#guess it’s time to wallow in self pity for all night again and regret everything in the morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magi-the-writer · 3 months

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‘How long has it been?’

I couldn’t help but ask myself, staring blankly at the ceiling like the many times before.

The room was dark, done so purposefully—with both the bedroom and bathroom door closed tightly. The thick curtains were drawn and even the shutters were brought down. All in an attempt to keep me in the dark.

But it wasn’t entirely pitch black.

The warm glow of the light within the hallway leaked in through the edges of the doorframe. Lighting that part of the hall in a dim warmth.

‘Maybe he feels bad?’

That is a question I know is a lie.

But the dim glow truthfully wasn’t enough for me to keep myself entertained by tracing over each expensive painting that hung on the walls.

Going over every line like I had painted it myself—guessing how and which stroke of the brush was done and came first. Or how—after getting bored from that, I’d move on to watching the small bugs that zip around the ceiling light.

Only to die and fall by the small jumping spiders that like to live within the fancy glass.

I was left in here by that man to stare at the dark. Mostly to,

're-think my resent behaviour,’

and

‘come up with a suitable apology for my childish act.’

‘Honestly, it was so stupid.’ I couldn’t help but remark to myself. Whether it truly was a reflection of my actions, or a statement in regards to something else.

What else could it be—at this point, it could honestly be anything.

My teeth chewed at the inner-side of my cheeks, having nothing else to do but that small act of self-mutilation.

I knew there wasn’t much point in wriggling about this bed like a worm. Even when I’ve crinkled the god-awful satin sheet, somehow nudging the thick duvets to the floor and pulled up the matching fitted sheet with nothing but my exposed toes.

In the end, all that hard work only gets me encased within the cool fabric that I distain and ultimately exhausted.

And truth be told, it would be satisfying if only to serve as a minor annoyance to the man that dub himself as my lover.

But in reality, all it really does is cause the devil to chuckle a the hilarity of the sight.

He’ll come in when he believes i have learnt my lesson. Lean against that door and say something with amusement, the condescension hidden under his carefully crafted words. Hiding it so well, even I struggle to spot it.

That, and he’ll smile lovingly as if my little act of defiance isn’t a future inconvenience at all.

Just to saunter to my bedside, lanky fingers brushing through my staticy hair. Pulling the strands that hid my face from his view. Reveling my forehead as he'd place a soft kiss upon the crown of my head with his bottom-heavy lips.

Just to leave me like I am now, to wallow in my spite and shiver in regret as he’d turn the AC down just that slightest bit.

To be a petty betty as he’d wear that stupid grin at my pitiful state. Knowing full well there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.

All that I am and would have been, taken. Robbed all in one night; all I have left are memories, memories that have been tainted and ruined in some form of way by him.

‘I have to go and delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control… but what else am I supposed to do?’ Frowning, the frustrated tears prickled my eyes once again.

Stinging the already puffy and irritated skin that surrounded my eyes.

Other then this, crying is the only thing I can do. And it only frustrates me more.

Outside of my delusions of grandeur, I have nothing. Everything I own either doesn’t belong to me, and the things that I once owned are gone.

Him… him, him, him, him, HIM!

…

God, I hate it. I hate him—and yet, I can’t find it in myself to despise him…

Out of everything he’s done, out of all that he’s shown me… never once did he do something to make me loath him.

‘It’s so fucking sick,’

Disgust.

I am so disgusted with myself.

I can’t find it in my soul to blame him—I know I should. Everything is his fault, but I can’t.

In some twisted way, I place the ounces on myself.

He may have placed the restraints, but I caused the chaffing that now caused my writs to bleed. His soft touches and lingering hugs and sickly-sweet kisses that he gives me… it’s all my fault.

I wouldn’t be dressed and bounded in the one fabric I despised next to felt and velvet if only I stop deluding myself.

And yet, I can’t—I can’t except that nothing will ever be normal with him.

I can’t except that I am a prisoner here and he’s the warden that dictates the show. I can’t except that I’ll never return home again. To be surrounded by my family… and that all of this is just some silly, little nightmare within a dream.

‘If only we lived in a perfect world…’

Closing my eyes, in a perfect world the son of Lucifer would have never grown possessed. Never become obsessed—never fell into the false-sunken fallacy that was the idea of being in love with me.

The slow drawn of the door’s hinges had dragged me back to the present. The warm glow of the hallway’s light flooded the room.

Casting the four walls in a faded glow, I didn’t need to guess who it was standing at the door.

His figure blocked some of the light, casting an unintentional elongated silhouette that stretched from the doorway and came right out from my nightmares.

Traveling along the floor, over the bed—shadowing my bounded form and against the wall.

‘I don’t need a paralysis demon when I have him.’ I dryly laughed at the bland joke.

He was akin to a monster from the deepest depths anyways.

Though I doubt I’d ever voice my thoughts about him. So, I remained quiet. My throat unintentionally clenched as my heart started to beat faster within my chest.

I was nervous—no, anxious for what was to come as I always was around him. Especially after punishments. Even though he’s never laid a hand upon me once as a punishment.

‘Well in a non-abusive way anyway’s.’ I noted, recalling the copious number of times when the palm of his hand would roll.

Caressing the sides of my arms, groping my waist and grabbing hips. Ghosting my behind when he’s forced me to sit in his lap… or when that one time. The time where I was the weakest… where I craved some form of comfort.

A time where I nearly begged him to rub my stomach, to place pressure over the cramps that left me feeling feeble in the knees.

How his fingers would brush my cheeks, run through my hair and attentively attempt to brush against what lays between my thighs.

Or how he’ll hold me against his chest as we sleep, his grip never faltering—even when he slept… it was something akin to young child, clinging onto a stuffed toy for dear life.

An attempt to make them forget the shouting of your parents and the smashing of ceramics.

But perhaps that’s me projecting. A small part of me, a part from a past long since gone. Creeped, making me wonder…

‘When will he snap? When will his patience’s run dry… and—and…’ The thought alone had my heart sinking, and the pit in my stomach attempting to swallow me hole.

A fear of mine that ran deep since I was little; I’ve seen the things he’s done, just the memory alone makes me nauseous, and once again. I feel like I’m back to being a child when he’s around.

Helpless.

“Darling,” the soft drawl of his voice was like honey-due.

Sweet… homely and devious with hidden intent.

A beat of silence rung; sometimes I wished he could never tell if I was awake or asleep. I wish he was as clueless as I am each night when I lay awake.

Sleepless from the countless rampt thoughts that kept my brain from subcoming to melatonin.

I’d find myself staring at his peaceful face as he’d slumber for hours.

Undisturbed by the monstrosities he and his gang of thieves have caused through the years.

Sometimes my hand has a mind of its own, I’d find myself brushing his raven locks from his face. Tucking the silky strands behind his ears.

Sometimes he’ll wake up, it always startles me. But I felt angry when he’d sleepily snuggle his cheek into my open palm. Sniffing my wrist as his eyes stared into my own with… with something akin to adoration.

And I fucking loath it.

But other times, he remained unshaken. Fast asleep as his pale skin was like the moon in the dark. Soft and illuminous under the soft glow.

And at nights like that, he looks absolutely stunning.

And for all the nights, where I’m too stir-crazy to drift to sleep. I find myself questioning.

‘I wonder if he regret the choices he’s made? Do he also have nightmares of his past… is he just as haunted by his childhood like I am?’

Is that why he is the way he is?

God, am I possessed by the ghost of my past the longer I am trapped here with him. Memories I believed I had long since forgotten, or never even knew existent came bursting to the forefront.

I could be doing anything…

Showering, eating, reading, laying in bed or on the couch. Forced to cuddle in the arms of my abductor.

Terrible, calamitous memories that have me quietly weeping into my hands when I am alone…

Or just one day collapsing into a heaping mess before the devil.

It’s a wonder as to why my older sisters turned out the way they did…

Sometimes, I wish to bleach my eyes.

Burn them with the fancy candles the demon brings to my feet as gifts to show his affection. I have to resist the urge to claw them from my skull, to finally have peace from the hideous flashes of what that man I call my father did…

Other times, I crave to ram the burrow my kidnapper would use in his puzzles. When he’s not quiet in the mood to read, I like to imagen how deep that black pen would go into my ear.

All so that I can silence my sisters please, to mute my mother’s cries of regret.

But instead of the man that loitered over my childhood. Crushing—destroying any semblance of my innocents and casting an endless fear that tremor still to this day… My phobia of falling in love with anyone, in a deep apprehension of falling into an endless cycle of abuse.

It was him. The man that stood at the door, my kidnapper and self-proclaimed lover.

Chrollo Lucifer

But like how I couldn’t read him most of the time, it was the opposite for him. Chrollo could read me like a book.

Picking me off from the shelf that is surrounded by many other books he has collected. I was apparently his favourite to read—out of all his favourites. Something he’ll never grew tired of… or so he proclaims.

He will trace his hand over my cover, caressing the thick spine and spreading open my pages. His eyes reading every word inside, annotating and studying everything written upon the fickle pages. Memorising each sentence and dissecting that of my life tale.

He was a terrifying force of nature.

“I see you’ve kept yourself busy,” his eyes traced over the bedding. Seeing the satin sheet crumped on the floor, once again rejected and abandoned along with the duvet that hanged halfway off the bed.

The velvet fabric showing where I brushed up against the tuff.

And the pillows were pressed to the ends of the bed...

What else did he expect?

“I hope whatever is left of your tantrum had subsided—I’d hate for you to stay like this.” With a tilt of his head, I couldn’t see his face, the warm glow of the ceiling light never reached it… or perhaps it casted the truth.

Showcasing the true him.

I couldn’t help how my body trembled. It was such a struggle to remind myself that even though Chrollo is a horrible being. There are monsters that exceeded him in other ways.

The shadow that casted over his face was a reflection of his soul.

Black and rotten, the symbol of a demonic evil that will possess your soul. And from greed, he will consume you until there is nothing left…

Or prophases it’s a reflection of who Chrollo really is. Under the mask that is the skin of his flesh that makes up all his gentlemanly suave and charming nature. Lays an empty man. Someone that has nothing is nothing.

Hollow from his past, gutted by a void that is ever consuming.

Sucking in everything like a vacuume, love… hate… envy… gluttony. He collects it all, an endless appetite to become someone, to be someone who he isn’t. All so that he could fulfill the emptiness that forever lives inside him.

And like predicted, the repeat in his behaviour was close to clock work as he walked.

Entering our shared bedroom—but unlike the usual. Unlike what I expected, instead of heading to the bedside, where he’d kneel down to stare at my back.

The antichrist or broken child; depending on how one would veiw a shattered man like Chrollo began crawl straight across the bed.

My breath hitched as it wasn’t long before he replaced his shadow. Hovering over me, his arms caged me under him—I felt so, so small beneath him.

The white button up tucked into the tux slacks that were held by his belt.

This was Chrollo’s casual wear, with his hair down—framing his face, the middle was parted to show off his forehead. The tattoo stood out against his pale skin. My eyes remained trained on his face, staring up into his black eyes.

The obsidian hues were true to the analogy of when you stare into the void, it stares back.

I never know what Chrollo is thinking.

“Hm, though. I see you have yet to pull off the fitted sheet…” His eyes drifted to the white linin that clung to the mattress underneath. The silky thing continued to cause an irrational ire.

My sense of smell was consumed by his colonel. And admittedly, the smell was good. Pleasant to my nose and at times, helped ease my anxiety.

And that only irritated me beyond what is normal.

His cold hand moved, gently cupping my cheek. His lips pressed into a frown; his thumb brushed under my puffy eye.

Swiping at the tear stained cheek, he leaned down.

Forehead pressing to mine, his breath reeked of expensive wine.

And like many things in this world.

I despised alcohol.

It makes people do terrible things… or it only pushes the true you out for the world to see…

Either way, alcohol is a sin that ruins more lives than people realise.

“You’ve been crying again…” he mused, though his tone lacked any sense of amusement. His eyes were half-lidded, an obvious sign that the alcohol was affecting him… or maybe it’s something else.

There are times it seems Chrollo enjoys it when I weep.

Maybe it’s because when I cry, I cling to him because he’s the only living thing that’ll whisper affirming words. He’ll gladly hug me back, holding me firmly and easing away my sorrows—it’s the only moment where I genially hug him.

Not because he asked, or forced me into one, but because I desire to feel safe… to feel something other than depression. Something that isn’t the consuming worry of becoming like my mother.

A fucking coward.

Or maybe because he enjoys consuming my suffering, perhaps it’s a way to make him feel better. Or because he’s a monster. A demon, a devil—Lucifer incarnate.

Either way, it’s a mystery.

“(YN)”

Drawing me from the depths of my thoughts, his nose slid beside my own as his eyes closed.

Pressing down on my legs, he sat upon them, and just like my hands, my ankles were bounded just as tightly.

His other hand moved, laying against my chest. Just above the protrusion of my breasts. His hand slipped. Sliding up my collarbone and up my arm. Closing in on the silk restraints.

“Be good for me, and I will untie you.”

He spoke in a whisper, his tone still sticky like honey...

“…alright,” my voice, barely above a whisper. Near close to just being mute slipped from my throat.

Maybe he’s like my father… maybe he’s different—or perhaps he’s something else entirely.

Chrollo’s frown turned, a smile—so small, but noticeable enough appeared.

With a simple tug, the binds came undone as he pressed his lips gently against my own in a chaste kiss.

And all that I could conclude when his one kiss turned to two. That swiftly delve into something a kin to passion.

even if it means I live within a delusion, failing to admit that I am already there.

All I can do now… is hope he isn’t. Pray to a dead god that might not even exist he’s different… that Chrollo won’t fill the role in a cycle I wish to never repeat in.

But at the end of the day, I disgust myself.

…

Because I wish, I hope and pray to the real devil that Chrollo is a monster to everyone but me… That he isn’t like my father. And never commit the sins that he inflicted upon my siblings and that coward I call a mother.

I hope the past never repeats…

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #Yandere Chrollo Lucilfer x reader

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incubum · 11 months

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okay so hear me out -

one night (post-s1 pre-s2) richie is sitting in a bench down by the pier having a teeny tiny existential crisis reading the book he told carmy about in ep1. a crying or maybe cried-out woman comes to sit next to him and after couple minutes of very awkward silence he asks her if she’s doing okay and regrets it very quickly because she is/was crying for fuck’s sake obviously she’s not okay. fortunately the question doesn’t backfire and she’s actually grateful cause she’s got so much bottled up so everything just sort of spills out. at the end of her rant she’s kind of embarrassed that she’s bothering this complete stranger with her whining but richie, who was also having a night full of self-pity himself, is feeling rather sympathetic and takes a chance on this strange woman and trauma-dumps in return. they spend the night wallowing and eventually end up feeling the tiniest bit better by morning once they get everything out there. surprisingly, a pathetic night turned out pretty good after all. eventually once the morning comes she has to leave to go to work. they exchange “see you later”s but forget that they haven’t exchanged names or numbers but this only hits richie later on when he goes to pick up his phone to talk to her and tell her something funny he’s heard that he thought she’d crack up at. which throws him back to square one, all sad and shit. a few days later they cross paths and richie thinks he has used up all his luck in the world on this moment, finding the one person he wanted to see again despite how fucking huge and crowded chicago is. this time they exchange names and numbers and it eventually turns into something serious. she travels a lot due to work so they’re always either texting or talking (mostly talking because richie doesn’t quite get texting). she texts him a photo of herself in his devry university sweatshirt that he left at her place and he makes it his lockscreen because that’s the sort of thing I KNOW he’d do okay don’t judge me. one day carmy sees his lockscreen and he goes “richie why the fuck is (character’s name — let’s call her roman roy because that’s the sort of thing i had in mind) your lockscreen?” and richie is so confused because although he has talked about her before he never gave them her full name so he says “how the fuck do you know jesse?” and carmy just laughs and goes “cousin that’s roman fucking roy she’s that asshole logan roy’s daughter, she’s a fucking billionaire” and richie is just so fucking shocked but obviously he dismisses carmy saying “why shouldn’t i know roman roy” and trying to act chill but the second he’s gone he’s immediately googling roman roy and his mind gets sooooo fucked and calls her a bajillion times while she’s in a meeting

okay that might be absolute crap but i was thinking abt succession and the bear happening in the same universe and this came out — it’s totally self-indulgent but i kinda wanna write it and see where it goes??? idk you’re my favourite richie writer and i guess i just wanted to tell you about it

never seen succession but i finally sat down and read this ask and i was vibing and jiving with it the whole time. you should DEFINITELY write it my dude

#frankietxt #richie jerimovich x reader

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seungmoroll · 3 years

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Stray Kids Fraternity | Han Jisung

Word count: 5,073

Genre & warnings: mentions of alcohol, cheating, cuss words, friends to lovers

A/n: this is the first post for my new series. if you guys like this, please be sure to check out the other parts of the series once they’re posted here: x

The last thing you wanted was to see your crappy ex, Younghoon, tonight. All you wanted was to let loose and have some fun, but no, his presence alone has ruined your night. You thought that when Chan, the president of the frat house next door, invited you to their party that you were going to have fun and get drunk, but instead of having fun, you’re just slightly buzzed and wallowing in self-pity.

Honestly, there wasn’t even any reason for you to be like this. You were the one who broke up with him, but then again, he did break your heart by cheating on you with some random girl. However, seeing him with some other girl all over him made you so upset, that any part of you having fun that night was thrown out the window.

Deciding that you needed another drink, you go into the kitchen to see what’s available. Too busy observing your options, you fail to notice Changbin walking up to you, “Hey there, looking for anything in particular?”

“Something to make me forget?”

Cocking an eyebrow at you, he asks you, “Rough day?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I got just the right thing for you.” As Changbin makes this concoction for you, you watch as some random people play beer pong. You realize now that two of them are Jisung and Hyunjin, two guys that are part of the fraternity.

“Here,” Changbin says as he hands you your cup. Taking a sip, you choke from the burn of your throat, “Gosh, Changbin, what the hell is in this?”

“Uh, a little bit of everything?” Shrugging, you take another sip and let Changbin lead you back to the rest of the party. The two of you settle in a little nook, watching Jisung and Hyunjin win at beer pong.

“Whoo! Another win for the boys!” Jisung cheers, “Who’s up for another round?”

Shaking his head, Hyunjin backs away from Jisung, “I’m at my limit dude, I’m tapping out.”

“But who’s gonna play with me now?” Jisung asks with a pout on his face. Eyes searching the room, Jisung spots Changbin, and a grin forms on his face, “Hyung!” Cutting in before Jisung can attempt to rope him in a match, Changbin says, “I’m not playing, Jisung.” Another pout forms on his face.

Deciding to step out of your comfort zone, you volunteer yourself, “I’ll play.” This causes for the two men to look at you. “Well, well, look who’s stepping out of their comfort zone.”

Rolling your eyes at Jisung, you playfully push him, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” IT wasn’t like Jisung was a stranger to you. You have been invited over to their frat house plenty of times, and were well acquainted with everyone in the frat, heck, you could even call them your friends. Well after the large argument between you and Younghoon the night of your breakup, most of the guys, including Jisung, happened to hear everything, so you definitely could say that they knew a lot about you. Looking at the cups set up on the table, you ask, “Who’re we going against?”

“Us.” You and Jisung both turn towards the sound of the voice, and your blood runs cold when you see that it’s Younghoon and that chick from earlier. Sensing the tension between you and Younghoon, Jisung says, “Let’s get this thing started then.”

