#im so behind the curve on familiars that its not even funny

[dahkis]

aww yeah baby

[yuthoe]

Day 6: Muse (MONSTA X: Lee Minhyuk)

REPOST BC IT DIDN'T SHOW UP IN THE TAGS LAST TIME

i was wondering when i'd finally miss a day of this challenge HAHAHA, but here it iiiisssss! today's prompt is

Day 6: Artist & Model

from this prompts list. i cheated a bit, using a short story i submitted to a creative writing class in college, but i edited quite a bit of it (in the original, the guy is bound and the artist is a woman) bc i wanted to make the reader as gender neutral as i could.

this story is kinda my baby, but at the same time im tired of looking at it by myself and letting it rot unseen in my college files lol. it's probably still horrible tho, even if i did get a relatively high grade for that class HAHAHAHA. i'm putting all of it under the cut bc we going RIGHT TO IT

PAIRING: Lee Minhyuk x reader. GENRE: smut (bc there's bondage and ~feelings~), fic. WARNINGS: bondage, ropes, gagging, mild suggestiveness. WORD COUNT: 1,501.

---

Minhyuk loops the rope one last time around your wrists, the white cotton startlingly bright against your skin. The series of crisscrosses start from your elbows down, secured with a small knot you can easily pull on if you want to unravel the whole thing. Your arms are pulled back behind you, looking almost suspended in movement; the rope gives no leeway, no space to move even an inch.

“How is it?” Minhyuk asks, moving on all fours on the bed to check for any signs of discomfort on his friend’s face. It’s almost a relief to be looking away from the ropes, if he’s being honest. If he weren’t so worried about this being your first time with bondage, he’d probably just sit there and stare at the intersecting lines and patterns the ropes make, the way they dig into the plush of your arms. “Are you good?” he asks again, swallowing.

You shift and squirm, the sheets rustling underneath you as you adjust your position. You open and close your hands, move your shoulders to try and dislodge the ropes, but they won’t budge. While Minhyuk was securing you in the bond, you didn’t feel a pull at all—he was very gentle, and you were even worried the ties would be a little loose.

Obviously, that isn’t the case now, as here you are—donning shorts and a tank top, a gag in your mouth, and your arms securely tied at your back.

Your eyes meet Minhyuk’s and you nod, impressed and a little scared that your friend group’s resident funny man is the kinkiest person you know because, with the way the ropes are tied, the way he walked you through the whole process… it’s like he’s done it before, and multiple times.

But while the sudden realization is scary, it is also very, very hot, so you’re not complaining.

“All right, just stay like that,” Minhyuk says, and you watch him hop off the bed and scurry to the corner of the room to drag the broken-in armchair across the floor. He shifts it this way and that, just out of your field of vision, miniscule adjustments that he insists helps him sketch better. It isn’t the first time you’ve modeled for your partner, so this is all familiar territory.

The ropes and the cloth between your teeth are new, though.

You inhale deeply. Exhale. You try to make yourself comfortable in the pose Minhyuk directed you into, sitting with one leg tucked underneath the other like a mermaid. You’re definitely gonna be sore later.

The springs squeak in the armchair, and you see Minhyuk tucking himself into the seat while flipping to an empty page on his sketchbook. You ground yourself on the familiar sight; he really is pretty, with the sharp jaw and piercing eyes. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like to have any artistic talents, so you could draw him too. Alas, the best you can do to replicate his image is a stick man.

“You still good, Y/N?” he asks, and without waiting for an answer, starts sketching. You hear the faint scratches of the pencil on paper, some light and long, some quick and short with a fuller sound.

It’s quiet, as Minhyuk is always quiet when he draws. He told you once that the silence is calming, the sounds of nature and graphite on paper helping him concentrate. You don’t know how long it’s been since he started sketching—your phone is on the desk at the opposite wall, and the clock’s batteries have run out.

The rhythmic scratching of Minhyuk’s sketching overtakes your senses, makes you doze off. You only notice when you start drooping forward, and you have to stop yourself from plummeting face-first into the mattress.

You shake your head, shift slightly to wake yourself up, and—oh.

