” “can we jump someone in this game?” “now hOLD ON—”

charades is also banned because of the screaming matches

They love two truths and a lie tho, they will pull out the most absurd things abt themselves. usually the most mundane one is the lie

“okok, ive been arrested exactly one time, im wanted dead or alive in two countries, and i was the primary suspect in two armed robbery cases.” “okay, first of all—“ “what the fuck” “please tell me we’re playing two lies and one truth”

also uno!

Natsu: Please, Lucy, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this. 
Lucy: I’m sorry Natsu. 
Natsu: I’m begging you. Don’t do it. 
Lucy: It has to be done. 
Natsu: 
Lucy: 
Natsu: 
Lucy: *Places +4* Uno.

Reading wikihow pages in suspenseful tones is a staple activity

it takes them hours to figure out where and what to eat

every time any of them pass the thermostat they have to mess with it

Usually they take place at either Lucy or Grays apartments, and they cause numerous noise complaints

Gray likes to leave like its a one night stand if its not at his place, no note, just up and leaves before anyone wakes up

they went to Natsus once, but they ended up walking to Grays bc they wouldnt stop critiquing everything

something always ends up being broken, be it a door, a vase, a cup, or a window, there will be something

alcohol was supposed to be banned at these sleepovers but somehow it always makes an appearance

Gray, drinking wine while getting a manicure from Lucy: I don’t know, they just don’t seem interested...

Lucy: Did you try talking to them?

Gray:

Gray: Try what?

There’s probably been a couple visits from police bc a neighbor though a domestic dispute was happening, this is the real reason charades was banned

Late night talks but they always end up with someone having an existential crisis