You couldn’t say that you were the best at beer pong, but luckily for you, Jisung was. What annoyed you the most throughout the game however, was that every time Younghoon made a shot, the girl he was with would throw herself all over him. Honestly, it made you want to barf. Fortunately, Jisung’s presence made things a little bit better.

As the game nears to the end, both sides are left with one cup each. It’s your turn to make the shot, and all you want to do is wipe the smirk off that jackass’ face. So with all your determination, you toss the ping pong ball and watch as it makes it way to the other side of the table. When the ball hits the rim of the cup, you hold your breath, and when it lands inside the cup, your breath is knocked out of you when Jisung lifts you up into a bone crushing hug. “Oh hell yeah! That’s my Y/n! Yo Hyunjin, I don’t need you anymore. Y/n’s my new beer pong partner now.”

Although Younghoon’s presence may have ruined a part of your life, you could say that being around Jisung made it a bit better, or maybe it was just all the alcohol you managed consume. Either way, you enjoyed living next door to a frat house.

The next time the frat boys throws a party is a month later, and of course you show up, but this time you brought your friend Yeji. However, you’re starting to think that was a mistake because she made you dress up this time. Last time you had just shown up in jeans and a nice shirt, but this time she was making you go all out. “C’mon Y/n, you told me that last time you saw Younghoon. Don’t you want to make him regret cheating on you?”

Sitting on your bed, you ponder her question. You don’t dress up often, but you guessed it couldn’t hurt to do so this one time, and if Younghoon happened to be at tonight’s party and he happens to se you then so be it. Getting up, you make it known to Yeji that you weren’t letting her dress you up because of a stupid boy, but because you wanted to look good and confident. Your response causes for her to clap in excitement and then she drags you into your closet to begin the process.

Once the two of you arrive next door, you are greeted by Jisung, “Oh hey Yeji, hey Y/n,” quickly observing your look, “You look different Y/n.” Cutting you off before you could say anything, Yeji excitedly asks, “Don’t they look hot?”

Squirming underneath Jisung’s gaze, your eyes widen when he says, “Yeah, they do.” Motioning towards the kitchen, “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

The two of you let Jisung lead you towards the kitchen, where you see Younghoon and a different girl from last time conversing by the kitchen counter. Ignoring Younghoon’s gaze, you stand in front of all drinks, pondering your options. Sliding behind you, Jisung gently wraps an arm around your waist to get to the other side of you, where he grabs a beer for himself and picks up another to see if you wanted one. Gladly accepting the offer, you take a swig of it, disliking the taste, but drinking it anyways.

You realize that Jisung is talking to you, but with the heavy bass of the music and the loud voices of people, you’re unable to understand anything that he’s saying. Realizing that you couldn’t hear him, Jisung steps closer to you and talks into your ear, “You up for being my partner at beer pong again?” Honestly, you weren’t really in the mood for too much drinking tonight, but you just realized the Yeji has already left your side and you’re really starting to hate the feeling of Younghoon’s gaze on you, so you pull back from Jisung and offer your hand to him, saying to him, “Lead the way.” He happily takes your hand and leads you to the table.

The two of you only play one game together, but you still have fun because you loved the look on Chan’s and Changbin’s face as you and Jisung won. Fortunately for you, the two men sucked at beer pong, so you didn’t have to drink much, and even when they did manage to land a ball in one of your cups, Jisung had offered to take the drink; saying something along the lines of him being too thirsty. Silently you had thanked him.

Hours go by when you and Yeji finally meet up again, and she’s on the verge of passing out. Deciding that you should bring her back to your place, you take your leave, but before you could go, Jisung catches you and tells you that he’ll walk the two of you back to you place, saying that he needed a bit of fresh air.

The short walk back to your place is filled with comfortable silence, sans the noise from the party. Having Jisung help you with the door, you throw a passed out Yeji onto you couch, turning to Jisung you thank him for the help and for making the night fun for you.

Waving you off, he says, “Nah, there’s no need to thank me, I didn’t do much anyways. Plus, I like having you around, so of course I gotta make it seem like us frat guys are fun.” He sends you a wink as you chuckle at him. Walking Jisung to your door, you bid him a good night, with a small smile on he face, he looks you in the eyes, “Good night Y/n.”

The next time you see Jisung isn’t at one of their frat parties, it’s actually during an unexpected situation.

It’s Tuesday morning when you decide that it’s too early in the morning for there to be someone ringing your doorbell. Checking through the peephole to see who the unwanted guest, you roll your eyes when you see Jisung. Opening up the door, the first thing Jisung says is, “So like here’s the thing, our water pipes are busted and I really need to take a shower. Can I use yours?” You contemplate for a moment on whether you should shut the door on Jisung’s face or not, but choosing to ignore the devil on your shoulder, you open the door widely, allowing room for Jisung to enter your house.

As Jisung uses your shower, you take the opportunity to make the two of you breakfast. Humming and dancing around as you get everything set up. While you were busy flipping the pancakes, your doorbell rings once again, but before you could go see who it was, you hear Jisung call out, “I’ll get it!”

When Jisung opens up the door he isn’t expecting to see your ex on the other side. Confused, Younghoon gives Jisung a once over and asks, “Is Y/n here?”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Jisung leans against the doorway, “They’re a bit busy right now.”

Annoyed by his response, Younghoon says, “Well could you tell them that I’m here and that I need to talk to them right now?”

Rubbing his fingers on his chin, seeming as if he was giving your ex’s request a thought, Jisung replies, “I could…but I won’t.” With the being said, Jisung makes an attempt to shut the door on your Younghoon’s face, but he slams his hand against the door and says, while gritting his teeth, “Look here you piece of-“

“Jisung? Who’s at the door?” you ask from behind Jisung.

“It’s no one.”

“It’s Younghoon.” Both men say at the same time.

Pushing Jisung aside, you widen the door to see your ex. “What do you want?” you ask him in an uninterested tone.

“I wanted to come and talk to you, Y/n.”

“Well then talk.” He looks over at Jisung, who’s been hovering over your shoulder glaring at him. “In private.”

“Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of Jisung and if that bothers you then you can just head on home and not talk to me ever again.”

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he brings to say, “I wanna get back together, Y/n. What I did was mistake-“ You stop him mid-sentence by raising your hand in the air, “Let me stop you right there Younghoon. If that’s what you came all the way down here for then I’m sorry, but I have no intentions of getting back together with you. If that is all, then enjoy your day, goodbye Younghoon, for good.” Closing the door, your lean against it, eyes shut, taking a moment to process everything. You even managed to forget about a certain frat boy’s presence.

“I’m proud of you Y/n.” Opening your eyes, you turn to glare at Jisung, “Did you really have to answer my door like that?” you motion to his body. Looking down at his own body, Jisung says to you, “What’s wrong with this?”

“Jisung, you’re literally only in a towel right now.” Said towel was the only thing covering Jisung and it was hanging low on his hips. “And your chest is still wet, it’s like you didn’t even bother to dry up.”

“Hey, don’t act like you aren’t enjoying the view right now. You better take it all in because not everyone gets to see this. Plus, I’m sure your ex is making up all kinds of situations as to why I’m like this in your house.” Jisung does ridiculous poses to show off his physique.

Sighing and making your way back to your kitchen, you say to him, “The last thing I need right now is for him to think that we’re together or whatever.” Jisung follows you into the kitchen, “Hey what’s wrong with thinking that we’re together?”

“Lots of things are wrong with thinking that. Now go and put on some real clothes so we can eat breakfast together.” You shoo him towards the bathroom as you set up your breakfast plates.

When Jisung returns, this time in actually clothing, he sits down at the kitchen island in front of his plate and says, “You know, this is a pretty domestic scene: you making breakfast for the two of us while I get ready in the morning. I think I can get used to this.”

Jisung’s unnecessary comment makes a slight blush form on your face, causing for you to mumble to him, “Shut up and eat your pancakes.” You choose to ignore the smug look on his face as you stuff yours with pancakes.

The next morning, Jisung is knocking at your door once again, and when you open it up, he asks to use your shower again. Playing the nice neighbor, you let him inside, asking him when their pipes will be fixed as he makes his way to your bathroom. “Uh I don’t know. They say it may take a week or two, or something like that.”

“I like the body wash that you use by the way. It smells good.” Jisung comes out from the hallway, towel drying his hair. This time he has pants on, but just like yesterday, he’s wet and shirtless. Taking a seat by the kitchen island, he watches as you maneuver around the kitchen.

“And why exactly did you use my body wash?” Being a good host, you place a piece of toast with avocado on a plate and slide it towards Jisung. He happily accepts it, take a bite, and answers your question, mouth still full of food, “I forgot to bring mine with me.”

“So what’re you up to today?” He waits for your answer as he chugs down the glass of water. You proceed to tell him that you didn’t have class that day, so you were going to

Because of the damage to the water pipes at the frat house, Jisung continues to come over to your house to use the shower for the rest of the week. In the short span of time that he’s constantly been over to your house, he’s inserted himself in your daily routine. If you were to be honest with yourself, you liked the change that he brought into your life. He’s managed to figure out your schedule; knows when it’s a good time to come over and stays a little bit afterwards to hang out and talk to you. Sometimes in the mornings, you’ll make breakfast for the both of you, whether it be a bowl of cereal or waffles. Though he still likes to parade around your house wet and shirtless, which you do your best to ignore, but that’s kind of hard when Jisung’s abs look the way they do.

There are even times when he doesn’t need to shower, but he’ll show up at your house anyway. You’re not too sure if you like the fact that the two of you have become so comfortable with one another over the span of a week.

One morning you had woken up earlier than usually and decided to go out and sit on your front porch, mug in hand. Taking in the beauty of the natural world, you hear the sound of a door closing. Turning, you see Minho, a mug also in his hand, still dressed in his pajamas. “Hey neighbor,” he raises up his mug to greet you.

Smiling and doing the same, you say, “Good morning Minho. Early morning?”

“Nah, I’m always up this early. There’s something about the fresh morning air that gets me going. The question is: why are you up this morning?” Leaning across the porch railing, he takes a sip from his mug.

“Couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d go out here and enjoy all of this.” The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, embracing the morning air.

Suddenly, a question pops into your brain, catching Minho’s attention, you ask him, “Hey, where are you and the others washing up if your place’s pipes are broken?” Confused, Minho cocks an eyebrow at you, “What’re you talking about? Our pipes were fixed hours after they were broken.”

This was news to you, “What did you just say?” Getting up from your porch swing, “Did you just say that they were fixed?”

Nodding his head, “I did.”

“That son of a bitch,” you muttered to yourself. The new information changed your perspective on everything. Essentially, Jisung had been freeloading off of you for this entire week, and for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was that Jisung had been increasing your water bill for no reason at all, and that you were going to murder him.

“Minho, why the hell has Jisung been coming over to my house to take showers if your pipes have been fixed for a week now?”

Shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, “I don’t know, maybe it has to do with the fact that your house has you in it and ours doesn’t?”

His response wasn’t the answer that you were expecting. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Separating himself from the railing, he goes on to say, “I think you’re a smart person, Y/n. Figure it out.” Giving you one last smirk, he turns and goes back into the house, leaving you standing outside on your porch looking like an idiot.

It’s been two hours since your conversation with Minho, and you still can’t get over the fact that Jisung has been lying to you this entire time. Looking at the time on your phone, you see that Jisung should be coming over sometime soon. Once he knocked on your doors, you were determined to get an answer out of him.

Five minutes later the sound of knocking can be heard. Getting up from your spot on the couch, you make your way to the door. The sight in front of your eyes as you open the door is Jisung with a bright smile on his face. Seeing his face, you scoff as you walk away from the door. Shutting the door, Jisung says, “Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Actually, I woke up feeling great, that is until I had a little talk with Minho and found out something interesting. Do you want to know what it was?” From the tone of you voice, Jisung had a slight feeling of where this conversation was going. “You talked to Minho hyung? What did you find out?”

“Oh nothing major, just the fact that your pipes have been fixed for a week now.” Jisung avoids your gaze as he thinks of a way to explain the situation to you. “So you see..” His sentence falters.

“Go on.”

Sighing, “Look, I could go on and come up some ridiculous excuse as to why I continued your shower, but I’m sure you wouldn’t like that, so here’s the truth: I like spending time with you, Y/n. After the first morning where you made me pancakes, I thought it was the best way for us hang out and get to know each other. At first I just thought of you as our cute neighbor, and then I saw you with Younghoon at one of our parties, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you. So yeah, you piqued my interest, and I used the situation to my advantage. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.”

His confession was unexpected to you, but it explains what Minho had meant earlier. You were completely speechless; you didn’t know what to say to Jisung. All the anger that you had previously held disappeared and was replaced by a feeling that you couldn’t describe. Too many thoughts ran through your head, and Jisung could sense it, something that you hated because he always knew your silent cues.

“This is probably too much for you to process this early in the morning, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to reciprocate my feelings or whatever. I just hope that this doesn’t make things awkward between us because like I said, I like hanging out with you, and so do the other guys in the hous, and if you want, I’ll reimburse you the cost for your water bill, just let me know how much it’ll be.” Looking back at the door, he says, “I guess I should go, huh?” till processing the scene, you nod, and without another word Jisung leaves your house.

It’s been a week since you discovered the news about the pipes and Jisung’s feelings, and you’ve managed to avoid seeing any of the frat guys. You didn’t want to ignore them, maybe Jisung, but you just wanted time to process everything, including your feelings for Jisung.

Of course you liked Jisung, he had a great personality, was a funny guy and he was easy on the eyes, but did you romantically like him? That you weren’t sure about. So you tried to think about all the small things that Jisung and even tried to imagine the two of you together.

You had a love/hate relationship with the fact that he could easily read you. You liked it because it meant that you didn’t have to voice things out but hated it because you weren’t sure how he was able to read you. You also liked the fact that things were easy with him because you knew that it was sometimes hard for you to open to people, but with him you didn’t have a problem with it at all. When it came to you thinking of romantic scenarios with him, you weren’t disgusted by the thought of him taking you out on dates, or the two of you cuddling.

Confiding in your best friend, Yeji, you tell her everything, in hopes of her helping you clear your muddy thoughts. “Bestie, it sounds like to me that you like Jisung.”

“Does it?”

Tsking in disapproval, she asks you, “Now why do you sound disappointed Y/n?”

“It’s just that the last time I liked a guy and was in a relationship with hi, he cheated on me, and I just don’t want to get hurt like that again.” Ever since Younghoon you were too scared to get back into the dating scene, and you hate him for ruining things for you.

“Look, I know you’re scared, but you really like Jisung, don’t you?”

You were afraid to admit it to yourself, but you did. “I do, Yeji.”

“Then be with him. For that week that he was constantly in your life, I saw a new side to you. I could tell that you were happier, and that’s all I want for you; to be happy.” At times like this, you were really glad that Yeji was your best friend. You don’t know where you’d be without her.

“You’re right. I should tell him how I feel. The guys are going to have a party tonight, so I’ll go over and talk to him.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so happy for you, Y/n. Oh and just remember that if he hurts you in any way that I’ll happily beat him up for you.” Laughing, you knew that she was serious as she had managed to land a punch on Younghoon’s face when she found out that he cheated on you. “I love you Yeji.”

“I love you too, now go get your mans.”

Later on that day when you entered the frat house, you were determined to proceed with your mission. You walk around the house looking for a particular person. As you wander through the house, you see familiar faces that you haven’t seen in a while. Chan catches your eyes as he DJs and gives you that famous smile of his. You spot a drunk Felix clinging onto Jeongin on the couch. You knew that you were stalling yourself from what you were aiming to do tonight, and with the look that Minho was giving you, he could tell to. Mouthing the words, “Just go for it,” you use his words as encouragement and make your way out to the backyard.

Chan had made it a rule that beer pong was to now only be played outside since the last party resulted in a broken table and a lot up napkins. You kind of appreciated the new rule because it gave you a lot more air to breathe. Shutting the door that led to the backyard, you spot a familiar figure in the middle of a winning game. Not wanting to disturb, what he calls “vibe”, you watch as Hyunjin makes the opponents chug their last cup. Celebrating their win, Jisung and Hyunjin bump their chests together, ‘what a bunch of barbarians,’ you thought to yourself. Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed once the two boys pull away and Hyunjin spots you. Catching Jisung’s attention, he motions towards you, and for the first time that night, the two of you lock eyes.

Using this as your chance to talk to him, the two of you walk towards one another, meeting up in the middle. Unable to look Jisung in the eyes, you focus on the red cup in his hand. “There’s something I want to say to you.” Not saying anything to you in response, Jisung pulls you towards a quieter area, which happened to where a swing set was located.

By the look on your face, Jisung could tell that you were questioning it, “Felix wanted a swing set, and what Felix wants, Felix gets.” Finding the reason quite reasonable you nod your head, and take a seat on the swing, Jisung following in suit.

Gathering your thoughts, you focus on the ground, “Jisung-“

“Y/n-“ The two of you say each other’s name at the same time, awkwardly laughing it off. Jisung motions for you to go first.

Taking a deep breathe, you decide to just tell him the truth, “So I’ve been thinking about everything for the past week, and at first I was just unsure about things, unsure about my feelings for you. Ever since Younghoon and I broke up, I’ve been too scared to get back into a relationship with anyone, fearing that I’m just going to get hurt again. And about a week ago, I had only saw you as a friend, but as I managed to collect my thoughts, I think it’s safe to say that I like you, Jisung.”

Being that one of his skills was to read you, Jisung could tell that it took you a lot to admit this too him, especially the part of your fear. “Y/n, I promise you that I would never do anything to hurt you. I want to be the reason for your happiness, not your tears. The hyungs would kill me if I ever hurt someone like you. Also, you think?”

Shaking your head, “I know that I like you. I also know that I can trust you.” Eyes still on the ground, you hear the sounds of chains rubbing against each other, and you realize that Jisung is now facing you. Softly placing a hand on your hand that was holding onto the chain, he maneuvers you to face him. With his other hand, he places it below your chin, making you lift your head and look him in the eyes, “I think I like this shy side of you.”

“You think?” You ask, repeating his previous question.

Chuckling, he responds, “I know. I also know that I really want to kiss you right now, so Y/n, can I kiss you right now?” Nodding your head, you lean forward towards Jisung. The kiss is short and sweet, and when the two of you pull apart, you hear familiar voices cheer aloud. Turning your heads, you and Jisung realize that you guys had an audience. Too embarrassed you lean forwards and bury your face into Jisung’s chest, something that you didn’t realize you wanted to do until now.

One morning, months after you and Jisung have gotten together, while you were over at the frat house, in the middle of eating breakfast with the boys, Jeongin had ask Jisung, “So in your mind, you thought that by parading around Y/n’s house with nothing but a towel, that they would suddenly be interested in you?”

Shamelessly Jisung responds, “Uh, yeah, and it worked, didn’t it babe?”

Smacking Jisung in the face, you say to him, “You idiot, although I did enjoy the view, your abs aren’t the reason why I like you, but now that I’m thinking about it, they may be the reason why I stayed.” The other guys laugh at your response as Jisung pouts at you. Kissing his pout away, you reassure him that you like everything about him, “Plus I’m your beer pong partner, who else is going to drink everything for me?”

A/n: my fav part while writing this was the first morning Jisung came over, it’s what inspired me to come up with the skz frat series

what do you guys think of the series so far? id love to hear your thoughts & opinions as feedback is always welcomed!

I have a tag list for this series, so pls let me know if you would like to be added to it:)

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thatshithurted8 · 4 years

Text

Fuck & Make Up

Summary: The Pogues devise a plan for you and JJ to stop hating each other. However, this plan involves leaving you two alone on Heyward’s boat in the middle of the marsh.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it,) mentions of bullying, and smoking.