Shivers wrack your body. Your arms, stiff with disuse, tingle as the ropes dig into your flesh, and you tense as if trying to break free of the bonds. You feel the resistance of the rope and try to breathe in deeply, keeping the oxygen in your lungs before breathing out slowly. Your back curves forward as you exhale and you struggle keeping in the moan that threatens to erupt from the feel of the rope.

Minhyuk notices the movement and pauses his sketching, moving his canvas out of the way to peek at you. “You okay there, Y/N?”

You take in another deep breath and nod frantically, still facing the direction of the desk, still sitting there how he wants, obedient and pliant.

The next thing you know, the hair that’s fallen into your face is brushed away, and you lift your head to meet Minhyuk’s concerned face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

A shaky nod.

“Really?”

Another nod, more resolved.

“We can stop if you want.”

You shake your head.

Minhyuk purses his lips, weighing whether or not to continue, and you feel a little guilty for worrying him, but you’re overwhelmed!

Finally he sighs. “Think you can wait like, five minutes? I’m almost done, babe.”

You let out a muffled “mhm”.

As soon as Minhyuk steps off the bed, you take another deep breath to compose yourself.

God, his fingers in your hair felt nice. Has it really been that long since you had any physical contact? It took everything in you to not lean into his touch, to not let out a sound, to not disobey him and keep still.

You close your eyes and crack your stiff neck, trying to relax once again. You will your breathing to slow and your body to move back into position, long enough for Minhyuk to finish the sketch. But with each second that passes, with each scratch of graphite that reaches your ears, it gets harder and harder to keep composed.

You can feel yourself sweat, and your thighs are shaking and tired from keeping your position. The rope restricting you feels tighter, its fibers digging into your skin—or is that just your imagination? Has it been five minutes or five hours? You’re not sure.

You take another breath—Is Minhyuk done yet?

The bed dips and you open your eyes. Minhyuk’s dark brown eyes look back at you, satisfied and grateful.

“You were really good, baby, thank you,” he says softly. A hand cups the back of your head and the other pulls down the cloth gag, leaving it to hang around your neck. Minhyuk leans forward and quickly kisses you on the lips.

“Can I get out of these now?” you said, voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. You try swallowing spit, but it only makes your mouth drier.

Minhyuk snorts. “The sketch looks great, thanks for asking,” he jokes and rolls his eyes. “No joke, though, you look really beautiful like this.” He slowly, gently lifts you up, giving your aching thighs a reprieve and settling you on his lap. You feel his warm hands rub and massage your tender flesh as he smiles at you. “Kinda wanna just have my way with you right now.”

You whine, “You’re killing me here!” and he just answers with a laugh. You squirm, trying to loosen the ropes, but your muscles are jelly. You’re still wound up from being in the ropes too long; you just want to get out of them and hold him again, press kisses into his face and run your hands through his silky hair.

Minhyuk isn’t helping either—his hands are everywhere, squeezing at your waist, running over your still trapped arms, cradling your neck, slipping under your shirt. His lips are at your neck, pressing kisses up your jaw and your ears, further amplifying your need to just touch with your own two hands.

Is this what the girls feel like in all those pornos? The heat, the haze, the feeling of feeling everything and nothing at the same time?

“Man, you knew what you were doing when you asked me to model for you,” you say, voice catching on a moan as he lightly nips at your ear.

Minhyuk chuckles and pulls away, smooths a thumb across your lip. You tremble in his hold. “So…? Wanna have a go? We can just try it out, but if you want to stop in the middle, we’ll stop.”

Would you even want to, though? In the event that you say yes and play out a scene, would you really, voluntarily choose to stop?

Do you want to get out of these ropes? Yes. But do you also want to see what Minhyuk is going to do with you in these ropes?

… Also yes.

There isn’t a doubt right now that you’re really, really absurdly curious as to what Minhyuk has planned for you.

You take a deep, shaky breath and lick your lips, anticipation clear in your eyes. “Okay,” you say, letting him take the reins. But still, you press closer and give him a kiss as you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

OC Kiss Week Day 2: Blanket

WIP: To Annex the Kid/The Invention of Fire Pairing: Works x Russell (with a cameo by one of Works’ aliases) Timeline: TIoF CW: More yearning! Yay! Rating: T Words: 1,653

***

Cady shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around her small shoulders, teeth chattering against the frigid cold seeping mercilessly through the doors of the coach. Works turned to her in alarm at the sound.