You and Pope pull up to Heywards boat that was anchored in the middle of the marsh. John B called you saying that they needed their help since the engine stopped working for some reason. Without hesitating you of course agreed to help your friends.

As you walk onto the boat you see Kie and John B crouched down near the engine trying to fix it. With a closer look around the boat you realize that JJ wasn’t there, which you were completely fine with. You two have never gotten along so a moment without JJ was a moment of peace.

“Did you guys check the plugs?” You ask bending down beside your friends who were handing the tools over to you.

“No you should check those.” Kiara says as her and John B slowly walk over to the HMS pogue without you noticing.

You furrow your eyebrows as you examine the machinery in front of you and realize it was completely fine. “Guys it’s fine.” You say standing up, but you drop the screwdriver you were holding once you see John B and Kiara jumping off of the boat and swimming towards the boat Pope was in.

“Where are you guys going?” You ask walking over to the edge of the boat, but your thoughts were interrupted when you hear a banging sound come from the lower level of the boat. You walk over and lift the hatch to reveal the one person you couldn’t stand. JJ Maybank.

JJ’s eyes widen when he comes face to face with you. “Oh hell no.” He says coming out from the lower level as he hears the engine start to the HMS Pogue. However, he was too late, the small boat started to move farther and farther away from the two teens. John B raised his hand and dangled the pair of keys to Heywards boat in the air.

“Fuck them.” You scoff, folding your arms while watching the small boat disappear in the distance.

JJ turns and looks at you with an amused expression on his face. Yea he didn’t want to be there to hear you complain about him just existing, but it wasn’t the end of the world. “I can’t be that bad.” He says following you into the control area.

“Yes you are!” You exclaim, opening and closing drawers in hopes of finding a spare key to start the boat. As you did this JJ leaned against the door frame while getting a perfect few of your ass bent over. He quickly looks away when you stand up and turn around with a defeated expression on your face.

The blond has always thought you were attractive, but if you were rude on the inside you were ugly on the outside. Little did he know you thought the same thing about him, but you knew never in a million years you would admit that. It would only boost JJ’s already large ego and you would never hear the end of it.

“Fuck this shit.” You say pushing JJ out of the way and walking to the front of the boat to sit down and wallow in your self pity.

You have a few minutes of peace by yourself before JJ walks over to you and sits down. He scoots close to you, causing you to move over a bit, but you couldn’t help, but acknowledge how good the boy beside you smelt.

“You know Y/N.” JJ says causing you to look over at him while he focuses on rolling a joint. “I want to be friends, but clearly you can’t get over the fact that I bullied you in middle school.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff and fold your arms against your chest. “More like tormented.” You retort, thinking back to the days young JJ Maybank bullied you every chance he got.

When you became close with Pope and then got re-introduced to the rest of the group you were hoping JJ had changed. However your hopes went to shit when JJ saw you standing beside Pope in the Chateau. “Hey guys look it’s pickle!” The nickname originated when you had an allergic reaction to one on your sandwich during lunch one day. Young JJ made one of your most terrifying moments a joke around the school. Since that day in middle school you have held a grudge against the Maybank boy for being so cruel to you.

“I wasn’t that mean to you.”

Once again you scoff, not believing the words coming out of JJ’s mouth. “Yea making me hate everything about myself when I was 12 and 13 wasn’t mean.” You say remembering the nights you would cry yourself to sleep remembering JJ’s mean comments about your body.

JJ’s eyes widen at your bold statement, but he could tell you were telling him the truth. He instantly felt bad especially knowing that wasn’t his younger self’s intentions. Far from it actually.

The blue eyed boy sighs and looks over at you, finishing rolling the joint. “The reason why I bullied you all the time was because I liked you and I was jealous that you liked Rafe. Thinking back now, trying to get you to like me back by being an asshole to you wasn’t the best plan. So I’m sorry for that Y/N.”

You look over at him, surprised that after all of these years he apologized for his past actions. You could tell that he was being genuinely serious too.

“Don’t worry though, my picking up girls skills weren’t good back then, but trust me they are now.” He says winking at you and handing you the unlit joint.

You hesitate not knowing if you should take it or not. Taking it would mean that you would be forgiving him even though you still have insecurities to this day because of things he said to you as a child, but not taking it wouldn’t solve anything.

“Fuck off Maybank.” You say before ultimately deciding to take it, with a small smile on your face.

“Look a shooting star!” You say pointing up at the night sky taking a puff from a freshly lit joint.

“Where?” JJ asks looking up at the sky then back at you when he couldn’t find it.

“There.” You say blowing the smoke out of your mouth and into his face.

JJ blows the smoke away with his hand, an amused expression visible on his face. He takes the joint from your small hand and puts it in his mouth. You watch as he inhales it and you can’t help, but notice the tingly feeling in your core. JJ Maybank was already attractive, but the way he smoked the weed under the moonlight made you feel a certain way. When you realize what you were thinking about, you brush your thoughts off as you just being high, but you hadn’t actually smoked a lot.

Your thoughts are interrupted when JJ copies you and blows the smoke out of his mouth and into your face causing you to giggle. The blond does it again, simply so he could hear you laugh.

To your surprise being stranded on a boat for a night your middle school bully wasn’t actually that bad. After JJ opened up to you and apologized for his past actions you both started opening up to each other and started to act like actual friends. Five minutes go by while you two keep on passing the joint back and forth while blowing the smoke into each other’s faces.

“Wait. I have an idea.” JJ says taking the joint from you once again and inhaling the substance. You watch with parted lips as the boy beside you moves in closer to blow the smoke into your face, but you instantly freeze when JJ places his lips on yours, blowing the smoke into your mouth this time.

JJ pulls away and instantly regrets doing what he just did, by your reaction. You sat frozen and wide eyed, not being able to register what just happened.

“Shit. Sorry Y/N I shouldn’t have done that. The weed just makes me frisky I guess.” The boy says looking down at the joint in between his fingers. However, he wasn’t actually that high.

Thousands of thoughts swarmed your mind as you finally realized what happened. Impulsively you act on the tingly feeling in your core and you place your lips back against JJ’s. To say JJ was shocked was an understatement, but he was quick to kiss you back, his free hand caressing your cheek.

“I’m not that high.” You say pulling away and starring into his blue eyes that looked a lot darker than normal.

“Good cause I’m not either.” He says throwing the roach of the joint somewhere on the boat and pulling you onto his lap while kissing you again.

This kiss was a lot deeper and passionate. JJ bites your bottom lip, causing you to moan. He takes this opportunity and inserts his tongue into your mouth. You let his tongue explore your mouth before he pulls away and moves your hair out of the way.

His head dips down to your throat where he sucks mercilessly on the sensitive skin. You move your head to the side instinctively to give JJ more access. As he bites softly at your soft skin, before placing wet kisses along the places he was leaving hickeys.

“Fuck JJ.” You moan grinding into his lap. His large calloused hands wander along your body as you do so, one of his hands land on your ass and one on your breast. He squeezes your ass, continuing to leave red marks down your neck to the hem of your bikini top.

You continue to grind in his lap and by now you could feel his prominent member against your inner thigh. JJ pulls away from his assault on your neck as his hand plays with the strings of your bikini top.

“Can I?” He asks, referring to taking it off.

You simply nod before kissing him again. Through sloppy kisses JJ was able to remove your bikini top, throwing it somewhere on the boat. His head starts to go further down your body and his mouth eventually meets your left breast. He swipes his tongue around your erected nipple while his hand goes up to give your other breast some attention.

JJ looks up at you and finally puts your hard nipple in his mouth, sucking it. You moan while arching your back and pushing your core closer to his. Seeing you as a moaning mess in his arms only made the blond even more turned on, that and how your small fingers would run and pull on his golden locks.

He gives your right breast the same attention with his mouth while pushing you closer to his throbbing member. “Fuck you’re so hot.” He says as you grind against him again.

You feel his free hand travel down your body as he continues to lick and suck on your nipple. JJ’s hand ends up finding its way to the zipper of your jean shorts. He looks up at you again, asking for permission, but before he even says anything you nod your head yes.

The Maybank boy pulls down your zipper and lies you down so he could take them off, leaving you in your revealing bikini bottoms. He hovers over you and kisses you again, his hand finding your ass and squeezing it.

You kiss back, one of your hands in his hair the other grazing over his abs and down to bulge. JJ basically jumps at the sudden contact, but it doesn’t take long for him to start grinding into your hand while you start to palm him through his swim trunks.

Hearing JJ groan at how you were making him feel made you spiral into another universe. The sounds coming from his mouth was music to your ears. Your hand finds the bottom of the boys shirt and you start to tug on it signalling that you wanted it off.

He quickly takes off his shirt and instantly goes back to making you feel good. His mouth leaves your breasts and he starts to kiss down your stomach, leaving wet kisses.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in between kisses. JJ makes his way down your body, mumbling sweet nothings about how beautiful you looked withering underneath him. His skilled mouth stops when he reaches your inner thighs. You could feel his warm breath fanning against your core and you wanted nothing more than him to just touch you where you needed him most.

“JJ.” You moan while biting your lip.

He kisses your left thigh and then your right before looking up at you. “Yes beautiful?”

“Please?” You say desperately.

“Touch me JJ.”

“Where?” Here?” He says placing his large hand on your breast once again.

Rolling your eyes you grab his hand and place it on your clothed core. “Touch me here.”

JJ liked seeing you beg for his touch. Despite there being thick fabric between your pussy and his fingers JJ could feel your wetness through the bikini. He slowly moves your bottoms down your legs with his mouth before moving back up to your core.

“Please J-” You say being interrupted by JJ’s tongue finding it’s way into you, lapping up your juices. You let out a loud moan as you pull roughly on his hair. Your reaction only boosting JJ’s ego.

“So wet for me beautiful.” JJ says looking up at you, making eye contact. You swore just seeing your juices on his face almost made you cum instantly.

His tongue finds your bundle of nerves, sucking it while he pushes his pointer finger inside of your cunt. JJ adds his finger and you buck your hips up to meet his mouth and fingers, but his free arm pushes you back down.

As his fingers reach deeper and his tongue continues to work it’s magic you could feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. “Fuck JJ. I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!” You stutter.

JJ smirks to himself while he reaches up and grasps your tit in his large hand, squeezing it. This on top of the way his tongue and fingers were thrusting in and out of you sent you into oblivion.

You let out a loud moan, arching your back as your first orgasm of the night washes over you. JJ sits up on his knees, leaving your sensitive core. You look down and see his bulge that looked like it was about to break through his shorts.

Sitting up, you reach down towards the top of his shorts and pull them down, causing his dick to pop out, hitting his navel. You gulp looking down at him, not realizing that he was that big.

You perch up onto your knees and meet JJ’s lips in a rough and lustful kiss. His hands instantly finding your ass before he lays you down once again. However, you sit up, flipping him over so now you were on top.

“Look at you.” JJ says biting his lip, admiring you while bringing his fingers up to your mouth that were previously inside of you. Without any hesitation you wrap your mouth around his fingers and begin to suck.

The image and feeling of you swiping your tongue around his fingers while hollowing out your cheeks almost makes JJ cum on the spot. You pull away, your mouth making a popping sound as his fingers leave your mouth. As you do this you continue to grind on his lap.

“Fuck that was hot.”

You simply smirk at the boy under you before kissing him passionately and sitting back up. You wrap your small hand around JJ’s member and align it up with your entrance. JJ groans at your touch, but you two look at each other to make sure this was okay before doing anything further.

With JJ giving you permission to continue you sink down on his cock, both of you letting out whimpers at the sensation. You wait until you are used to his size before moving.

JJ places his hands on your hips and ass while you start to bounce up and down on his dick. Fuck was it ever hot to see you take control.

“Just like that.” He says biting his lip, trying to contain his groans.

“You look so beautiful.” He says. The moonlight illuminating both of your sweaty bodies. You feel your cheeks heat up even more at the compliment and you continue to bounce up and down with JJ’s assistance.

Without warning JJ quickly sits up wrapping his arms around your body before flipping you back over, his member still deep inside of you. You riding him was satisfying, but JJ couldn’t help himself from being the one directing the show.

JJ thrusts into you and you feel him deeper than you did when you were riding him. “Keep doing that JJ!”

Using your moans as inspiration JJ’s hips snap to meet yours at a faster pace before he throws one of your legs over his shoulder. You didn’t even realize you were that flexible until then, but you weren’t complaining.

Your pussy pulses around JJ’s cock as he starts to thrust into you at a merciless pace. The blond reaches your g-spot and his his thumb falls between your legs, finding it’s way to your clit.

“Holy fuck!” You moan once again. “JJ I’m going to cum.” You whine in between thrusts.

“Then cum for me baby girl.” He whispers, biting your ear softly as his cock hits deeper and deeper inside of you.

Without wasting anytime you allow the coil in your stomach to break for the second time that night. You scratch JJ’s back and softly bite his shoulder knowing you were going to leave marks as your second orgasm washes over you.

JJ could feel his load building up, especially after feeling and watching you come around his cock. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and cumming on your stomach, since he didn’t put on a condom. He rolls over and collapses beside you.

“That was amazing.” He says regaining his breath and turning his head to look at you. You simply nod your head in agreement a smile appearing on your face as you meet the blond’s gaze.

You two remain laying naked and sweaty at the front of Heywards boat just starring at each other in pure bliss. A smirk appears on JJ’s face while looking at you.

“What?” You ask furrowing your eyebrows.

“Clearly my plan in middle school did end up working.” He says smirking at you.

You roll your eyes, but move closer to him so your head was resting on his chest, “Shut up Maybank.”

A/N this was my first ever smut so let me know what you think and if you have any critiques. Positive feedback is always welcome! :)

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

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theysayitscrazy · 3 years

Text

Eliminated Part 2 (NSFW)

FanFic Friday Week 4 (Slightly Late) @rebelwrites

Clay Spenser x Reader (Reader is Full Metal’s sister)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when I post.

You stare at the invitation with mild contempt. It was overly shiny and sparkly, and covered in glitter. It was just plain gaudy. The amount of pink included should be outlawed. You hated this time of your 20’s. Everyone you knew was either getting married, buying houses, or having babies. Yet, you were still single. You chose your career, over a relationship. Well, according to your ex, that’s what happened.

In reality, you grew apart and lived different lives while struggling to make things work. In the end, they hadn’t worked out, and the problem had to be eliminated.

That had been a year ago. Now you were thirty years old, single, and too focused on your career to even meet a guy outside the office. And the dating world had gone digital in the last decade, leaving you completely out of the loop on where to even begin. The idea of meeting a guy from the internet left you unsettled and turned off.

You sigh and toss the envelope on the bar in front of you and reach for your drink.

Your phone chirps and you reach for it as someone sits in the seat next to you at the bar. Annoyed, you look up from your phone to give whoever it was that decided they needed to sit so close to you in an empty bar, a piece of your mind, only to find the blond haired and blue-eyed charmer known as Clay Spenser.

“Spenser,” you acknowledge.

He leans forward on the bar and motions for the bartender. He orders a beer and then snatches up the invitation. “Holy pinkness,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes as you skim over the email you just received from a client.

“Always working?” Clay asks.

You glance up from your phone and realize you’re being rude. Sighing, you turn off the screen and set your phone down. “Usually,” you grumble in response.

Clay’s smile is easy, but you can see the way he’s watching you, like he’s reading your mood. “Bad day?” he asks.

“Yes… no… I don’t know.” You sigh and take a pull off your glass.

Clay chuckles again. “I’ve never known you to not have an answer.”

You shake your head and look down at your phone as a text message chirps through. You can feel Clay’s eyes on you, like they usually are, but you ignore him, like you usually do. Ever since that night at your brother’s house, when your ex had been eliminated, things had gotten interesting between the two of you.

The flirting was fun. But that’s all it was. Fun, right? He worked with you brother, he was younger than you, if only by a couple years, but he felt… wholesome. He wasn’t tainted like you were.

Before you can answer the string of text messages that came thru, your phone rings. When Harvey’s face pops up the screen you frown and debate answering it. You were done with him for the day. You groan and answer the facetime call. “Hey.”

Harvey’s smirk is annoying as he looks you over.

You rolled your eyes, knowing what he saw. White pinstripe halter stop that buttoned down the middle and showed ample cleavage but stayed professional. The black matching suit coat was off and draped around the back of the bar stool, so your vibrant black and watercolor tattoos that covered both arms were on display and contrasted against your professional attire.

“You need something?” you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for his sardonic comments to start rolling in.

“Yeah, for you to get your head out of your ass. Let me guess, you’re at some dive bar, drink in hand, wallowing self-pity,” Harvey shoots at you as he levels you with a typical Specter head tilt.

You narrow your eyes at him as Clay chuckles.

“Boo hoo, your last college sorority sister is getting married. What do you care? You haven’t talked to the chick in two years. Put your big girl panties on and man up. I need you to meet a client.”

You pick up your drink and stare Harvey down as you toss back the remnants of the straight whiskey.

Harvey smirks, “We both know you can handle your liquor. So why don’t you take that SEAL team hot shot you got eating out of the palm of your hand and go meet the client. I’ll text you the address. It’s in Rochester.”

“Harvey, that’s an hour away and it’s a shitty neighborhood,” you shoot back him.

Harvey smirks. “Good thing you’ll have a bodyguard. Oh, and another thing. Get laid.” He hangs up the phone.

You let out a frustrated growl and slam the phone on the bar top.

Clay turns his big body towards you and smirks. “Need a bodyguard?”

You glare at him and grab your keys off the bar. You slide off the barstool and grab your black pinstripe jacket off the back. You take your time pulling it on. Clay’s eyes are on you. Once things are buttoned in place, your black jacket matching your black pants, you look up to meet Clay’s gaze and raise an eyebrow at him.

He smirks and lets his gaze wander over your body. He no longer hides his blatant attraction for you, and while he’s yet to act on it, he’s stared in many of your fantasy’s. How’d he get you off with those deft fingers. That scruffy beard adding pleasure as he ran kisses down your body.

His smirk widens, as if he can read your dirty thoughts. You keep your face indifferent though. You play it off with a roll of your eyes.

“I’ll drive,” he comments and holds out his hand.

You stare at those fingers before you think fuck it and hand over the keys to your Range Rover. You ignore him and turn toward the exist.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

Confused you glance at him over your shoulder and groan when he’s holding up the pink wedding invitation. He laughs and looks at it. “It’s pretty horrible.”

“She an old sorority sister,” you sigh with a shrug. “She’s…bubbly.”

“I can’t believe you were ever in a sorority,” Clay sniggers. “Not Miss tattooed, ‘Punk Rock Princess over here.’ Miss, ‘I’ll eliminate any threats to my person.’”

You roll again and turn toward the door. “Bitch please,” you shook back at him. “I’m a God Damn Queen.”

~*~

“That was not what I was expecting,” Clay murmured when he pulled in your brother’s driveway, several hours later.

You glance over at him. He’d been quiet the entire drive back from the client’s house. “My job isn’t always mergers and acquisitions,” you state, knowing where his head was at. “Sure, they pay the bills and I’m damn good at it. But this, is why I became a lawyer. People like Carl Terron. People who were taken advantage of and used and degraded, and in the end lost everything. This case could be the case that changes laws and sets precedents, so that something like what happed to Terron, doesn’t happen to anyone else again. This case could help save lives.”

Clay turned to you during your passionate speech and watched you. When you stopped speaking, he reached out with his large hand and cupped the side of your face.

You freeze. For as much the two of you had been flirting for the past year, he’d never made a move before. His blazing blue eyes bore into yours. His intensity stirs something deep inside you. You wait, watching him, like a deer in the headlights.

His fingers curl around the back of your head as his calloused thumb caresses your cheek.

“Clay,” you say, not really sure why you’re stopping this.

He drops his hand almost instantly and you immediately miss the warmth of his palm. Pain flashes across his eyes, or regret maybe? “I’m sorry,” he sighs, and looks out the front window. “I know you’re still dealing with last year. I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”

“It’s not that,” you sigh, playing with the several rings on your fingers.

“Then what is it?” Clay asks, looking over at you, hurt still evident in his eyes.

His pain strikes you and you reach out and take his hand in yours. “I’m being stupid.” You play with those deft fingers in yours, and a blush tints your cheeks as you think of all your fantasies that those fingers played a staring role in.

“That’s a lie. You’re one of the smartest people I know,” Clay says and squeezes your fingers between his. “What’s going on with you today?”

You look up, startled, and find yourself staring into his endless baby blues. “What do you mean?” you ask, confused.

“I mean, you’re not yourself. Yeah, at client’s house you put on a good show, but before that, at the bar… now? What’s going on with you?” His gaze is piercing, and you find yourself at a loss for words.

You open your mouth, trying to find the words, when a knock on the window behind Clay startles you. “Shit!” you shriek and jump a mile out of your seat.

Clay turns, and you see your brother looming through the driver’s side window, flashlight shining in on you. You reach across the center console and lean over Clay’s big body and press the button for the window. “What the fuck?” you yell at Scott.

“What the fuck you doin out here?” Metal’s voice is deep and commanding.

“Sitting in the fuckin car, what’s it look like we’re doing? Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck you out here for?” Your anger kicks up.

“It’s my house. I’m allowed to wonder why my baby sister is sitting in the dark in her car late at night. Where the fuck ya been? It’s past midnight,” Metal demands.

Pissed, you climb over the center console and get right into Clay’s lap. “Shit,” he groans and holds his arms out in surrender as you climb fully into his lap.

You ignore him as you settle onto his powerful thighs and get in your brother’s face through the window. “Why the fuck is it any of your business where the fuck I’ve been? Cut the shit Scott. I’m thirty fucking years old. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, and you can fuck off,” you shout at him.

Scott laughs and you roll your eyes. “Spenser though, really?”

“Fuck yeah, and fuck you,” you shout back him, a smirk on your face.

“Fuck you,” Scott grumbles and heads for the house.

When Scott was gone, you let out a chuckle and lean into Clay. You find yourself tucked against him, your head on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur into his ear.

His arms come around you in a tight embrace and cradles you against his warm body. You’re curled against his chest and for the first time in who knew how many years, you finally felt safe. He is solid and broad and strong, and you relish the feeling of being in his arms.

You take a deep breath, breathing in his scent and close your eyes. He smells like home.

“Y/n, what was that about?” Clay asks softly.

You shake your head, not wanting to break the moment. He’s so warm, so safe.

Clay’s large hand slides up your back and his fingers card through your hair.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” you ask, before he can say anything.

Clay stills, his hand fisted in your hair. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Before… you had asked me what was going on with me today,” you murmur into his neck, finding it easier to speak without looking at him.

His hand not fisted into your chignon, rubs idle circles on your back. Calming… soothing. “Does this have to do with your ex?” he asks.

You nod slowly. “He was friends with all my friends in college. We met our freshman year. We had all the same friends. So that Wedding invitation just brought up a bunch of old memories, both good and bad,” you sigh.

Clay’s fingers massage your scalp as he holds you tight against him. “No, I don’t think you’re a bad person,” he finally answers. “I think you’re strong and fierce and aren’t afraid to stand up for yourself. You can take care of yourself and others and eliminate any problems that comes your way.”

You find yourself smiling against his neck. You pull back to look him in the eyes. There’s a seriousness in his blazing blue eyes that you hadn’t seen before. It makes you pause and take him in, really take him in. For all the flirting and banter the two of you had thrown back and forth for the past year, you hadn’t really stopped to consider how fucking real he was.

There was a raw honesty in those baby blues that grasped at your heartstrings and pulled. What you had mistaken as wholesome, was in actuality, genuine and real. You were surrounded by fake people on the daily, but Clay Spenser, was as real as they came.

You reach up and run your fingers through his scruffy beard. It was softer than you expect. His eyes are on your face, watching your every move. It’s clear by his cautious gaze, he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

So, you do. You lean forward, lacing your fingers through his beard and pull his mouth down to yours at the same time. His fingers tighten in your hair, and you gasp as he pulls your hair so deliciously. He takes advantage of your gasp and his tongue sweeps in. Your eyes drift close as the kiss turns more passionate.

You shift against him and realize your pencil skirt is ridiculous and not cooperating. You groan when he nibbles on your bottom lip. You try to pull away, but he’s got a firm grip in your hair, so you whimper against his lips.

His chuckle has your eyes opening. His eyes are watching you while he bites down just a bit harder. His hand slides up your thigh and under your pencil skirt with ease. You whimper again and let your eyes fall close. He releases your lip, so you use his beard to pull his mouth back to yours. “Uh uh, baby,” he murmurs against your lips.

You snap open your eyes again, and he’s smirking down at you. “Bu-”

“Shh,” he whispers. “Trust me?”

You gasp slightly and your eyes go wide. The earnestness in his gaze has you nodding though. It’s reluctant and slow, and Clay seems to get that. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he whispers, “Close your eyes.”

And you do. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and let him take care of you.

His hands work magic on your body. One slides down and manages to undo the clasp and zipper at the back of your pencil skirt while his other hand slides up your thigh to your core and he chuckles when he finds the lack of panties. “Naughty, naughty,” he murmurs.

You smirk and place an open-mouthed kiss to the column of his neck.

The sharp pinch to your inner thigh has you jumping and groaning. “None of that,” he orders, his voice deep.

You let out a pathetic whimper and give into him. His deft finger’s part your folds and he chuckles again, “So wet for me, baby.”

He takes his time sliding one long and thick finger all the way to the knuckle and you part your thighs as much as the now unzipped pencil skirt will allow. He slides in a second finger, and you groan. God his fingers are thick. God damn, do they feel good.

His thumb circles your clit almost teasingly and you thrust your hips up to try and get some friction from it. The pinch to your nipple comes as a surprise and you let out a low groan. “Be good.” Clay commands, softly.

You run your hand through his beard and slide it to the back of his head, curling your fingers in his curls.

His pace is brutal and you’re barely holding on when his mouth covers yours and he says, “Come for me,” against your lips.

You shatter into a million pieces in the front seat of your Range Rover. “Good girl,” Clay’s voice is rough and deep and has you opening your eyes. He watching you with a reverent smile on his lips.

You grin and use his beard to pull his mouth to yours again. His fingers in your cunt swirl again and let out a low groan. “Wanna come inside?” you ask.

He chuckles and swirls his fingers again. “I thought I already was.”

You close your eyes and let out a little whimper. “The house Clay.”

“Your brother gonna kill me?”

“Nah, I’ll deal with Scott.”

“Gonna eliminate him?”

“I’m gonna eliminate you if you don’t finish what you started.” His rich laugh puts a smile on your face, and you have a thought. “Hey, you wanna go to a wedding with me?”

“Do I have to wear a tie?”

Your eyes snap open to take in his goofy face and grin. “Only if you wanna use it to tie me up later,” you smirk at him.

He grins wickedly and curls his fingers inside you, sending you over the edge again.

#seal team #clay spenser #clay spenser x reader #clay spenser imagine #seal team x reader #seal team imagine #full metal #full metal has a sister #Eliminated Part Two #don't kill your boyfriend #FanFicFriday #Rebels Fan Fic Friday #a week late

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luzarya · 3 years

Text

Of Pink Roses and Yellow Daffodils

Yuu x Vil

Summary: Yuu came from a world where the name of their soulmate is written on their chest and where one sided love led to flowers growing in your lungs.

Yuu had thought they wouldn't have to deal with such things, now being in Twisted Wonderland, yet it appears like their old world lingers into them.

(This focuses more on Yuu's feelings towards Vil. Vil makes only a brief appearance.)

ao3 link: here

warnings: Hanahaki Disease, blood, angst

parts: 1/2

-> second

word count: 2,683

When Yuu was brought into the world of Twisted Wonderland, their hope was immeasurable. No longer were they bound by the laws that dictated their homeland, no longer restricted by the death stricken rules.

Yet the moment they looked at the mirror, undressed from the waist up, their hope diminished. There laid the name of their soulmate- Vil Schoenheit, in clear black cursive, just above where their heart should have been. Upon seeing the mark, the dreadful, horrendous tattoo that has been there since birth, they fell to their knees, tears trailing down their cheeks as they wailed for hours.

Grim didn’t know what to make of the despairing human in front of them, but they remained silent, smart enough to realize that this was a moment that Yuu needed by themselves.

As the days went by, and Yuu’s adventures with Deuce and Ace continued, as the overblot incidents continued and ended by their hands, they were happy. No mark would dissuade them from the happiness they felt, nothing could stop them forming the friendships they had made.

Until they met their soulmate.

Yuu was flabbergasted at first, not knowing how to feel. Happy? Sad? Hopeful? Despair? Truly, knowing the fact that their soulmate was never in their world but instead in this one was something they needed to contemplate on. Surely, this meant that there was no going back to where they originated, or if they do, would this mean in heartbreak?

Yet, as their friends prepared for the competition, as Vil instructed them in the confines of their dorm, Yuu could feel the loss of breath with every step they took, petals coughed out every once and while, Yuu knew they were in trouble. Despair overwhelmed them as they sat in their bed, coughing as quietly as they could in their hand.

The yellow petals and specks of blood laid in their hand, no more coming out. Yuu let out a coarse fit of laughter. Oh how the universe hated them. In the short amount of time they had known Vil, Yuu had grown to love them.

Vil’s beauty was something to behold, their intellect and knowledge seeming to heighten their beauty. Oh how they were unafraid and uncaring of gender norms, oh how they walked the halls with great confidence. Each passing day that Yuu had seen Vil, their love for him grew as well. The fact that they were to be their soulmate didn’t help; in fact, it worsened it.

Yuu picked themselves up from their bed, careful with their hands to not leave a trace of their blood, making their way to the bathroom.

Another fit of coughs shook their body as another set of petals, this time pink, erupted from them. The sink was now a beautifully and chaotically decorated with pink and yellow petals, the blood seemingly in place with it all.

Yuu looked in the mirror, their eyes red and puffy from the pain, small bags underneath from the exhaustion. Their frame was slightly different as well, Skinnier than it was a week ago, though it wasn’t obvious as the rest of their symptoms. The petals in their throat had made it painful to consume anything edible, so the past few days have been wrought with a hungry stomach and chest pains.

Overall, their disheveled state was ugly and horrendous, perhaps this was their worst point of their life, besting their previous phases of life that have been riddled with pain and despair.

Knocking interrupted their wallowing of self-pity, the voice ringing out loudly in the bathroom, asking if they were okay.

With a coarse and high voice, Yuu replied, “All is well.”

Another violent fit of coughing, more painful than the last, shook their entire body. It was loud, no doubt their cries had awoken everyone in the dorm by now.

The knocking became louder, more frantic and Yuu gripped onto the sink with every fiber of their being. The fit ended, the sink now halfway filled with various petals and small flowers.

The last thing they saw was the door busting open as they fell onto the cold wooden floor.

Yuu woke up the next day in the infirmary, their throat sore and dry and their limbs too weak to move. Carefully they moved their head to the side and the other, noticing a lack of human presence all around.

They were awake for what felt like an eternity in silence, staring at the white ceiling as they processed last night’s events.

They heard the door open, yet they didn’t move their head. It wasn’t until they heard the person whisper out their name did they shift their eyes.

“You’re awake!”

The loud voice strained their ears but they dealt with the pain, as the figure, Crowley they now realized, continued to talk. Apparently everyone that had witnessed their body being taken from the bathroom were concerned, causing Vil to cancel practice as everyone was too worried to do anything.

“What… happened?” Yuu asked hoarsely. They regretted asking, the pain seeming to only intensify when they bothered to talk. Yuu didn’t want to know how much pain they would be if they ate anything.

“Well, according to Vil, they had found you unconscious on the ground,” Crowley started off, “and that the sink was filled with flower petals and blood. Pray tell, whatever had happened, Perfect?”

“Can I…. get something…. To write with? My…. throat is in…. Pain…”

“Yes, of course. Please do give me a moment.” Crowley scurried off to who knows where, as Yuu tried to sit up. The end result was another fit of coughs, the sound of hacking resonating throughout the room.

Crowley returned quickly, seeing the perfect coughing up petals and blood that stained the perfectly white bed sheets.

“Perfect! Drink this, it should aid with the pain.” Crowley handed Yuu a vial that was filled with a blue liquid. Knowing what it was, Yuu drank it as quickly as they could, knowing that there was another fit of coughs that would come. And come it did, ruining the bed sheets even further with the pink and yellow petals, the blood making the room smell like iron. Although, as Crowley had said, the potion did ease the pain, even if by the little.

“I brought you something to write with.” Crowley handed Yuu a small notepad and a nice black pen.

Yuu began to write.

This illness is from my universe. It’s not contagious, so no need to worry if it passes on. This illness is dependent on certain emotions. The most efficient way to cure it completely is surgery, as it originates in the chest, however that leads to a void of emotions afterwards.

Crowley looked confused at the note, “What do you mean it is dependent on emotions? Are you able to elaborate on this specific illness?”

Yuu nodded solemnly, and then began to write even more.

It’s called the Hanahaki disease. It only takes hold if the person believes that their love is unrequited. It goes away once the love is returned or if the person gets surgery to remove the flowers from their lungs.

“What a tragic disease!” Crowley’s voice was laced with concern, although Yuu could guess that losing them as a beast tamer would be something he was more concerned about than their actual wellbeing.

I’ll go through the surgery.

Crowley started at them, “Are you sure? You did say it was caused if they believed the love to be unrequited. How do you know for certain that it applies in your case?”

Yuu laughed at the thought of Vil loving them. There would be no reason why Vil would love them. Yuu had fallen in love too fast and too hard. Vil had been focused on the dance practice and making sure everyone was in tip top shape for the performance.

I know for certain. The person in question is too busy to think about love, there is no doubt that they are far too concerned with current events. Please Headmaster, let me go through the surgery before it’s too late.

Crowley hummed in thought, perhaps thinking about how expensive it would be to cover a surgery to remove branches from the lungs. Yuu couldn’t think of another way to get rid of them. No matter how much they wanted Vil to love them back, they knew that it wouldn’t happen.

If you could, remove their name. My world has it that those destined to you have their names inscribed on your chest, above the heart. I don’t want to be reminded, otherwise the disease will take hold again.

“What an odd world you once lived in. Well, do not fret! I will do as you asked. I will do everything in my ability to aid you with this disease, aren’t I so kind?”

Yuu rolled their eyes, but they were glad to know that Crowley was the same as ever.

Thank you, Headmaster. A million thanks.

Days had passed, and no one had come to visit. Vil had everyone practice once they knew about their wellbeing. It pained Yuu, as they felt lonely as ever.

It did ease the disease, if only a little bit. They still continue to cough out flowers in full bloom, pink roses and yellow daffodils being what came from them. How fitting, their meaning. They certainly felt no joy in this, nor was there any gratitude, yet grace was ironic, in a sense. Was it because that Vil was the epitome of beauty and grace that they coughed out pink roses?

And what of the yellow daffodils? They represented rebirth and new beginnings. Was it them coming to this new world that the disease had sprouted such flowers? Or is it what is to come afterwards of surgery, that they were to feel like new?

Yuu didn’t know for certain, but they wanted the pain to end. It was already painful enough that they knew Vil was never going to love them, but the fact that the disease had taken place in their lungs only served to make Yuu feel worse. They didn’t need a constant reminder of their one-sided love.

Crowley had stayed true to his word, as he managed to get an appointment for Yuu. Unfortunately it meant that Yuu had to leave off campus to go to an actual hospital, but it was fine. It made Yuu wonder why there wasn’t a hospital on campus, although they supposed perhaps having an infirmary was enough in most cases.

Getting to the hospital was all a blur, going from coughing out roses and daffodils to sleeping from the exhaustion from making the flowers to begin with. It didn’t help that they began to eat less, the pain in their throat making it difficult to eat anything.

Yuu only had hope they would be able to survive the surgery. The rates for the surgery were high in their world, after all, many people fell in love and got stricken with the disease all the time.

Their love and emotions may disappear with the surgery, yet Yuu never regret falling in love. Their only regret in all of this was letting themselves fall too hard in love.

The surgery had been a success, from what Yuu had been told. Yuu asked the surgeons to preserve the flowers, despite the pain they had caused. As weird as it was, Yuu wanted a reminder of love, a reminder of a feeling that they once felt.

And preserve them, they did. Yuu held the vase of pink roses and daffodils in their arms. The flowers were no longer bloody, as it was a sort of a hazard to keep blood on there. Nonetheless, the flowers were pretty and lovely, as once their love was for Vil. Yuu felt normal as usual, save for the slight discomfort in their throat and overall being.

Though, upon their return to the college, they were quickly ushered to their room, Grim bouncing around in joy the moment they saw them.

“You had the Great Grim concerned! A servant like you shouldn’t make me concerned!”

Despite the comment, Grim stayed with Yuu as they were forcibly bed ridden.

Deuce and Ace, of course, had made their way to the Perfect’s room, making sure everything was fine and asking questions. Yuu made sure not to delve too much about what had happened, only mentioning that it was a disease from their world that caused flora to sprout under certain conditions. Never did they mention what kind of conditions, nor did ever why they hadn’t stopped it earlier when they noticed when they did.

Right before they left, of which greatly saddened Yuu to be left alone again, they had mentioned they were making great strides of practicing, despite the obvious tension between Vil and Epel. Yuu was happy about the progress, perhaps their friends would be able to win the competition that they all have been working hard towards. Although, when Vil’s name had been said by their beloved friend, they had felt nothing, only a void where their love should have been once.

The surgery was clearly a success, but Yuu was unsure if the empty void was worth it.

Late that evening, surprisingly, Vil and Rook came to visit. It was nothing out of the ordinary, or at least, that is what Yuu had thought. The emptiness was still there when they looked at Vil, no longer feeling the same about their beauty nor their grace as they once did. Yuu could tell that the two had noticed something was off about them, but they didn’t ask.

When they left, Yuu could feel themselves becoming overwhelmed. They never anticipated feeling sadness after the whole ordeal, nor did they anticipate the cries that came out from them. Yet no matter how much they wanted to cry out and shout their despair away, no matter how much they wanted to wail as loudly as they could, their friends were still in the dorm, sleeping to prepare for the big day.

Yuu wondered, would it have been better if they confessed their feelings to Vil? Yet as soon as that question came, it quickly became answered, that no, it would not have been best to confess to Vil. Had they confessed, they were certain that Vil would have rejected them, and only progressed the illness even further, and perhaps even strain their relationship until the moment of Yuu’s certain death. And Yuu’s death would be a terrible loss for the college as a whole, as no matter how insignificant Yuu thinks they are, they are still the reason why the overblot incidents never ended in any casualties, since they were always the ones to end it. As much as Yuu would have liked to die with their love intact, it would have never benefited any party except for Yuu themselves.

So Yuu laid in their bed, quietly crying. Crying over the love they once held in their heart, because no matter what had happened in the end, their love had brought them hope. Pulling themselves out from bed, Yuu unbuttoned their shirt and pulled it down, and anything else in the way to get a clear view of their chest. Sure enough, where the name had once clearly been, there was nothing. What had remained was the scars from the surgery. Yuu didn’t know if they regretted having Vil’s name removed, but the deed had been done and there was nothing they could do about it.