“My goodness,” he exclaimed, squeezing her to his side on the seat. He rubbed her arms to force warmth into her wiry frame. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this cold?”

Sitting across from this display and facing the rear of the coach, Russell watched Works take a spare blanket from his satchel and tuck it under Cady’s chin, wrapping it tight across her chest and essentially swaddling her within thick wool, and after a few moments the chattering stopped.

“Sorry, Mr. Works,” Cady said. “Guess I didn’t think much of it.”

“Nonsense.” Works peered through the window as best as he could through the endless snow and fog hiding London from view. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times not to feel that you’re being an inconvenience by asking for ordinary things such as an extra blanket.” He swung around and affected a humorously severe face, brows drawn too tight together and mouth tugged down in an exaggerated frown. “Can you imagine the inconvenience if you’d expired?”

Cady belly-laughed and Russell shook his head, bewildered.

"I do not understand why y’all think the things you think is so funny is so funny sometimes," he muttered, though he let out a quiet snort anyway if for no other reason than because he enjoyed when they interacted with such familiarity.

Still laughing, Cady buried her face in her blanket. “It’s not my fault!”

"There isn’t a lot to envy in the way of having a macabre sense of humor,” Works said. He looked at Russell with an expression of false surprise. “Some say it’s a sign of low intelligence or maturity, you know.”

“Low intelligence, no.” Russell’s face split into an playful grin. “Maturity? That might be up for discussion.”

Works pretended to be affronted and placed a firm hand on the top of Cady’s head. “This is a child!”

Russell opened his mouth to respond when the coach came to a rolling stop. One glance outside told him they’d arrived at the house rented out to them by Dr. Keller, and an overwhelming yawn burst forth from him in anticipation of stretching out on the most comfortable bed he’d ever experienced.

And stretch out he did some minutes later, with a steaming cup of tea brewed by the housekeeper, reclined on a sofa in the well-lit drawing room and another five or six blankets piled onto his lap. He wasn’t sure how he got to that point or why begging Mrs. Gabb to leave him be just this once always resulted in a cup of tea that went to waste.

“Y’ever been dragged along the dirt behind a galloping horse for thirty seconds?” he asked.

Works, freshly changed into a gemstone-hued dressing gown, stifled the sounds of Cady enjoying a lively song with Mrs. Gabb in the kitchen as he pushed the doors closed. “...I can’t say I have.”

“Well, it feels kinda like this.” Russell deposited the teacup along with its saucer onto the table in front of him.

A pause settled over the floor and Works slid his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to speak to you about that, actually.” He hesitated. “About you being here, with me—”

“Works,” Russell interjected, holding up a hand to stop him, “we already talked about it enough.”

Works spared a cautionary look over his shoulder at the doors, where the jovial noise continued from further into the house. The chances of being interrupted were low, yet he dropped his voice anyway. “I still need you to know how much it means to me that you’d come so far from home, into such foreign waters for the sole purpose—”

“Works....”

“—For the sole purpose of letting me pursue a silly whim.” Works’ eyes followed Russell as he got to his feet, leaving the blanket pile behind. “I can see how uncomfortable you are here.”

“First of all, if you call this...this....”

“Symposium.”

“If you call this symposium a silly whim again, you’re gonna have to answer to me. Also, I would let you drag me along the dirt into the deepest depths of the ocean, McCoy.”

The silence that followed surprised them both. Not even Mrs. Gabb’s distant and boisterous laughter could stop the furious blush from cropping up on Russell’s face as he realized he’d taken Works’ shoulder in hand, fingers digging into the muscle meeting his neck, and they stood impeccably close to one another.

“I get seasick,” Works murmured.

“I am all too familiar with the concept.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said to me up in that balloon.” Works made eye contact and held it for ages. “I fear I’ve underplayed what hearing those words from you has done to me emotionally.”

Russell swallowed. “Yeah...I actually think this might be the first time you’ve looked me in the eye since we left home.” He, too, glanced to the doors. “You’re lookin’ a little like you wanna make somethin’ right, however.”