Nothing at all.

Yet as they continued to wallow in their self-pity, Yuu knew that the surgery was the best option they had taken so far. What else could they have done that would have prevented their death? Nothing, that’s what.

There was nothing they could have done.

So all Yuu could do now was finish their session of tears, and focus on the future.

But for now they’ll give themselves this moment of mourning for the emotions that they once had possessed.

For that was all they could do.

#yuu x vil schoenheit #twst x yuu #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland #hanahaki #slight angst #blood mention #luzarya writes things yuh

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strangerobin · 3 years

Text

Rue: Chapter 3 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

A play of hide and seek.

Writer's note: I had initially intended for this to be a reader insert piece, but it gets difficult trying to write without a name. So I decided for an OC instead lol

“Welcome to Northern Lights Resort and Spa, how may I help you?” Adeline smiled as she welcomed the next set of guests at the front lobby.

She’d moved to Whitehorse where the city was permanently covered with white snow and blanketed by the night sky more than half of the day. Found a part time job at the local resort, rented a run-down flat in downtown. It was cold and dark and it was everything she needed and loved.

Depression always did look good on her, as Tatiana would say.

But Tatiana would not think to find her here, nor Father, or anyone else for the matter. And she was safe, free to wallow in self pity and self loathing; free to ruminate on every last regret she had.

Thursday nights were reserved for movie nights; the local cinema showed sepia movies every Thursday nights, and it was nostalgic to see Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor and all those stars again on the big screen, she was always addicted to the motion pictures back then.

She even managed to keep a fling on the side. A young college boy with golden curls, though his eyes were not quite the right shade of brown, his were too dark. And she wished he wouldn’t talk so much of his self absorbed art pieces, she’d rather he talked about the literature he should be reading instead. She’d picked a copy of Frankenstein from the local book store again, and he’d only given it a side glance and never returned to it again. But he was a warm embrace in the dead of the night, so she guess she’ll let it pass for now.

Other nights though, she would walk out alone in the reserves, hunting, mesmerised by the Northern Lights, solar winds from the sun meeting this earth’s atmosphere, deflected by the earth's magnetism to become polar lights that twist on itself to form an array of colours. It made her feel small, reminded her that she did not mattered, that nothing mattered.

“Your rooms are on the fifth floor, the lift is just past the lobby on the right. Please enjoy your stay here.” Adeline recited her lines, directing her guests on their right way.

It wasn’t much really, but mundane was good, habits made her feel safe. She’d managed to carve out a little safe haven for herself in this gigantic world.

It was enough for now.

Until she felt the strangest sensation in her chest. It had begun as a dull ache, so insidious she did not notice when it first started. Not long after, the pain began to come in waves, crashing, clenching at her heart so painfully she was starting to sweat. Adeline clawed at her chest. Mumbling an apology, she quickly ran to the back and folded into herself, sweating dropping down her brow as she tried to make the pain go away.

It didn’t feel so much as a physical pain. Nor was it the usual warnings that her instinct whispered. No, it was something else, something more emotional, something more primal.

What was happening?

It felt as if she was reminded of all the things she had lost in her entire existence, all the grief she could not hold. But there was another sharp tug at her heart, urging her to move in some unknown direction, lest she should regret.

The feeling only seemed to intensify as the seconds passed. And then she knew.

It was coming towards her. Whatever it was that her heart sought.

Just as the doors to the resort opened-

Adeline Ruelle did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

In the exact opposite direction.

It took them quite a while to even figure out in which direction she had gone. It had taken Alice an even lengthier time to pinpoint which area she might be, scouring all her visions for a single blindspot. It was near impossible.

Jasper’s anxiety was quickly infecting the whole household; everyone could feel the tension in the air, electrifying. Edward and Bella had to take Renesmee to stay in their little cottage; even Emmett had been quiet for most of the days. Jasper mostly kept to himself in his room, oscillating between two extremes, bouncing on the balls of his feet and sitting hunched in the corner, frozen in his thoughts.

“North.” Alice had finally muttered on the tenth day. “Canada.”

From there on, it was another few weeks before the pair managed to locate their target working in a resort in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. Tracking her scent, and where the blindspots were appearing, but even that proved difficult. And by the time they had arrived, she had been gone.

Just gone. Her colleagues had no way of knowing where she had suddenly vanished to in the middle of her shift.

They did, however, managed to locate her little flat in downtown.

And possibly a fling or two.

Jasper had simply looked on in distaste at the man, never uttering a single word. Alice was left with the questions.

How long had they known each other? What did she tell him of herself? Did he have any clue where she might go next? On and on and on, which they gleaned pretty much close to nothing for the college boy. Jasper had simply rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands petulantly into his pockets.

Alice though, she did not miss the resemblance the man had with Jasper.

Then they had gone into the flat she had rented. Clearly she had been there before, hastily packing her, possibly, few possessions with her. Except one or two mass paperbacks she had evidently bought to pass time.

Alice watched as Jasper lingered on the little paperback edition of Frankenstein carelessly strewn over the coffee table. Watched as he fingered the cover of the book thoughtfully, then leafed through the pages of the book. When he caught her staring he merely shrugged.

“It was always her favourite.”

She did not miss it when Jasper quietly tucked the book into the pocket of his jacket.

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being. I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

“That’s a little too morbid, wouldn’t you say so darling?”

“On the contrary, I find it exceedingly accurate and befitting.”

“Come now.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “You are not a monster, darlin’.”

“And who’s to say I am not?” She challenged with steel in her eyes.

“Adeline.” He admonished softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “You could never be one.”

“And how would you know? Perhaps it is because I hide my fiendish side behind a mask so masterfully that I have deceived the world, and even you.” She hated the shrillness in her voice, the desperation she tried to conceal.

“Sweetheart, only my heart cannot deceive me. You have bared your heart and soul to me and I have seen, have felt the kindness and love overflowing from your heart. How could a monster possess of such?”

“And if I had committed crimes in my past?”

“Then I know with confidence that it was not out of ill intent on your part.”

“You are too kind, Jasper.”

“Am I now? Come let us read something sweeter darling.”

Adeline pouted. “You know it is only my favourite.”

“And I do not understand your morbid fascination of it.”

Adeline huffed in annoyance and Jasper laughed poking her in the cheek. “That being said.”

“The monster was never truly the monster Adeline. It was always Frankenstein. Remember when he said ‘Life, although it may be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.’”

“He loved life more than anyone else, he possessed the gentlest soul and a deep appreciation to life like no other. He deserved to live, to be loved more than anyone else.”

Adeline blinked in shock at Jasper’s passionate outburst and before she realised, a single tear had rolled down her cheek.

“Adeline?”

She leaned forward and to capture him in a passionate kiss.

Adeline awoke with a start. Turning away from the blinding sun, she rubbed her eyes blearily. What time was it even?

Certainly not the 1800s.

Misplaced memories. Huh.

Adeline tried not to let her mind wander back to her dream just now, and certainly not the man of her dream.

It was close to three months after that incident at Whitehorse, She was in Minnesota now, surely no one would think to look for her here. It wasn’t New York or Chicago or Seattle. Nowhere conspicuous, middle of the line, your average American midwestern state. Surely that would provide for some camouflage or something?

No matter.

She had far troubling things to be concerned of right now.

She had been going over it time and again since her flight. The incident at Whitehorse was strange really because in all her existence, she had never once felt that before, the strange pull at her heart. The ache in her chest.

Or not?

Something was goading at her in the back of her mind, to examine the incident closer, to remind her of certain memories she would rather not remember; but she refused to let anything surface.

She picked up her new copy of Fitzgerald - Tender is the Night.

She had a shift at the local bar in three hours. She was determined to be their on time and not go down some damned rabbit hole.

“It’s here.” Alice looked to Jasper as he took in the environment, the rain falling softly beside them in the chilly January night; the lights from the bar, the cheap building. She hadn’t yet met the girl, but Adeline sure did know how to blend in, finding the most ordinary of places to hide amongst humans. Places not too obvious, but also not too obscure, where no one would bother to look twice, or even think to look.

Jasper’s face was grim and his eyes set. He was radiating anxiety, probably without meaning to. She gently patted Jasper on the back to soothe him.

“It’s alright, I’ll go in first. You wait here for my signal.”

He only nodded.

Ducking into the threshold she was immediately assaulted by the barrage of lights and noise; it took Alice a few minutes before she caught sight of a head of brown curls at the bar table chatting with her fellow bar tenders, all the while cleaning glasses. She made a beeline for it.

“Adeline Ruelle?”

The girl turned towards her and assumed a businesslike front, ready to serve. But Alice did not miss the small tremor in her shoulders, the uncomfortable shift in position, subtle and quick as it may be.

Bingo.

She was evidently a master in concealing her emotions, her nervousness hidden behind a reassuring smile, anyone would have been fooled. Except Alice. She watched the bartender closely.

“I’m sorry Miss, we don’t have an Adeline here. I’m Cordelia, perhaps I can get you a drink first while you wait for your friend?”

“Bourbon, if you would be so kind.”

“Just a minute.” She turned to get the drink and Alice took her time to appraise the girl.

She really was beautiful. Alice thought. She might be posing as your ordinary college student/part time bartender, but the way she held herself, her grace and poise, it was something she could never lose even on purpose. And the breathtaking beauty, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was no wonder Jasper had loved her so completely, irrevocably in his past life. How could any man resist such an alluring woman? She could not be mad at Jasper for his choices in his past life; and judging by his recounts and the hardworking girl right in front of her, neither had anticipated the whirlwind of romance and the subsequent breakup when they first met. In fact she might just be a tad bit jealous of the bond they shared, she’d never in her life experienced something so strong and consuming. Sure she loved Jasper and no one could deny the love that they shared. But it paled in comparison to one the two shared. She was almost sure they were mates.

It still left her heartbroken all the same.

But then she remembered the first time she met Jasper; we’re not mates but if you would have me we could keep each other company until our mates showed up. I mean, two is always better than one right? It left her conflicted now; she was reaping what she had sowed.

Yet as Alice continued to observe the girl closely, she noted how her coworkers seemed to treat her as if she was just any normal college student. Talking to her, bantering lightly, she threw her head and laughed heartily. To them, She was just the right amount of charismatic it seemed. And her smell…

It was then she realised she did not catch ahold of her scent.

Had she concealed it? Could one even do so on voluntary grounds?

“Your bourbon miss.” Adeline returned, sliding a small glass across the bar table.

“So what brings you here, to Minnesota?” Alice decided to make a strike.

The bartender’s face twitched momentarily. “Pardon?”

“You don’t seem like you're from around here. You don’t look like it.”

“I mean, It’s a free country. Anyone can go anywhere really.” Adeline shrugged.

“Lemme guess.” Alice pretended to think all the while observing the other closely. “You’re from the South, aren't you? Like Louisiana, or Texas.”

“I’ve lived there, yes… but then again I’ve lived almost everywhere really.” The bartended shot her a tight-lipped smile, the stiffness in her posture even more profound now. “Well if you need anything just give me a holler will you? I hope your friend finds you soon.”

It was her.

Alice watched as she turned to smile at her coworkers and then ducked into the kitchen.

She was making her escape.

Well, they can't let her go that easily now can they?

Alice raced out of the bar immediately, searching for her companion outside the parking lot.

But she was only left with an empty parking lot as the wind blew and the rain fell harder than ever.

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight imagine

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heartmeadows · 3 years

Text

So, uhh hi. I’m sorry about my last post. I do think I overshared, not by much but still by enough that I’ve felt ashamed ever since. And avoided posting anything else or responding to anyone. I’ve needed time to figure things out and I have actually finally overcome some big obstacles that have been in the way of my healing, recovery, whatever you wanna call it. I’m unfortunately gonna ramble so it’s gonna be under a read more

It’s taken over 6 months for me to even be able to truly feel and be present, and stop isolating myself, pushing people away, and avoiding facing my fears and troubles.... among other effects, symptoms, etc. of trauma. Trauma fucks you up. I think by now most people know that. But I’m ready to stop wallowing in self pity and hate, and letting my C-PTSD run the show. I can do better, I can be brave. I know I have more in me. It’s just that whenever I take steps back and/or I get hurt I need time to recover my strength to get back up and keep going on. With survival, recovery, all that. I do things my way no matter what. And it’s a mess most of the time. But there’s also the other side of it all. I don’t have a word for it. I suppose what I mean is that despite it all the pain me and the people I love, and even strangers and any of us, have experienced and keep experiencing there’s still hope. There’s hope, joy, light and beauty in life even during the darkest times. Sometimes the pain just blinds me too much. I could keep going on about... a lot. Pretty words. Wise words. Things I’ve learned and things I’m learning. But I have a tendency to write or talk too much, or not at all. I really find it hard to be in the middle, I always will be bipolar. Not in a quirky way, not in an ableist way some people tend to use words without understanding their meaning. I mean that I have bipolar disorder, among other issues or qualities. I guess I’m not exactly making sense fully or making any definitive point. But it’s not like I can currently can. I’m still figuring things out. I just mean that I’m me. I don’t know how to be anything else, nor do I want to ever pretend again to fit in. I learnt some dark but needed lessons the hard way. I won’t ever allow my loneliness to be a way for people to hurt me because in my desperation to feel like I belong I turn to the wrong people and trust the kind of people no one should. Anyway, I digress. It’s one step and one day at a time. And it’s ok. And I’m ok. And I’m also not ok. I’m a lot of things. A collection of paradoxes. Always liked that sentence and still find it something I could pretty much get tattooed because I relate to it on a deep level no matter how pretentious it might sound to some people. But yeah, I’m rambling. It’s well past midnight, I just had a cigarette and a cup of coffee earlier in my garden in the lovely summer air. The nights are already getting darker but I enjoy that. I don’t mind that my sleeping schedule keeps changing constantly and that I am living both a life of night owl and an early bird. Guess I’m a versatile bird lmao. Honestly, I’m going through that whole “sudden” moment of clarity at the most inconvenient time ‘cause it’s not like I can get my shit together right now. I’ve just found the positivity and hope I’ve been searching for. I’ve found solutions to a lot of problems. It’s that same old “I know all the answers to the questions I’ve had lately” but not really that hyperbolic. I’m thankfully not manic. I know what I need to do in order to start getting better again. I also know that it’s gonna take a lot of courage to do most of the things that will help me get forward. It’s not gonna be easy. But it’s time to stop waiting for things to change without actually working to change things. I’m just... over the past. I’m ready to let go of the pain and of the person I was that I’ve been longing to be again, and also of the regret and shame of the person that I became at times that I never wanted to be. I thought that I had to cling onto the past in order not to lose myself after going through trauma that made me truly feel like I’d lost everything to the point I went too far and attempted suicide four fucking times. After years of not even so much as cutting myself. You know, not my first attempts but my worst ones because it’s a miracle after miracle surviving these overdoses. It’s hard to understand I guess. I really thought I’d lost everything. That they took everything from me. But I was wrong. I understand now that after everything I’ve finally come to a point where I can re-invent myself. To choose where I want my life to head towards and who I truly want to be. I’ve already come so far, for example I’ve finally overcome my addiction to hard drugs. And I never thought I could do that. But I kept trying. I kept going. I relapsed last year and that lead to all the misery that has followed me. But I got through it. I still have my other, physical addiction to meds that are for now the only way I can cope with my physical issues and also numb myself to a point. But I know I’ll find a way out of this one too. I won’t let anything or anyone destroy me anymore. I’ve made mistakes and I’ve learnt lessons the hard way. I’ve paid the price of asking too many questions in life and wanting to find the answers by being stupid, reckless, too trusting, too lonely, too self destructive. I guess I still have to figure out how to stop rambling too much, especially when I’m pretty sure without all the context a lot of this doesn’t make sense. So, I’ll just try my best to finish this post with saying that I’m ready to let go, move on and re-invent myself again. Like I said. But not fully, like I have done before. I’m not changing my name again (and people have stopped calling me by my deadname, if it’s ok to use that word to describe my birthname that isn’t my name at all, not in any way, and I changed it legally a long time ago too) or dying or cutting my hair, nah. I’m not fully happy with the surface level of my identity and life right now because I’ve gained weight, gotten more ill and started to age in a way I know is caused by being unhealthy (stupid to keep smoking still even after being in a coma and a breathing machine way too many times by now because of the overdoses)... It’s hard to make this short, sorry. What I mean is that I’m disappointed and hurt with where my choices and the consequences of not only my acts but others have lead me to. But it’s not over. Because I’m alive, I survived and I still have a chance to change things for the better. And to truly be myself and get back on track on my journey of self improvement and recovery, healing. It’s not too late like I thought. I can still be Lena and for that to mean that I can become someone I can truly be proud of. To be someone the people in my life can look up to. And to keep following the path I create for myself, to pursue my freedom and my passions. To let go of the self destruction. To walk the path of light and accept the dark but not let it control me. I can find balance, mentally, physically and spiritually. I can heal. Everything’s gonna be ok. So I’ll just stop here. I’m gonna go sim, to be honest, and I’ll hope to post sims stuff again soon enough. If anyone actually read this annoyingly long post I thank you for your patience and for listening to me, so to speak. It’s important for me to post this so that I can come back to this in those moments I feel low again. To have a reminder that will give me strength to keep going on.

#personal

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

Snowed In p10

this is it kids. this is the end.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: dont thing theres any? mildly steamy at one point but nothing that qualifies as smut

Summary: The slow burn is finally put out fam.

Part 9 here!

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You woke from a fitful sleep, vague memories of whispers in the night that you never quite understood lingered at the back of your mind but you dismissed them as another dream.

Geralt and Jaskier had already packed up their rolls and were conspiratorially discussing something over the fire.

“Why didn’t you wake me? We need to get moving.” You grumbled as you sat up, rubbing blood flow back into your face and raking your hands through your hair.

“I tried, you just snored.” Jaskier teased, standing up and stretching, “Well, I’ve got to see a man about a horse.” He smacked Geralt’s shoulder with the back of his hand as he passed and disappeared into the woods.

You wished he wouldn’t. You didn’t know how to act around Geralt anymore and it didn’t feel right to sit in silence without being able to lay across his lap or run your fingers through his hair. So you busied yourself with packing up and saddling your horse.

Jaskier still hadn't returned when you had finished, making you a bit worried, but you assumed he'd probably gotten distracted by something he wanted to write about. It wouldn't be the first time. You bit back your pride and settled into the log next to Geralt, keeping a respectable distance and staring into the fire. It was barely burning, but the coals warmed your knees and watching them turn from orange to white and black served as a decent distraction.

"This is shit."

You frowned, not looking up at Geralt as you replied, "He's not taking that long. We'll make town by sundown."

"I-" Geralt forced a nervous rush of air out of his lungs, "-no. I mean this." He gestured to the space between you and you felt your heart sink.

You clenched your jaw, folding your hands in your lap and squeezing till they hurt, "Having regrets?" You hoped your tone was light.

Geralt shifted to face you but you still couldn't look at him, "Y/N…"

This was it. The final conversation where it would all come crashing down and you'd be left helpless. Maybe you could go home for a while? Regroup? Stitch yourself back together? He reached for your hand, and you let him take it, as much as you knew it was going to hurt you still couldn't tell him no.

"I don't regret it I promise."

"Then what's so shit?"

You heard his breath hitch in his throat and finally turned to look at him. He clearly hadn't gotten any sleep, the circles under his eyes were blue and heavy. There was something akin to fear in his eyes as he searched for words but for once you weren't going to let him off the hook. If he was going to break your heart he was going to look you in the eye while he did it.