Magnetically, Works bowed toward Russell, pressing a purposeful kiss to the hollow of his cheek. The flutter of his nervous breath against Russell’s skin sprouted a shiver.

“Works,” he said with finality. Concession.

Taking that cue, Works met his lips, gathering the fabric of the waistcoat Russell hated wearing into tight fists and backing him into the wall with aggression so suppressed it almost snapped like a dry and brittle branch across Russell’s shoulders. Works kissed him like he needed to taste him or accept death, and Russell felt a rumble of courage in his stomach he hadn’t felt in quite a few years that allowed him to hold Works in place by the back of the neck and reciprocate enthusiastically.

Russell had the belt of the dressing gown open and his arms around Works’ waist so quickly the chill of the air hadn’t set in yet. Works inhaled sharp, shuddering under the pressure of large palms splayed flat against the curve of his backside, caught between his trousers and the softness of the robe.

Works tangled his fingers within Russell’s previously kempt hair, and the crash of a dish breaking in the kitchen followed by an undistressed yelp fueled Russell into pushing Works in the direction of the door to his own bedroom on the other side of the drawing room, to get out of open space, to sate the clawing hunger in privacy.

Russell’s famished mouth found its way to Works’ jawline, hands preoccupied by the buttons of his shirt, completely in a haze that he wouldn’t have given an ounce of recognition had it not been for Works suddenly gripping the door frame to stop them with immediacy.

“Russell...” Works hissed. He took hold of Russell’s chin. “Russ, darling....”

Russell gazed up at him with glossy eyes. “Yeah.”

“Not like this.” Works touched his forehead to Russell’s, nails so far into the wall that he tore a bit of the paper, breath coming out in forceful gusts. “I would never forgive myself.”

Russell kissed him again, slow, heart humming into his bones, parts of him aching low and urgent, and though he agreed with Works in the end, he couldn’t help but feel a sting of frustration at the tables being turned for once.

Footsteps in the hall forced them apart, and Works helped flatten Russell’s hair while simultaneously re-tying the dressing gown. He was still in the process of securing the knot in the belt when the drawing room doors opened.

“Sirs,” Mrs. Gabb sang upon entering the room. “Nothing to worry about! I’ve made a right mess is all."

“Everything alright?” Works asked, and only Russell picked up on the strained way he talked.

“Oh, yes. I dropped a teacup. Shattered it to pieces.”

Russell exchanged a look with Works. “Tragic.”

“I’ve sent the young Miss to freshen up for supper while I clean up.”

Works coughed a bit. “Allow me to help, Mrs. Gabb—”

“No, no, Mr. Robinson, I won’t have it at all. You’re guests to this house! What would Dr. Keller say?”

“Let ‘im help,” Russell grunted. “He won’t leave you alone if you don’t.”

Mrs. Gabb’s rosy cheeks pinched out as she grinned. “Well, alright. I’ve got a broom this way....”

The remainder of the evening went on much like nothing had transpired, other than Russell occasionally catching Works in the act of watching him as if he had a particularly puzzling riddle marked on his forehead from across the dinner table. The intensity of his clear blue stare gave him goosebumps.

A knock on Russell’s door much later, after he’d assumed everyone else had retired for the night, startled him. He looked up from his lettering book and tensed up. “...Whozit?”

“It’s me,” Works said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Russell tossed the book onto the bed and pulled the door open just enough to see Works silhouetted by the hall light, bottom lip between his teeth and worry lines aging him somewhat.

They stood unspeaking for a moment.

Works took a calming breath. “I love you.”

Russell nodded. He’d heard it before, but it still made his entire body warm. Insecurity prevented him from repeating what he’d said in the balloon. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to think...I apologize if I gave you the impression that I wasn’t....”

“Gimme a kiss g’night, McCoy.”

Works leaned in to press a chaste kiss, the softest kiss to his lips. Russell let it course into his veins.

“Good night,” Works whispered.

Russell found it a little easy to fall asleep that night. If he’d known it could’ve ended up being the last time he’d ever kiss Works McCoy, however...he sure would’ve changed his mind about a lot of things.

[sailorshadzter]

im back to drop more jonsa on your timelines  👀 👀

yes i know ive written this scene ten thousand times before, dont @ me lmao 

Winterfell looms ahead, daunting with it's sharp stone peaks, the storm clad skies giving it an eerie sort of backdrop. And yet, he presses on, spurring his horse forward, well aware of the quick pace in which his heart is racing. He knows what lays ahead of him might be the worst he's faced, and yet, there's even the smallest of chances it will be the best he's faced. Though he longs for the latter, he's prepared for the first.

When he reaches the gate, darkness has begun to fall and the soldiers peer down at him from the watchtower above. "Who goes there?" One shouts, though he and the man standing beside him have already exchanged a strange, but knowing look. There wasn't a man alive in Winterfell that would not recognize him, even now.

"Jon Snow." He calls back and it takes only a moment more for the gate to creak open.

"Lord Snow," another soldier says, not kindly, but Jon can't help but to smile at the sight of his Stark livery. "I can't imagine our queen would like to see you." The man goes on, crossing his arms across his chest as Jon slides down from his horse. Another smile twitches on his lips; her men are loyal, quite certainly, and for that he is thankful. "Something funny, Snow?"

"That's enough, Quinn."

The soldier turns, seeing not just Lord Royce approaching, but Davos Seaworth, who looks far less stony faced than the ever loyal Yohn Royce. "I'll take it from here," Royce continues, gesturing for the soldier to move along, who does only after he shoots Jon a final scowl. "Jon Snow." He says evenly, though he pins sharp, angry eyes upon him. At his side, Davos shifts, clearly torn between greeting the young man with fondness and adding fuel to the fire that so surely has already begun to brew. In the end, fondness wins and before he can react, he's wrapped in the older man's warm embrace; it's something he's not felt in so long, for a moment, he can't even breathe. But soon Davos steps back and gives him a single, silent nod, but meeting his eyes, Jon understands exactly what he wished to convey. "I'm surprised to find you here at our gate."

Jon is, too, in truth.

"I was summoned." He replies, shrugging slightly.

"Summoned?" Lord Royce stammers, shaking his head, clearly surprised to hear of this. "By whom?"

"The queen herself."

After a little more back and forth, Jon is taken from the gate and swept inside, sent to the kitchens to warm himself by the ovens and eat some leftovers from that evening's meal. He's eaten no more than three spoonfuls of soup before the door to the kitchen opens and it's Davos standing there. "You might have come when she first sent for you," he says as he comes inside, the door falling closed behind him.

Jon looks away, knowing that to be true, but he hadn't been ready back then. How could he face her, how could he stood at her side, knowing what he'd done? It was true, he had done it for her, for their family, for the realm... But still yet... All he had done to get to that moment where he'd stood before Daenerys in the throne room of the Red Keep... No, he was not a man worthy of standing beside someone like her.

But perhaps now, perhaps now if she forgave him... Perhaps he will be the man to stand at her side.

"Aye..." He finally says, turning back to look up at Davos, who offers a smile. "Is she terribly angry with me?" He decides to ask, not certain he's ready to know the answer.

Davos can't help but to laugh in spite of the young man before him. "She was." He admits, sobering then, thinking back to those early days. Back to the days of a stone faced queen with eyes sharper than steel, colder than ice. Days of a queen who took to her rooms, rather than live in the lively court that most expected of Sansa Stark. But then... After so long, she began to smile again. Arya returned from her travels and it lightened her heart, softened her icy exterior. "But she was sad, too." Jon bows his head again, spoon left abandoned as his hand curls into a fist atop the table. "Your queen is a forgiving one, though, tough, but forgiving. She is soft inside yet." Jon can't help but to smile, thinking of her as she was when they reunited in King's Landing. With war braids tied into her vibrant red hair, she had rode south with an army at her back to lay claim to what was hers. "She even forgave Lord Glover, now he is one of her most loyal of men." Jon raises his eyes at this news, for he thought that would be a relationship never to be mended.