"Sleeping without you. It's cold and lonely and I hate it."

It surely wasn't what you were expecting, but the hopeless romantic piece of you was disappointed nonetheless, "Geralt, I can't go on pretending th-"

"I love you."

All the air left your lungs in an instant, your chest tightened in what felt close to panic and it was a while before you could take a shaky breath in again.

"What did you say?"

Geralt looked like he might drop dead, but you had to be sure you weren't hearing things. When he finally replied it was like a floodgate opened.

"I-I love you. I know it's not fair of me to say it now, after all of… this. But I do. I love you. Probably since before the inn… Everything you do pulls me in deeper and I miss you. We were no more than ten feet away all day yesterday but I missed you. It feels ridiculous…" he let his gaze drop to your hands and you realized you were just staring at him. Mouth slightly open, eyes wide, and probably making him all the more nervous.

"You asshole." You breathed, then finding your voice you continued at a yell, "You love me!? And you let me wallow in self pity thinking I was nothing but a fuck to pass the time!? A sympathy lay!? I fucking pined over you for nothing!? When I could have just enjoyed being stuck in that room for months!? What the fuck Geralt!?"

"You-?"

"Shut the fuck up." You ordered, pulling your hands free of his and placing them on either side of his jaw, "Are you serious? You're not fucking with me?"

He nodded, his expression a little bewildered, but his voice was sure, "I love you."

A soft gasp escaped your lips and you leaned closer, "Holy shit…"

Geralt placed a hand behind your neck and pulled you to him, closing the distance and gently brushing his lips against yours. Someone sighed, maybe it was both of you, before you pushed forward and kissed him eagerly. His lips were chapped but soft and you picked up that familiar taste of him. Your head spun when he traced your upper lip and you immediately parted for him, shivering when his tongue met yours. You whined when he dragged the tip of his tongue over the roof of your mouth, pulling away for air and leaving you breathless.

You stared into his eyes, still clouded with worry and finally remembered you had a line yet to deliver, "Oh, fuck! I love you too!" You giggled.

His face lit up and he laughed as he lifted you to straddle his lap, holding you close and pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, "Thank gods, I thought you'd never say it."

You shifted a bit to unbend your knees, fully sitting on his lap and crossing your ankles behind his back, kissing him again and reveling in the feeling, "Thought I'd never hear it."

He brushed your hair behind your ear, "I love you."

Your whole body felt like you might just melt at his words, "Mmmmmm, say it again." You hummed, kissing his forehead.

" I love you." He began, kissing every inch of your face between his words, "I love your smile. I love how you snuggle in your sleep. I love your sense of humor. I love how strong you are, how never back down from a fight. I love the way you mock me, surprisingly. I love how you snort when you laugh too hard and how you fight sleep even when you're exhausted. I love your eyes. I love your lips," he paused, leaving a lingering kiss right where you'd wanted him for weeks now before moving down your jaw, "...your chin, your neck."

Your skin tingled in the wake of his touch, his stubble tickling your neck as he moved lower.

A loud whistle interrupted the moment, followed by Jaskier's singsong voice calling through the trees, "Ow! Ow! HOT!"

You laughed as Geralt turned to lay his head on your shoulder, hiding his own laughter, "Get out of the bushes, you perv!"

He sauntered out, looking rather pleased with himself, "You're welcome, you two. For making Geralt use his words."

You rolled your eyes, resting a hand on Geralt's hair and keeping him close to your chest, "Hey Jask, guess what?"

The bard raised an eyebrow at you, picking up his lute case.

Your grin turned mischievous and you lowered your voice, as if telling him a secret, "Geralt said I was his best friend."

"Y/N," Geralt's tone was one of warning, but you heard the smile in his voice.

Jaskier looked outraged for a moment before he smirked, "Before or after getting his dick wet?"

"Guys" Geralt squeezed you even tighter, turning to hide his face in your shirt.

You just laughed and rubbed your hand in soothing circles on his back, not wanting to ever have to move. You kissed the top of his head and whispered into his hair, "Hey?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

__________

Tag List 💕💕

honestly guys thank you so much I love you all

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz @cavillhavoc @baliebay19 @highladyofelfhame-remastered

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia fic #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #geralt fic #soft!geralt #soft geralt #geralt of rivia fanfic #yall this was so self indulgent and you can absolutely expect more self indulgence bc I have no school for the next three weeks.

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quixotic-writer · 3 years

Text

Bermuda Love Triangle

Request: @gionline and anon(s?)

Summary: Flirting between Sal and Q had always been a little quirky joke between them for entertainment value until they both catch feelings. Sal plays it up, Q plays it off. When Sal seemingly moves on though, jealousy brews in Q and he doesn’t know what else to do but finally say what’s on his mind.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Truth be told, Q was a bit of an idiot. He was well aware of this and knew it often caused him to get into situations he sometimes couldn’t escape from. There was nothing he was more oblivious to than emotions. He was more specifically blind to romantic feelings, be it his own or others.

The moment he heard about vulquinn, he and Sal both played it up for their audience just for the reactions and their own personal entertainment. The need to always be right next to each other at live shows, their own podcast filled with inside jokes and personal stories, the way they managed to communicate through only their eyes, and the countless compliments and jokes about being romantically involved with the other.

‘If chicks can do it and be simply best friends, why can’t we?” Was his thought process. And it was true, it was just simple little gestures to one another that was merely just platonic affection. That was until it started bleeding into their regular life and the pair found themselves doing their little “act” for an audience that was non-existent around them. There was no one to get a good laugh or reaction out of, so they just tried to laugh it off.

Hidden behind those laughs was a realization within Sal that he had actually started falling for his best friend hard and fast. The flirtation slowly didn’t become an act, it melded into meaningful gestures. He found that his heart would race when Q would wrap an arm around him to bring him closer, when they made eye contact he could feel the butterflies burst from their cocoons into his stomach and tickle his throat, and the way that no matter where they would, the flirting never stopped. It all felt so real and he believed it was real too.

Q felt the effects of it all but had chocked it up to typical feelings for your best friend. Everyone felt comfortable with the thought of kissing their best friend… right? Cuddling your best friend during a scary movie and letting them hide in your arms was totally normal, all simply platonic… right? So on he kept saying how Sal was his “best friend,” little did he know exactly how much it hurt Sal to hear them being only that title and never anything more. Sal kept quiet about his feelings and never said anything not wanting to destroy or lose everything the two had built up.

One tour though, the tides quickly changed and shifted.

“Bri! This is Chris Distefano, he’s gonna be an opener for our shows!” Sal introduced Chris to Q. In that moment he got a look at this guy, he thought he looked way better than him and Q felt something inside of him coil up and make him sick. He passed it off as some nerves from being around someone new, so he remained civil and made his best attempt to make a good impression on this guy.

As the tour progressed, Q noticed that Sal wasn’t attached at his hip so much anymore. He was busy chatting things up with Chris. What he saw had made this fire ignite in his head, a jackhammer was what it felt like. He saw Sal leaning up against him, crying tears of laughter, hands folded over his stomach pushing out more laughs, and Chris in the same condition as the other. Q had thought he was one of the few people that could get Sal to laugh like that, and seeing Chris effortlessly do something he thought only he could do made him unreasonably upset.

As he lay in his bunk on the tour bus, Q couldn’t help but wonder: ‘What is going on with me? Why do I feel like this? I should be happy he’s making other friends.’ He barely got sleep that night and he was a total drag up until they were called up onto stage for their next show.

“Hey babe!” Q had never whipped his head around so fast at the sound of the familiar voice and he almost thought he was gonna get whiplash or pull something. As it turned out, Sal’s words were yet again not to him, but to Chris instead who greeted Sal with a wide smile and a warm hug. Q didn’t realize his jaw and fists were clenched so tight until Murr had pointed it out and he allowed it to relax and all the pressure in his head eased a bit and his hand stopped throbbing.

“Just a bit of pre show nerves, heard it’s gonna be a big crowd tonight.” He lied through his teeth and to himself too.

Tour had come to a close leaving Q within the four walls that he had grown familiar too along with the silence that accompanied it. He was finally able to have time to self reflect and really think about what was going on with him. It had been so long since he had even felt this strongly about anyone in his life and for so long he had kept trying to tell himself that everything they did was strictly platonic and nothing more. But Q seeing Sal with someone who was, in his opinion, much more attractive than him and doing basically everything that they used to do together had flipped the switch that this wasn’t just simple friend jealousy.

“Fuck…” He said out loud to himself, “I’m in love with my fucking best friend.” He finally admitted it out loud and buried his face in his hands as his cats nuzzled around him demanding immediate attention. Q’s head felt like it was spinning, he felt almost sick. “Why am I so stupid?!” Mentally beating himself up for not realizing things and sorting it out sooner. Now that he finally realized what that feeling was, jealousy, every other emotion attached had felt so much more intense. Magnified even. He had called Sal for lunch to get together.

“Maybe Chris could join us?” Sal asked curiously.

“Can't just be us?” Q said in quick opposition and realized he sounded like a jealous boyfriend without actually being his boyfriend, “I mean, we haven’t had a day with just us in a while.” He quickly back paddled and covered those secret emotions.

When the day rolled around, he convinced himself that he would finally confess everything. All he wanted was to finally have it all out in the open and hold nothing back. It felt weird keeping secrets from his best friend. Everything was going great, they were catching up on some things, sharing some little life updates, and as always they shared a few good laughs and stories.

“You know Q it’s great we had this day because I have exciting news that I wanna share with you! You’ll be one of the first to hear it.” Sal sat across from him in the booth they were in and had a big beaming smile plastered on his face. He looked as thorough if he didn’t get whatever it was out in that moment, he was just gonna implode.

“Well i’d love to hear what the news is!”

“Chris and I are starting a podcast together!” Q’s stomach sunk like the titanic. It felt painful and he knew he couldn’t mask any of his emotions after trying to build himself up. Sal quickly picked up on all of it and could read Q’s signals well, “Is there something wrong with me doing that Bri? I can read you like a book. You’ve been acting strange lately, what’s going on?” Q doesn’t know what came over him, but his emotions swirled him like a tornado and consumed everything.

“What’s going on? Sal, I know you’re smarter than this.” He forces a chuckle as he rubs his forehead staring down at the table. Sal had an inkling as to what it was, but he wanted to hear it out of Q.

“I don’t think I know what you mean…”

“For god’s sake Sal I like you okay! More than a friend should. Seeing you with Chris… It just…” There it was. The confession. But, for some reason it made Sal mad. All this time, the hints he kept dropping, the countless moves he tried to make. Only when Sal started taking interest in someone else did Q finally show up and show out what he had been wanting for so long.

“Does it make you jealous Brian?” Something about the way Sal said his name made it feel like his veins were wrapped tight around his neck and were suffocating him. “Only now that i’ve started showing interest in someone else do you care. I liked you too, okay?! But you couldn’t be bothered to notice my desperate hints. You just kept throwing ‘friend’ and ‘buddy’ around so I just gave up trying to win you over.” Guilt riddled Q and he felt paralyzed in that moment.

“Sal, i’m just so stupid.”

“Yeah, you are.” Both of them knew Sal didn’t mean it, but it still stung Q like a jellyfish wrapped around his leg. “I’m tired of the mind games Brian.” His head hung low as Sal left without another word. More than ever, Q had felt like the biggest clown in the circus he called his life. He tried to finish eating his food, but all he could do was pick around at it and wallow in his own self pity. By the time he left the diner, he came to the conclusion that this discussion wasn’t done and shouldn’t be left where it was.

He had made his way over to Sal’s house, approaching the front door and about to hit the doorbell

“Q?” All motions come to a quick halt as he turns around to see Chris standing there. He feels the jealousy and anger slowly building again, “What are you doing at Sal’s man?”

“What are you doing here?” It was a little sharper than he intended to sound.

“I asked you first!”

“And I asked you second!” He didn’t want to dish out any info about him and Sal, especially to the guy that Sal’s found a new interest in. Chris takes a deep breath, looking at Q with almost hurt eyes.

“Do you hate me or something? You just seemed to not want to be around me, especially on that tour. What did I do?” Before saying anything else, Q takes a moment to step back before making another mistake he’ll regret. Chris stood there with hands in his pockets waiting for an answer.

“Listen, I don’t hate you. Guess I was just getting a little jealous…” He admits not giving away too many details as he rubs the back of his neck. Looking at Chris though, he could tell he was able to piece some things together with that sentence alone. A moment of clarity hit him.

“Of me and Sal?”

“You just seem to make him happier than I have, you’re a lot more attractive than me… like honestly really attractive…” Q was trailing off and slowly understood Sal’s attraction to Chris.

“Don’t be like that, you’re quite the looker yourself babe.” Q’s cheeks rose in heat and he found it a bit hard to speak.

“You just seem to make him happier and get him to laugh really hard. Guess I let jealousy get the best of my emotions. Maybe… Maybe it’s better he has you. I should… I should just go.” Q began backing away from the door and was gonna leave, but Chris placed a hand to his chest and stopped him.

“Funny, it’s you I should be jealous of. Not gonna lie, I am interested in Sal but he told me he liked you, Q.”

“Wait what? When did he say that?”

“When… we got back from the tour..?”

“Well he just got done telling me he liked you. That’s actually why i’m here.” They both stood there in silence for a moment looking at each other. Their eyes wandered to Sal’s front door, then back again to one another. In a mirrored movement they both went right to the door and rang the doorbell. Footsteps grew louder as they got closer, the door unlocked and cracked open.

“Chris!” Sal said with a smile. Chris moved his hand out opening the door more to reveal to Sal that he had more than one visitor and his eyes grew wide. “And… Q…”

“You’ve got quite a bit of explaining Sally.” Q said with a devilish smirk as Sal broke out into a nervous sweat. When Sal looked to Chris, he wore a similar smirk.

“Yeah, babe. Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?”

#what would their ship name even be??????#Sal x Chris x Q #sal vulcano #brian quinn #chris distefano #suki writes #angst #only a little bit though

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floralseokjin · 5 years

Text

;decalcomania 1. (m)

no matter how hard you both try, the past will never return

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader genre/warnings; angst, mature content, cheating mentions, vomit mentions words; 2,669

part 2 found here

He was torn. To close his eyes and try his best to lose himself in the past, where you were both so happy and content, so in love that the world could never hurt you, or to keep his eyes open, savouring your beauty. The way your eyelashes cast downwards, painting shadows across your cheekbones in the dim lighting. The way your mouth parted, pleasure etching its way across the rest of your face as you moaned softly. Quietly. Like you didn’t want to give all of yourself to him. Not anymore.

You had once upon a time. He was the one you trusted the most. The one who had always been there for you. Loved you unconditionally. The one who would never hurt you.

He’d ruined that the night he’d fallen into another’s bed.

It was a miracle you still wanted him after such a betrayal. But you did. Forgiveness was a work in progress. Had been for so long now, and as the weeks dragged into months, he was beginning to think it was impossible. He didn’t blame you. He hadn’t forgiven himself yet. He didn’t think he ever would.

But it was easy to kid himself when you reached for him in the dead of night. Wrapping your arms around him, lips hesitant but in need against his. Sick of the gap between the both of you. The cold sheets. The silence. You were hungry for some love. The love he’d ruined. Because even though you were finding everything so difficult, and rightfully so, you still craved him badly. He was all you’d ever known after all. Likewise, until he’d fucked it all up.

Each time he had you like this, spread so beautifully and under him, it always felt like it was the last time. Like he had to prepare himself for the inevitable. For the end.

It never was.

You were both too weak to let go. You, because you thought you needed him, and him, because he was selfish.

He chose to keep his eyes open. Only because yours were closed tight. You were lost in the past for the both of you, hanging on for dear life. That, and he knew you couldn’t dare look at him when you were like this. He didn’t know what you saw, but he could guess. Visions of him with someone else. He didn’t know what you felt, but he could guess.

And he hated himself.

He hated himself for fucking up your life.

It hadn’t always been like this. You’d been happy for a long time, young and in love. But like everyone, age caught up with you both, and with age came change. Jungkook hated to admit it, even now, after everything, but he wasn’t who he used to be. That was where all your troubles began. Where it all went wrong.

One argument. Brewing for God knows how long, about how he’d changed. Work had skewed his mind, that’s what you’d said. He’d lost himself along the way. He wasn’t the Jungkook you knew, and you wanted him back. He was stubborn, always had been, so he’d venomously denied it. He’d shouted. He’d slammed his fists against counters and thrown things. If he had changed then so had you. He wasn’t solely to blame, and he wouldn’t let you turn it all on him.

Looking back, he knew he had been wrong. He was deflecting. Scared and hurt. You hadn’t changed at all. Not even one little bit. But maybe that was the problem. You were both moving in different directions but still tied so tightly together. Unable and unwilling to cut the cord loose.

That evening he’d watched you throw his things into trash bags, hearing the same words over and over again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. He still heard them four hours later, the bags at Jimin’s place while he sat in a shitty bar somewhere. Alone, seething and heartbroken. He got drunk to the rhythm, it’s over, ordering one drink after the other. In the midst of it all he saw a woman making eyes at him from across the room. It was obvious what she wanted. He probably reeked of self pity, wallowing in his sorrows, glass after glass. Some people got off on that.

She made her way over and listened to him. It was nice talking to a stranger. Someone who wasn’t biased. Someone who didn’t know you. He called you a bitch at some point. He remembered that vividly. The rest he’d tried to block out. The woman had been nice to him, rubbed his shoulder as she comforted him, stroked his arm, squeezed his leg. She’d told him all the things he’d needed to hear. To make himself feel better. About how you didn’t deserve him and how much this seemed like an excuse to ease your own guilt for not loving him anymore. That tore at his heart. He hadn’t realised you might not love him anymore. He wondered how long you could have possibly felt like that. You seemed selfish, that’s what she had said, but that couldn’t be right. He was the selfish one, always had been, and definitely right now.

He’d let the woman kiss him, whisper things in his ear that got his dick hard. It made him sick to try and remember, but that’s what had happened. That’s how he’d found his way into her bed, repeating the same words in his head as he stripped and fucked the stranger. You didn’t want him anymore. It was over. You didn’t love him.

The guilt ate him up as soon as he woke up in the early hours of the next morning. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, not quite making it to Jimin’s place as he threw up in an alleyway a block away. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or revulsion at himself. It just kept coming, heave after heave, even when the contents of his stomach had been stripped. Memories of last night warping their way behind his eyes as he clenched them tight. It was clear then.

It was a deep self loathing that made him spill his guts.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he ripped it out, seeing your name. His heart dropped when he read the messages. About how you couldn’t sleep at all last night without him there, about how much you regretted what you’d said and how you couldn’t let him go like that. You loved him too much, and you wanted to try and make things work, if he would let it. You were just so damn sorry.

It made him heave again, a fresh sickness spreading, even though there was only sour, yellow bile left.

Jimin had heard him rush through the apartment, calling out to him, wondering where he’d been and assuming it was back home, making up with you. One look at Jungkook dismantled that. He had no choice but to confess, beside himself, and Jimin listened in horror, unable to understand why he would do such a thing. One thing was for certain though, he needed to tell you. He knew that even before Jimin demanded him to. If he wanted to try to salvage this, he needed to confess. The thought made him feel sick, but he knew if he didn’t, he would never be able to live with himself. He didn’t think he could live with it even after confessing…

He’d showered in scalding hot water, until his skin was red and sensitive, desperate to wash off his sin, yet it didn’t feel enough. He was still dirty. He was still a cheat.