Before he can speak, the door opens again, and this time it is Lord Royce. "The queen says she will see you now," he doesn't look eager to do so, but he gestures for Jon to follow after him. Scrambling to his feet, Jon pauses only a moment to put a hand to Davos' shoulder, giving the man a nod, who smiles in response before he turns to watch Jon disappear out the door after Royce. "It's about time," he grumbles to himself before settling down in the chair Jon had vacated, helping himself to a mug of ale, hoping the young queen he's come to love will finally find true happiness.

Upstairs, Sansa is pacing.

"My lady, please," it's Shae, desperate to get her queen to cease her walking just so she might straighten her skirts and brush her hair. Here, in the privacy of Sansa's own rooms, she dares speak to her as she once did in King's Landing, though Sansa has always insisted she call her whatever she pleases. "You needn't worry," she says, catching her young queen by the hand then, forcing her to finally come to a rest at the center of the room. "He loves you still, I am certain, he will return to you without fail."

Sansa dares not believe her beloved handmaiden, but she nods like an obedient child anyways.

It's been a long two years since the day she and Jon parted ways on the docks of King's Landing, so very long that sometimes it only feels like a dream. No, not a dream, but a nightmare. Once she dreamed of violence and shadow, now she dreams of golden sunlight and a different kind of pain. "My gown, I should change my gown." She suddenly sputters, thinking that there's absolutely no way she can meet with Jon wearing the one she wears. But before she can say another word, there comes a knock to her door and she swears she might faint there on the spot.

Shae smiles, patting her cheek tenderly before she slips by, crossing the room to open the door. Sansa can see it is Lord Royce there and her heart has begun to race, faster than ever before. Shae dips a quick bow and then is stepping aside, allowing Lord Royce to step inside and at once, he's there, standing in her rooms.

Her world suddenly ceases to spin.

"Leave us." She hears herself say aloud and both her loyal Hand and handmaiden slip from the room, leaving them alone. He is as she remembers him to be, though with more beard and more curls tucked into the bun at the back of his head. Despite it all, her fingers twitch, for she longs to run her hands through his wild hair. "... Jon..." His name is a whisper upon her lips, something like a plea, something that is enough to send chills racing the length of his spine. "I can't believe you came." After all the summons, after all the months, the years, she cannot believe he's standing there in front of her.

Jon cannot take his eyes off of her; she's beautiful there in what looks to be a well worn blue wool gown, with draping sleeves and a slim fit bodice, a gown made for a queen. Her red hair is loosened from its braids and rather tumbles down her back in soft waves, enticing him all the more. "My queen." He finally speaks, saying words that for the very first time don't feel hollow, that don't feel empty. Without another word, Jon comes forward, dropping to his knees before her. She opens her mouth as if she means to interrupt, but he gives the smallest shakes of his head, silencing her before anything else is said. "I don't deserve to stand before you, I don't deserve to ask forgiveness of you, but I..." He trails off, gazing up into her steady blue gaze, emotion choking him as he fights to find the words to say. The words that might make her understand. "I want to stand at your side, if you'll have me." He wasn't ready back then, he wasn't the man she needed him to be back then when he'd left for the Night's Watch, but now... Now.... He thinks himself ready to be the man she's always needed him to be.

As she stares down at him, all the anger that she ever held within flees. It dissipates as she sinks to the floor, ignoring his protest as she levels herself with him. Everything she's ever thought, ever felt, fades away as she takes his face between her palms, tears misting in her eyes as a smile curves on her lips. "What took you so long?" Is all she asks instead, her words eliciting something like a chuckle from him. There in the moment, all that remains is the love she's always kept in her heart for him, all that still yet remains in her heart is the warmth of him, the strength of him. Everything about him that makes her happy, that makes her whole.

Before she can say another word, before he thinks to speak again, he draws her into his arms. Two long, cold, lonely years he's spent without her, without knowing the warmth of her skin against his. This moment he's imagined hundreds, if not thousands of times, but no dream could ever compare to what he felt right then with her so truly in his arms. "I was lost," he breathes against her head, the familiar scent of rosewater still clings to her hair. The realization brings a soft smile to his face. "But you guided me home." She's drawing back, blue eyes finding gray, her rosy lips curving with the most beautiful of smiles. In the golden firelight, she is radiant.

It takes only a moment more for his lips to find hers and in that moment, her world begins to spin again.