You’d looked relieved when he’d turned up at the door, clutching him, whispering desperately about how sorry you were. He wanted more than anything to be able to reassure you it didn’t matter. To hold you tight and promise things would go back to how they were. But he couldn’t. It was a lie. You had nothing to be sorry about, while he had everything, weighing down on his heart, his body.

He would never forget the look on your face as he told you. The floor disappeared from under your feet, and you looked like you might pass out. First there was a shocked silence, denial following soon after. Then the anger consumed you. You’d shouted at him, screamed at him, until your throat was raw. The hate in your eyes almost made him cower. You demanded he gave you all the nasty, sordid details. He tried to fight, he tried to beg, but it was to no use. You wanted to know everything, and he had to fight through the haziness and his shame to recall the night previous. You listened silently, no expression on your face, eyes dead. He tried desperately to emphasise how much he hadn’t enjoyed it, but you had just sneered at him. He knew it was all just excuses. Nothing could change. He had done it. He couldn’t take it back.

Finally, you cried. You cried so hard it brought you to your knees, took your breath away. He had ruined your life in a few simple words. He remembered how helpless he’d felt. Unable to comfort you because he was the reason for your misery. He’d spent so long protecting and cherishing you and now this is what he had done. All because his pride had been bashed. All because he was selfish. All because he was a fool.

You cried until no more tears would come. Rough sobs continued to rattle your chest, tore at your throat, but with a strength he found admirable, you were finally able to compose yourself. It could have been minutes, hours, his head was too much of a mess to judge time. You looked him dead in the eyes and told him you hated him. He was the person you trusted most in this world and he’d betrayed you. He was the one you’d loved for so long, but he was the one who had hurt you so easily, without a second thought.

He tried to hold you. He tried to make you see how sorry he was, but you wouldn’t listen. He’d wanted you to so badly listen. Instead, you screamed at him to get out, and he couldn’t bear it.

He’d finally broken down. He’d sobbed, falling to his knees as you stood before him. Wrapped his arms around your legs and hugged himself to you like a scared little child. He was so scared. The reality of losing you was too much to stand. You were his life. He was nothing without you. He needed you to believe that, but now you no longer trusted anything that came out of his mouth. You were unemotional as you watched on, not an ounce of sympathy on your face. Not that he deserved it. He knew that.

So, he had no choice but to listen. To leave, dazed and distraught, aimlessly walking around town like he was lost until he somehow found his way back to Jimin’s apartment.

But like he’d said, he was selfish. He couldn’t leave it like that. He could make everything right again, make it better. He knew it.

Each day he tried to contact you. For the first week you didn’t pick up his calls, ignored his voice messages and his texts, but he didn’t give up. He just tried harder. When he finally heard your voice again, he broke down once more, plea forgotten for a moment. To his surprise you seemed moved by his reaction, voice almost gentle, just like it had always been. He didn’t deserve it. You asked him to talk about anything. Anything and everything that wasn’t about what he’d done. You just wanted to pretend for a little while. Pretend he was away for work and you were catching up.

He could do that for you. He could do anything.

Pretending came easy at first. He was just so thankful. But you’d been doing it for months now and it wasn’t getting any better. Instead of acknowledging his betrayal and trying to work past it, you’d both ignored it completely. He’d let it happen because he was a coward, just so, so happy you were giving him a chance. Slowly letting him back into your life, back into your house, and back into your bed.

Only there was something missing.

You weren’t letting him back into your heart. He had tried so hard, he was still trying so hard, but he was beginning to realise it might not work. That this was it.

He’d ruined everything. One mistake that he couldn’t take back, couldn’t forget, and couldn’t make up for. Yes, you still loved him, but it was also so more than that. Something unhealthy and consuming. Your attachment to one another had grown so much over the years, that you both couldn’t imagine life without the other. It was impossible. So, you kept holding on no matter how unhappy it made you, and he had to live every waking moment hating himself. He did not want pity, but he wished this feeling would stop one day. Without your forgiveness he didn’t think it ever would.

The most selfish need of them all.

He was long used to looking at his reflection and not recognising the person in front of him. He wasn’t who he used to be. Not even just before the betrayal, but further than that. When you were both so young and in love. Naïve, but happy that way.

He wanted to be the boy you’d fallen in love with again so badly. For you. For him. But as each day passed, he understood it was impossible.

Tonight, he tried his best. If this was the night you’d finally had enough, finally gained the courage to let him go, then he would accept it. It would eat him whole, but he’d accept it. He just wanted to make everything perfect for the last time he got to hold you like this, and then he would leave if you requested it.

Parting was always the hardest during nights like these. When he had to slip from your warmth and lose the only way he felt attached to you anymore. It killed him. His mind whirred, agonising over whether you were going to end it right then and there. He kissed your mouth softly like he always did, but so deeply tonight, like he wanted to sink and get lost.

He waited for your reaction.

Some nights everything would be okay, and you would open your eyes and smile, wrapping your arms around him, hugging him to your body. Nights like those gave him a false hope. When he thought true forgiveness was coming. Reality hit him hard again the next day. Other nights you’d roll onto your side, shaking him off. Separating you both. Instant cold back again. Those nights made him hate himself even more. He could only imagine you felt the same way about yourself.

Tonight however, was something different entirely. He watched as your face contorted, expression crumbling before you wept. It stunned him for a moment, not having seen you cry this hard since he’d confessed, but quickly he took you in his arms, cradling you to his body as you sobbed. Tears pricked his own eyes as he kissed your head and shushed you. Words on the tip of his tongue that he hesitated to get out. Finally, he did.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Over and over again, like he was begging to make things right, begging to be heard. He would hold you all night if he had to, repeating the same apology until you fell to sleep.

He was scared. Head swarming with thoughts of the unknown.

This had not happened before. He prayed it was a good sign.

Only morning would tell.

Written 2019-20. Reworked/Edited 2021 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#ave is right it's angst season #cries #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook angst #fic:decalcomania #floralseokjin:writings

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guoxinghe · 4 years

Text

Sosuke Yamazaki x Reader - The Departure

Something I wrote long ago

The silence woke him.

Cold silk sheets wrapped around Sosuke as sunlight filtered in through the blinds. Nothing stirred in the small suburban home. Even the coffee maker failed to run which was highly unusual, considering how you could never function without the bitter substance. Heavy solitude weighed on his shoulders.

After all, you were gone.

Rubbing the sleep away from his weary eyes, he stood and prepared to get ready for another day. Like every other morning, Sosuke got dressed, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast, drank his tea, and made to leave. His routine didn’t change.

But you still held his heart in your hands. You clenched it in a steel-clad grip without mercy. Usually, you’d attempt to make breakfast and fail miserably at this new recipe you just had to try. That’s when you two would fall back on toaster waffles and cereal as dirtied pots soaked in the sink. You’d kiss him goodbye before rushing out the door to work.

When did those little moments begin to end?

His phone rang with a text message. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

“Still hurts.” His mouth contorted into a grimace as he continued to type. “It doesn’t feel right. It’s so quiet now.”

Rin texted back, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Instead of responding, he opted for switching his phone to silent and pocketing it. He couldn’t bring himself to believe everything would be okay after your departure. Not much time passed, so of course, the raw pain’s intensity didn’t abate. Would it ever though? Or was he doomed to be miserable, stewing forever in his despair?

Hell, he hoped, with every fiber of his being, that you’d walk through that door, saying you still loved him and had changed your mind. There’d be no hesitation to scoop you up in his arms, kissing every inch of your beautiful face, apologies spilling from his lips like his unbidden tears. He’d bare his heart with every word of endless affection as he made love to you. With every touch, your body would be worshipped by him because you were his everything. Afterwards, he’d lay there in contented silence with you engulfed in his strong embrace. Never again, he’d take those moments for granted.

The day progressed as always. When he arrived at work, he didn’t miss the flashes of pity in his coworkers’ eyes. They could see his change in demeanor by the way his shoulders slumped slightly and the permanently knitted brow. His jaw remained clenched as the gears turned in his head.

Where did everything go so wrong?

He’d always been scared of losing you. He was terrified of waking one day to not see you next to him anymore. To wake up with the realization that you left him. Now that it was reality, it pained him even more because he could’ve prevented it. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, he would’ve worked less hours. But his own pride kept him from giving you more attention.

“Hey, Sosuke,” Rin greeted.

Sosuke nodded in acknowledgement. “Anything new pop up?”

The shark-toothed man shook his head. “Nothing serious, but I guess Gou is back for a visit.”

A dark brow quirked in surprise. “How long’s it been since you saw her?”

“A year.” Rin rubbed the back of his nape and sighed. “I guess she met with [name] last night.”

His best friend debated even bringing it up, but he figured that keeping him in the dark would be worse. Besides, Sosuke always had a way of finding out. His intuition was certainly uncanny.

Sosuke shifted his gaze to the floor. “How is she doing?”

“She seems to be doing okay. She’s staying with a friend.”

“I see.” A bitter smile ghosted his lips as he mused, “I hope that whatever she does, she’ll be happy.”

Rin tentatively asked, “Have you tried talking with her?”

“No.” His response was immediate. “It wouldn’t change anything. She was pretty adamant when she left.”

The scene played in his head like an endlessly looping film.

Sosuke returned from work earlier than usual. When he entered the house, he noticed the packed bags tossed onto the couch. You didn’t have a lot of stuff, so there were only a few filled duffel bags and a backpack.

When you strode out of the bedroom, you only spared him a glance before zipping up your coat. Sosuke blinked hard, clearly in disbelief at what he was witnessing. His uneven breathing was only a small indicator to the pangs of anxiety rushing through his blood.

Swallowing hard, he asked, “What are you doing?”

Your response was toneless with a face void of emotion. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving, Sosuke.”

One by one, you slung the bags over your shoulder and walked towards the door. Still, he couldn’t just let you go. Before you passed him, Sosuke gripped your shoulder, but you didn’t even look at him.

“Wait… [name]…” He glanced down at you carrying everything on your shoulders like the god, Atlas. You’d shouldered everything by yourself.

Yes, you shouldered everything.

Blinking slowly, you exhaled sharply through your nose. “Let go.”

He started warily, “I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m so sorry, but I swear, I can fix that – this! Please, just…don’t go.”

His teal eyes were cast dolefully downwards at your stiff frame. You looked so small like that.

“I made my decision.” You shrugged off his hand and looked him in the eye. Your words were cold and biting. “It’s too late for you to start caring now.”

With that, you stepped out of the house and his life.

Once he returned home, Sosuke shucked off his coat and dumped his keys into the little wooden bowl on the rack by the entrance. The whole house remained silent save for his heavy footsteps as he trudged into the bedroom. When he flipped the light on, he glanced at his worn-down self in the vanity mirror. It’d only been a couple days, but it’d already took its toll on him. His posture lost the trademark confidence and authority that he always carried. Now, it was broken and frail.

The two of you chose this house. It was supposed to be for you and him to live in and grow old together. This bed was meant to be shared with you and you alone. The idea of lying in it with another woman was unfathomable.

You had always been there to support him ever since high school. When he wallowed by himself because of his uncertain future in swimming, you lent him your shoulder no matter how heavy the burden. You wrapped him in warmth before his shoulder surgery, whispering reassurances that he’d be okay. You helped give him that future.

But when you two married years later, everything began descending at a barely discernible pace. It started with him picking up an extra shift here and there. Here and there became once a week. Once a week became four times a week. The shifts grew longer, and the time he saw you grew shorter. Even when you asked him to spend more time at home, it crashed down as he denied you. All the pleasant moments turned to ash that fell between his fingers, and so did his relationship with you.

Sosuke grew more cross with you, delivering short and curt answers to your simple questions. He shrugged off your affections, barely reciprocating them. Little did he know, the nights he returned after midnight, you often cried yourself to sleep, wondering why everything had gone so wrong. He never noticed the tears staining your dried cheeks or the way your hands clenched the sheets as you bit back the sobs.

After your departure, he couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why didn’t he change before it was too late? Did he think you’d stay no matter what? That you’d stay to support him when he failed to reciprocate?

He’d wasted your love.

Regret was all you left him with.

Years passed.

The divorce was actually finalized within a year of you leaving. Honestly, there wasn’t anything to dispute about since you didn’t buy anything together except the house. You were content to leave everything except your essential things behind. Sosuke stayed in that home, always waiting for you, but he knew it was in vain.

Since then, he hadn’t heard from you. You didn’t really have a reason to contact him in the first place considering the fact you didn’t have kids or pets you needed to keep tabs on. Still, he heard about you from Rin and Gou since you remained in touch with them. You’d finally gotten that job you always wanted and strove toward since graduating high school. You entered another serious relationship with this one guy a couple years after leaving Sosuke. Gou was reluctant, but she told Sosuke that you were happily engaged to the new guy a couple years after dating.

A couple days after she brought the news, a wedding invitation was mailed to your old house. It was addressed to him, and he vaguely wondered if you just wanted to rub salt in the still raw wounds. He knew you didn’t bear that kind of malice though. At the same time, the same scenario began playing in his head over and over.

You were standing at the altar, ready to begin saying the vows. When the officiant asked if anyone objected, Sosuke would bravely stand amongst the crowd and declare his love for you. Overwhelmed with emotion, you’d cry as you ran into his arms, returning to him. As for the one sobbing hysterically, it’d definitely be him. Yes, it was like one of those cheesy romantic dramas he hated.

When the occasion finally arrived though, no protests left him as he watched you stand at that altar. You were in another man’s arms, and part of him desperately wanted to pry you away. That was impossible though.

Because you looked so happy.

The way you looked at your new husband was the way you used to look at Sosuke. Your new husband returned the loving gaze like Sosuke used to. That’s when Sosuke knew. He knew this man would love you unconditionally for the rest of your days. He wouldn’t fail in being a pillar of strength for you. He wouldn’t let his pride go unchecked and wound you with calloused words and actions.

During the wedding reception, Rin approached Sosuke. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hi, Rin.” Both of the men turned to watch you dancing in the arms of another man. With a solemn smile, Sosuke remarked, “She looks happy.”

What else could he say?

Your eyes sparkled in the dim light as you swayed back and forth with your husband. Your grin exuded relaxed contentment. When was the last time he saw you in such bliss? At least a year before you left.

Mustering up the courage, after you finished dancing with your husband, Sosuke approached you.

He asked you to dance, and you smiled warmly. “I’m glad you made it. It’s been a while. How’ve you been, Sou?”

“Okay.” His arms wrapped gingerly around your waist. Both of you rocked back and forth to the slow music. “He seems like a good guy.”

Giggling, you mused, “I never thought I’d be so blessed. It’s amazing he puts up with all my troubles.”

Pangs of guilt caused his chest to ache. Swallowing down the mounting lump in his throat, he murmured, “I’m glad.”

“What?” Sosuke didn’t miss the hitch in your breath.

He offered the most genuine smile you’d ever seen. “You’re happy, and that’s all that matters.” He left a chaste kiss on your cheek. “That’s all I needed to know. It’s enough.”

Warm tears trickled down your face. “Thank you, Sosuke.”

After the song ended, you embraced him one last time in a final goodbye. Yes, he could let go now. So long as you were happy, even though it wasn’t with him, he could finally let go. You watched his back retreated into the crowd, and you wished him the best because he’d always remain your first love. Nothing could replace that.

Sosuke’s departure only signified a new beginning for both of you.

#free iwatobi swim club #free eternal summer #sosuke yamazaki #sosuke yamazaki x reader #sousuke yamazaki #angst

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 4 years

Text

It’s Not What I Meant - Harry Styles Two Shot

Part 1

Hearing your voice on the other side of that door caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He found himself leaning towards the door, his hand coming up from his side to the doorknob. This was the closest he had been to you since that night. His heart urged him to turn the knob and walk inside, but his head knew this was not the time. He couldn’t hear much, but what he could hear he knew whatever you were were recording was about him. The pain in your voice and a few of the lyrics he was able to catch, broke his heart even more.

Harry felt his knees beginning to buckle out from underneath him, so he leaned himself against the wall. Everything he had been feeling over the last few months started hitting him all at once. His heart began to beat rapidly, as his eyes filled with tears. A door had opened down the all, one of his friends from the studio they had been working in came out to check on Harry.

“Harry, mate, what are you-” he said before realizing tears were falling down his face.

“She’s-she’s in there,” he whispered. “God, I fucked up. I hurt her. I did the last thing I said I’d ever do. I’ve lost her for good, man, fuck. I hate this!”

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Let’s get out of the hallway and talk about this, yeah? Get you some water.”

Harry didn’t respond, simply letting his friend help him back into the studio.

You hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. You barely felt like eating, only eating soup or a sandwich occasionally. You barely talked to your family or your friends, even though you were staying with one of them. The only thing you found yourself doing was playing around on your guitar or the piano, but your head was too jumbled up to provide any lyrics.

Breakups were something you were used to, given your past history with relationships, but none of them had ever hit you or affected you in this way. You felt numb, mostly, like you were living in slow motion, while still trying to grasp what happened. Since everything happened so fast, it almost didn’t seem real, but it was.

Your heart was broken. You two were over. There was no turning back.

You were laying in bed watching Netflix. Well, you were staring at the screen, but couldn’t really focus on what was happening. The door to the room you were staying in flew open and in walked your friend. She didn’t say anything to, just went straight for curtains and pulled them open. Very little sunlight shown through due to the rain outside, but it did brighten up the room a bit.

“Get your ass up,” she said.

“Get the hell out,” you mumbled pulling the sheets over your head.

“My house, my guest room, so nope,” she said jumping onto the bed. “It’s been months. The only thing you’ve done for yourself is shower, thank god, and play annoying, cheesy, love ballad melodies on the keyboard.”

“Fuck off,” you groaned.

“Look, I get it. Your heart’s been fucked over, we’ve all been there. But, babe, you gotta still live your life,” she said. “You need to make a decision about something. Either you call him up and talk things over or you move the fuck on.”

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“You can’t because you’re too scared of what either of those mean,” she said. “You’re afraid to call him and possibly work things out because too much shit happen and you’re afraid to move the fuck on because you think he was the person you were meant to be with, so then you’ll end up alone.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“See, I’m right,” she smirked. “And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes turning away from her.

“Look, why don’t you grab a shower, a small bite to eat and we hit the studio. Maybe if we sit down together we can get everything your holding inside of you out onto the paper and you’ll start to feel better,” she whispered.

You sighed, “Fine, we’ll go for like an hour and nothing happens, we come back here and you don’t bother me until tomorrow, yeah?”

“Scouts honor,” she smirked.

“You were not a bloody boy scout, so that doesn’t work!” You groaned.

“You keep saying that, yet I don’t care,” she said. “Now, get your ass up, I’ve giving you fifteen minutes.”

Being in the studio was one of your favorite things to do. The setting, the people, there was something about it that opened up your heart and let your feelings burst out. Once you had something in mind you wanted to write, all it took was a few moments of taking in the scene and letting your mind wander off to the place it needed to be. You didn’t only write in the studio, sometimes you'd write on a plane, on a tour bus, in a hotel room, or in a backyard.

A backyard you used to share with your boyfriend. Although, technically, it was his house first, you just happened to move into it a year after you two starts dating. But you can’t think about that, now, or could you. You grabbed your journal and started writing down a few things that came into mind. You looked at your list as you brought the end of your pen in-between your lips.

You knew exactly what you were going to write about, now you just needed to let the words come out. About an hour or so later, you were ready to lay down some vocals. You were feeling a little bit better, but you knew you would feel a lot better once you laid down the song. You put on the headphones and listened to the melody for a few takes before nodding to the engineer.