[quitetommy]

a collection of us

this is NOT edited and im sorry whoops!! but i hope yall enjoy! theres no warnings for this bc its all fluff :’)

A collection of adorably soft moments from the Holland household (as seen by Y/N, Tom, and others)

[person A and person B pressing their faces together sleepily, not even kissing, just resting their foreheads together, noses brushing, breathing each other in.]

The day was no longer upon her, the sun was far away now. The window next to her was opened, the moonlight and wind creeping in. It was late, far too late for her. Normally, she’d be fast asleep dreaming about the day her pretty boy would be back. Why was she still up? Well, today was that day; today was the day her handsome boy would be coming back. She would finally smell his gorgeous smell again, hear his pretty laugh, look into those pretty brown eyes she loved so much. 

It was hell being without him, sure, she had her own things going on and she was able to live without him but that didn’t mean she wanted to. He was her boy and she’d do anything to be with him. She’d do anything for that boy. He could ask her to help him rob a bank and she’d be driving the getaway car, for whatever he wanted she was there. And fortunately, he was her ride or die, as well. She needed a buddy? He was there with laughs and sappy movies to watch. She needed a shoulder to cry on? He was there with his shoulder and tissues and many, many hugs. She needed an alibi? He was already thinking of all the things they were supposedly doing to save her from the many troubling things that would snatch her away from him. 

Point is they were each other’s one. You know, each other’s soulmate. The pair put the whole ‘red string of fate’ thing to shame. They were the ones that everyone wanted to be. He was the perfect boy that every girl wanted and she was the pretty girlfriend that everyone wanted on their team. They were it for each other, it was that simple. 

So, two-thirty in the morning, and here she was wide awake. Her hair was messily up in a bun, face free of any makeup and she had on one of his many hoodies purposely left behind. This was his favorite look, every time he saw her like this, he knew he knew he had made the right choice picking her. A cup of green tea was steaming on the side table (although Tom always made it better than she could- must be the British in him), and she had one of her many ratty old poetry books open on her lap. Her eyes and brain soaked up the perfectly strung together sentences while her ears tuned into the quiet music playing from the shitty speaker across the room. 

It was quiet for awhile, nothing disturbing the girl other than her music and page turning-- that was until she heard the familiar sound of keys being thrusted into the lock before unlocking. His pretty girl heard the door open and then shut, bags hitting the floor, before she heard his angelic voice call out. “Darlin’, you awake?” 

Jumping up and throwing her already read book somewhere, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. His voice was everything- everything she missed, everything she loved, everything she wanted. She, of course, had heard it over the phone for the course of the past few months, but this was different. This was real. This was only right outside in the living room, this was a clear voice, no static following. This was her pretty boy. 

Squealing, she made her way out to him, arms opened wide. His arms were open, too, like he was waiting for her to occupy the space in them. Hell, of course he was. He hadn’t held his girl in months and he refused to go another second without feeling her. Once she was close enough, he closed his toned arms around her and spun around, pulling excited laughs out of his girl. 

“Hi pretty girl,” his voice was loud in her ear, but she didn’t care. He was right here, after months and months of being away.

“Hi, Tommy.”

Euphoric. That’s what he was feeling, god, he had missed his pretty girl. Her fingers curled into his hair, pulling his face down to hers, pressing a short series of kisses to his surprisingly soft lips (they were always so damn soft, and she wasn’t ever sure how, she had never seen him use any fucking chapstick). This went on for a few seconds longer, each putting trying to put all their love into said kisses, before their chests started to burn from lack of oxygen. Neither wanted to pull away, Tom whining when Y/N finally did. But after a quick breath, he dove back in, wanting to be close to her. Smiles came in between their kisses, eventually small gasps leaving them both. Their kisses were long and left the other wanting more. Both Tom and Y/N’s arms were pulling each other close, holding them there like they were going to disappear. 

Pushing herself on her toes, Y/N rested her head in the crook of her boy’s neck, breathing in his scent. “I missed you.”

He smiled, his heart warming his chest up. He was sure that she could hear his heartbeat. It was so loud, louder than he wished, but he couldn’t care any less because he could recall a time when Y/N had told him she loved hearing his heartbeat. 