When Harry got back into the studio, he couldn’t form words or gather his thoughts that were going through his head. The glass fo water shook in his hand as he brought it up to his lips taking a small sip.

“Okay, so what happened,” his friend asked.

“Y/N-Y/N she’s here,” he sniffled. “She in the fucking studio next to us...she’s-”

“Okay, that’s it,” he said standing up.

“What?” Harry sniffed.

“Don’t you see this?” He asked. “The fact that both of you are here is some weird ass fate. So, what you’re going to do, is you’re going to go over there and talk to her. You are going to get some sort of closure from this because you need it, you both need it.”

“I-I can’t,” he sighed. “The things I said- I can’t take those back. I know that, she knows that.”

“No, you can’t, but you two can move past it,” he said. “Look, most of your wallowing in self-pity is because you hated how things ended. So, now is your chance to either end it the way you want or make things right and leave here together. Either way, this is your fucking chance, so take it.”

Harry sighed running his hand over his face.

“And if you don’t then deserve to feel like shit,” He said.

Harry stared at the glass on the table for a bit before taking a deep breath and standing up. He walked back out into the hallway and approached the door of the studio you were in. He couldn’t hear anything coming from the room anymore. He felt his heart sink at the thought you were no longer in there.

If you had already left in the ten minutes he was in his studio, he would never forgive himself even more. He was about to head out into the parking lot to see if he could catch you heading to your car, but then he heard it. Your laugh. This was his chance and his friend was right, he would be stupid not to take it.

He put his hand onto the doorknob and took a deep breath. He didn’t bother knocking, he just turned the doorknob in his hands and walked right in.

You were nibbling on a bag of a crisps as you all started talking about different things after listening to the rough cut of the song. It was definitely a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking song, but it was what you were feeling. You did feel a little bit better, like a small weight had been lifted off of your chest. However, ever singe bit of that would land right back down, when the door to the studio flung open and in walked Harry.

You weren’t sure how you would feel upon seeing him again. You thought it would either be longing or anger, but seeing him standing before you only brought on confusion.

“I-uh-I heard you from the hallway,” he stuttered. “Can we-I-please can we talk, privately?”

You sighed looking over at your friend who gave you a nod before gathering everyone out into the hallway. They shut the door behind them, leaving you and Harry in a bit of an awkward silence.

“So, what do you want to talk about it?” You asked looking over at him.

“I think we both know,” he sighed.

You nodded leaning back in your chair, “You can uh, sit down.”

Harry nodded walking over and sitting down in the chair next to you. “I uh-I don’t know how else to start this, so I’m just going to tell you how I feel. Please,um, please don’t say anything until I’m finished.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he looked over at you, his arms leaning on his knees, “I miss you. God, I fucking miss you. I hate being in that house without you. I hate going to bed and waking up without you next to me. I’ve been, the last few months, my life has been shit because of how much I miss you. I know, I know how I royally fucked. I know I said some, awful, fucked up things, but I didn’t mean them. I don’t even know what I said them, maybe I guess, I just wanted to hurt you or something because I was angry.”

“But I promise you, the moment thy left my lips, I regretted them,” he said. “I wish I could take everything back, but I can’t. I don’t know if there’s a way to make things right or for you to forgive me, but I want to try. I don’t know if you even feel anything for me anymore, but I love you. Fuck, I love you more than I ever thought was possible. So, please, if there’s even a small part of you that still loves me, can we try and make us work again?”

“You done?” you asked after a few silent moments.

He nodded tears shining in his eyes.

“I wish I could say that I don’t miss you or that I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you I hate you because of what happened that night, but I can’t. I can’t because I miss you every second of everyday, which means there’s not a time when I’m not thinking about you. I can’t because I love you so much it fucking hurts and not being with you hurts even more,” you sniffled. “I want to jump into your arms and tell you I’m sorry and that I forgive you, but I don’t know if I can. Which is fucked up on my end because I said shit that night, too.”

“I want to say we can move on from this and be together because we both obviously still love one another, but can we? Should we? I mean if one argument caused both of us to intentional say shit that we knew would hurt the other, that’s not healthy,” you said. “Maybe in our case love isn’t enough for our happiness.”

“Don’t- Don’t say that,” he said. “We’re supposed to be together! I know it. We made a mistake that night, that’s it. We’re not perfect, Y/N. Couples fight. Couples who love each other, fight, it’s part of being in a relationship. Nothing is perfect, but it’s how we handle it.. how we talk through it.. “

“It’s okay to say that now,” you said. “But what happens if we have another argument and we make the same mistakes again, then what?”

“We’ll keep working through it,” he said.

“Until when? Until we’re both so miserable and despise each other?” You asked. “That’s not fair to either of us. We love each other now, but what about a year from now? Two years? Hell, what if we get married and have kids and realize we shouldn’t have been together.”

“Okay, if you want to talk what if’s, how’s this one,” he said. “What if we walk away from each other tonight and then we both move on and meet other people, only to realize we settled with people we weren’t meant to be with and we end up miserable, regretting not being with each other.”

You shook your head standing up to pace around the room.

“Look, the truth is neither of us know what the fuck the future holds, but we do know what is happening now,” he said. “And right now, I know that I love you and that I want to be with you and that I really want to kiss you and take you back to our house and fall asleep with you in my arms. I want that right now and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.”

You sighed looking at him, tears threatening to spill over, “I can’t-I’m not... I can’t get hurt again, Harry. I’m not strong enough. This whole thing... broke me...”

“Then let me fix it,” he whispered closing the distance between you. “We can get through this, I know it. We just have to trust and believe in each other.”

You sighed turning your gaze down when Harry put his hands on your cheeks.

Using his thumb to wipe away your tears, he looks into your eyes, “All I’m asking.. begging for is one more chance. I promise I will do everything to not fuck it up again, please.”

Two years later.

You glanced into the floor length mirror one more time giving yourself a look over for it was time. Time for you to walk down the aisle in front of your friends and family towards the new chapter in your life. A few years ago, you never thought you would be in this place. A place of happiness, love, and marriage.

They called for your name and you took a breath before grabbing your bouquet and heading out. As you to closer, you could hear the music being played on the violin and you were already getting misty-eyed. Good thing they make waterproof, makeup. A set of white doors lined with flowers was the only thing separating you and the man of your dreams.

You once had gotten your heartbroken and you thought you would never mend it back together. But somehow and someone did just that and now you were moments away from walking down the aisle to him. Right on time, the doors swung open and all eyes were on you, but all you cared about was the handsome man in a suit at the end of the aisle.

You smiled as you stared at him as you started to walk. He wiped at his eyes and you were a little happy that he also was a bit of a blubbering mess. When you made it to the end, he took your hands into his, while you handed your bouquet to his sister behind you.

“You look beautiful,” he mouthed to you.

“So, do you,” you mouthed back.

He squeezed your hand as you two focused on the each other. The whole ceremony was a bit of a blur up until the final words you had longed to hear.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” they smiled. “Harry, you may kiss your bride.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

There’s part two! I hope you enjoyed it! :)

#Harry Styles Imagines #One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles one Shots

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mahsamarauder · 4 years

Text

I wrote this in honor of Sirius’ birthday which is today.

Happy birthday Sirius

Sirius Black looks at the moon. And guesses that it’s midnight. He bitterly laughs. He looks at the floor of his cell and sees sand. He decides to take advantage and draws a cake on the sand.

He honestly did not remember his first birthday but guessed that it must have been terrible. With the parents he had, it must have been horrible. He draws the first candle.

He was two years old and he had just learnt how to walk without any support. It was his birthday and he was happy. For his birthday he had gotten a book. His mother said she would read it for him. The book was about noble purebloods and evil muggleborns and disgusting halfbloods. He was so young, he believed every word. He draws the second candle.

He was three years old and he had a brother now, Regulus. He had a feeling that mother and father loved Regulus more but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t looking for trouble. He draws the third one and lets the first tear come. Regulus was so innocent as a child. Maybe if he had taken Reg with him when he ran away, Reg would still be alive.

He was four now and was doing his favorite activity, muggle watching, on the stone stairs of their house when his mother came and carried him inside by his ear, telling him that h the next time she sees him wasting his time on watching muggles, he will regret it till the end of his days. He draws the next one on the sand.

He was five when he decided that his parents were wrong about muggles and muggleborns. He knew he was a Black but he didn’t know what that meant to his parents. That is, until his mom came up to him and taught him about the most ancient and noble house of Black and the scared twenty-eight. Sirius hated himself even more that day. Hatred fills him as he draws the next candle, remembering that day.

He was six years old and he had a ball for his birthday this year. He had to dance with every girl at sight. He hated this, his parents and everything including being a pureblood. He wished he was a muggleborn with every fiber of his being. He accidentally shared his wish with a boy at the party. Well, let’s just say that did not end well. He had defended his wish and said he liked muggles and he preferred to be a muggle rather than a pureblood wizard. Even now after all these years he can hear his mother’s scream: “Crucio!!!!” The next candle is not straight because when he is drawing it because his entire body aches, as if the spell is still affecting him after all this time. And when his whole body aches at once so suddenly he flinches. No tears, no self-pity just pain.

He was seven and he saw Regulus disobey their parents, trying to copy Sirius. He told his mother that he rathers be like Sirius than like them. His mother was insulted and angry. So angry she forgot that Regulus is only 5. But before the spell could hit him, Sirius pushed him out of the way and the spell got him instead. He felt like his skin was on fire and that his entire flesh was being poked by a thousand hot needles all at once. But it didn’t hurt as much. He was used to it. His parents' method of using violence to discipline them was something he was used to. He was slapped, hit and beaten ever since he was very much younger but he always put on a brave face for Regulus. This time he doesn’t flinch as he draws the candle. Nothing hurt him more deeply than the first time so no matter how much he thought about the next times she tortured him, he never flinched again. Because the first time wasn’t just about pain, it was about betrayal too. She was his mother. How could she? But the next times it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

He was eight and he heard his parents talk with disgust in their voice about pureblood families supporting muggles and muggleborns. The Potters and the McKonnins were the main subject of their talk. The Meadows had been suspicious of late about this as well. And the Prewetts and the Weaselys were obviously muggle lovers. That year, for his birthday he wished that he could change his family and go into one of these families, so he could learn about muggles. As he draws the eighth candle, the second tear of that night rolls down his face. Who knew his wish could actually come true? Who knew he would lose it sooner than he wanted to? He bitterly laughs at his misfortune.

He was nine and he was comforting his little brother. Mother had just used the cruciatic curse on Regulus for the first time and now the seven year old boy was crying in Sirius’ arms. The poor boy had done nothing wrong. He had just said that he didn’t want to dance with some pureblood’s ugly daughter. But he was punished. He kept saying that everything hurt, his heart, his lungs, his head, his limbs and his skin. He kept asking Sirius to take care of him while crying. As he draws the ninth candle he curses himself for not doing what his little brother had asked him to do.

He was ten. He had stood up for what he had believed about muggles and muggleborns and had paid the price. His father was drunk and he was not happy. Sirius had ruined his birthday party with this muggle nonsense. Sirius cleaned the house without help from anyone until he dropped out of exhaustion. He apologized and promised to never talk nonsense again. As he draws this candle, he smiles. He had lied to his father and he is proud of it.

He was eleven. He was exited but Reg was not. Regulus asked him if he would still be friends with him even if he had other friends in Hogwarts. He promised him that nothing would change between them. Tears sting his eyes as he draws the eleventh candle. He didn’t keep his bloody promise. He betrayed Reg’s trust. In that moment Sirius Black, hates himself more than he ever did.

He was twelve. And he had friends. Three of them. Sirius Black never thought anyone could love him, but now he had three friends who loved him very much. Sirius was never happier. He stuffed his face with the pumpkin pastries that James, Remus and Peter had brought him for his birthday. He didn’t care about that morning, when instead of a birthday card, he had gotten a howler from his dear mother telling him how ashamed he should be of his house and hiss behavior. He draws the next candle as he smiles. What a happy that day was.

He was thirteen. He had a cut on his cheek. He had been fighting with Slytherins again. And he had gotten detention. How lovely. Detention on his birthday. But when he asked Mcgonagall to put his detention for tomorrow because it was his birthday, Mcgonagall had said that it was only suitable that one of the school’s trouble makers spend his birthday in detention. When he thought about it, he decided she was right. “Wish me a happy birthday Minnie?” “Black, do you want more detention?” And he shut up. As he draws the new candle, he remembers Mcgonagall smirk as she wished him happy birthday anyway.

He was fourteen. And he was spending his birthday in Hogsmade. They were playing around when he bumped into a girl and she fell down. He spent the entire evening running away from a very angry Evans. He smiles when he was drawing the next candle as he remembers all the colorful names Lily had called him that day.

He was fifteen. And he was in love. In love with his best friend. In love with a werewolf. In love with Remus Lupin. And no one knew. His friends hugged him and wished him a long life, but he was sure that when Remus hugged him his heart skipped a beat. Love was beautiful and scary and instead of seeing both sides, Sirius had only seen the scary side. So he had decided to keep his mouth shut. There is lump in his throat now. If only he had faced his fear. He lets the tears roll down his dirty cheek, leaving a clean trail behind them as he draws the next candle.

He was sixteen. It was HIS birthday but all James could talk about was Evans’ hair. Not Evans’ herself, her bloody HAIR. Sirius never felt remorse for dying it yellow the next morning. The bloody hair ruined his birthday and it had to pay the price. Although to be fair, his groin paid the price as Lily kicked him but it was worth it. After all these years, when he thinks about it, he laughs. He laughs and draws the candle. It is still worth it. Lily with yellow hair was so priceless that he was ready to cut off his own member just to see it again.

He was seventeen. He was seventeen and all alone. He was stupid and alone. He was standing at the edge of the tower looking down at the grounds. “Such a beautiful place to die” he thought. He heard a voice call him and looked back to see none other than Lily Evans. She looked at him with worry written all over her face. “You won’t care if I die Evans.” “And that’s where you’re wrong Black.” “I have nothing to live for.” “Bloody hell Black, you’re seventeen, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” “I almost killed Snape.” “I know. He told me all about it. He was using it to tell me how awful you all are.” “Then why are you here?” “Because I don’t believe him. You didn’t want to kill him. You are a lot of things but not a murderer, Sirius.” “I have nothing to live for, Lily.” “What the hell do you mean?” “I lost my brother and my best friend and the boy I have been in love for so long. My family hates me. My brother probably has the black mark. I’ve got no friends or family. Tell me, if you were in position would you want to live?” “My sisters hates because I’m a witch and half the wizarding world hates me for being a mudblood. Where do I belong Sirius? Do you think I should jump?” “Don’t call yourself that! You belong with us.” “What us? You’re killing yourself. There will never be an us. It will be me and the others all wallowing in sadness because you’re dead.” He stepped forward and fell onto his knees in front of her. “What do you think I should do? Stay miserable but alive?” “Stay alive with me Sirius. You say have no friends or family left. But you’re wrong. You’ve got me. I can be either your sister or your friend. Whichever you want.” “You’re talking out of pity.” “Didn’t I tell about my sister who calls me a freak? I need a brother and you need sister. Let me be there for you.” The conversation rings in his ears as he draws the next candle. Until his seventeenth birthday, he always thought the beat that had happened to him was meeting the Marauders but he was wrong. The best thing that had happened to him in his entire life was meeting Lily Evans, the girl who loved so unconditionally. That night he cried in his knees in front of Lily and when she fell to her knees hugged him tightly and gently patted his back, he realized why James had fallen in love with Lily. She was kind to you no matter what you had done. “And this is how I repay her”. Sirius thinks sadly.

He was eighteen. It was his birthday and he was pissed. “Can you believe it Monny? The big baboon diched me on my birthday to go on a date with Evans.” “For the love of Merlin Sirius, stop being jealous. I know he couldn’t come but he lent us the heads common room now didn’t he?” They reached the portrait and opened it. “Surprise!!!” Lily and James had been decorating the heads common room for Sirius’ birthday. That was the best birthday he ever had until then. Lily and James had given him muggle money that year. They said that the money was enough for him to buy a motorbike when he graduated. He smiles warmly at the memory as he draws the next candle.

He was nineteen. He had joined the war with his friends and he never felt more terrified or alive in his life. James and Lily were married now. Peter had moved out his mother’s house. Remus lived Sirius and Sirius, James and Lily were in auror department. They were all making in a difference in any way they could. Their lives were filled horror and exitment. Sirius draws the next candle thinking about his nineteenth birthday in a pub with his four best friends and he smiles.

He was twenty. And Regulus was dead. Sirius can’t bear to remember that birthday. He had gotten a letter a day before, telling him his little brother was dead. That year all he did for his birthday was to make hot cocoa( Regulus’ favorite drink) for everyone and they all sat around the fireplace silently. Sirius dries his tears with his dirty hand after drawing the next candle.

He was twenty one. And he was a godfather now. He had a responsibility. He was someone’s family, legally. He was so happy. On his birthday, Peter and Remus were on a mission, so he wen to visit James and Lily. Lily had snag him a happy birthday song while dancing around the room with Harry in he arms. And Harry kept giggling at the moves and sounds his mother made. When he got to Sirius’ arms, he kept grabbing his hair but Sirius didn’t mind. Harry was the only one allowed to touch his hair. He was surprised at how much he loved the little boy and how much he was ready to give just to see him smile. Sirius draws thr next candle as lets his warm happy tears wet his face. Best birthday of his life.

He is twenty two now. Alone. In an Azkaban cell. Because apparently he had murdered Peter. He wishes he had done so but Peter is alive and free. Sirius draws the last candle and hits himself in head. He curses himself. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. He had trusted a rat. A bloody rat. How could he have been so stupid and naïve? James and Lily were dead because they trusted his judgment. They were dead because of him. The only girl he ever loved was dead because of his stupidity. His brother was dead because he hadn’t been thinking clearly enough. His godson, the only person alive allowed to touch his hair, the little boy he loved as if he was his own son was now parentless because of him. Sirius hates himself more than ever. Four days ago his life was ruined but he feels like he deserves to be in here, to pay the price. He is the reason they’re dead, why shouldn’t he be in Azkaban? He blows out the candles he had drawn. The candles and the cake fly away into the air and Sirius watched the moon from the window of his cell he sobs and begs James and Lily to forgive him. He knows Remus might never forgive even if he knows the truth but he hopes James and Lily will. He had laughed that on the street when the aurors caught him because he had really gone mad for a second and how could he not? He had destroyed the only family he had ever known and loved with his own bloody hands. Remembering this his sobs turn into a mad laughter. It’s all his fault. He is guilty. His laughter turns into sobs and his sobs turn into laughter again and again until the morning.

Years later, on November 3rd 1996, Harry Potter was in the corridors. He went to the kitchens and asked for a birthday cake with 37 candles. On his way back, he thought about what to tell Ron and Hermione and then smirked. Those two should get together. They had been doing this bloody dance for the last five years. If Sirius’ death showed anything, it was that you don’t always have time. He didn't want to think that he and his friends might die but he knew that it might really happen so they shouldn’t waste any time, but then again if he really was that wise he would’ve done something when he liked Cho instead of awkwardly liking her and making a fool of himself around her. So he let it go when he remembered that confessing was not that easy. He reached the portrait and gave the password. He wanted to go inside but changed his mind. He walked up to the astronomy tower and sat down near the ledge. He looked up at the stars and saw the Dog Star or as astronomers called it: Sirius. He smiled sadly at the star and let his tears cover face.

“I’m sorry about all the birthdays you had to spend alone Padfoot. Happy 37th birthday.”

I’ve seen fire and I’ve rain

I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought I’d see you again

Art credit: @alessiajontrunfio

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