In the most loving way, he pulled away from her, placing his forehead against hers, smiling. The tiredness only now hitting them. He giggled and placed a soft kiss to her nose after she yawned. Their noses were touching, eyes closed in content. “Missed you too, my love.”

 [person A and person B falling asleep together with their heads on the other’s shoulder/head in the backseat of the car while their friend is driving.]

Besides each other, the most important thing to both Tom and Y/N was family. And within family was friends, and they each tried to spend as much time as they could with said family. Which is why Tom and Y/N were both currently in the back of a cramped car. 

A car that was headed two hours away to a very pretty campsite with lots of outside activities. They were all taking a break from their busy schedules to have quality time together. In front was Tom’s best friend, Harrison, and his girlfriend Angel. 

Haz and Angel had been dating for a little over a year (a little short of Tom and Y/N’s long two years), and they were loved just as much as the couple in the back. 

The sun was just barely peeking over the distance, making the sky a pretty pink and orange collage. The radio clock read 6:43AM and Y/N was seriously reconsidering this trip. 

Music was softly playing from the car speakers and Y/N was very grateful for the stop for coffee they had made only twenty minutes earlier. The flavored drink was happily making its way down her throat when Harrison finally spoke. 

“So, I was looking at this place up online, Tom, and they recommended a course only ten minutes away!” Harrison’s free hand was on his pretty girlfriend's leg. Both girlfriends laughed, sharing the funny fact that they were in love with complete dorks. Tom’s eyes widened and a smile broke out onto his face, “Sick! We can go tonight when we’re settled?”

“Sure, man. What are you two planning on doing?” Harrison directed the second part of his response at his girl. Taking a sip of her iced drink, she shrugged looking at her friend in the backseat. 

“Probably just lay out,” the younger of the two suggested, she was silently hoping that Angel was content with that because all Y/N wanted to do was get tan. It had been so long since she tanned that her lovely boyfriend had started calling her casper. It was not fun. The girl desperately needed some sun. When Angel smiled and nodded, Y/N started to get excited at the thought of the warm sun touching her skin. 

It was then that Harrison had decided that had been enough conversation and he turned up the radio. The song that first played was one of the overplayed ones that everyone collectively hated but no one ever had the heart to change. It was extremely annoying, but Y/N found herself humming along and tapping her fingers to the beat on the back of Tom’s hand. They had been holding hands for awhile now and he had brought her hand up to his mouth to leave a soft kiss there, when she started singing. 

The sun was still rising and the couple up front was still quietly talking when Y/N felt Tom’s head fall onto her shoulder. Both of their coffees were long gone and they were not feeling the effects. Instead, they were growing increasingly sleepier, obviously Tom being the most tired seeing as how his eyes were closed and his baby snores were escaping his mouth. 

His pretty girl smiled upon seeing this. She was happy that he was sleeping, he never got enough. She quietly watched him sleep, the soft music that was playing soothing her nerves. Her heart warmed at the sleepy boy, he snuggled closer to her. Her eyes roamed over the small amount of freckles on his nose and the way that his long eyelashes curved over his cheekbones. She watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, she watched as his fingers subconsciously tightened around hers. 

And unbeknownst to them, Harrison was watching them through the mirror, smiling as Y/N rested her head on her sleepy boy, falling asleep herself. 

[person B falls asleep in person A’s lap and person A is having a conversation with someone else while stroking person B’s hair.]

Long days were not something that was new to Tom and Y/N. They were both used to the long nights and the even longer nights. Tom’s job was not something that they took for granted but it wasn’t helpful when Tom barely got any sleep. Y/N, being the amazing girl she is, was constantly asking him if he was feeling alright, if he was getting enough sleep; eating enough. He loved that about her; how much she cared for those she loved. 

Tom loved his job, sure, but he hated how easily overworked he got. He sometimes just wished he could spend all day with his pretty girl. He wanted nothing more than to be with his girl and stay in bed all day. He would be happy just being with her, no matter what they were doing. As long as he was with his girl he would be perfect. 

Just like now, he was beyond tired and he missed his girl so, so fucking much. So here he was, laying in his girls arms, head in her lap. Harrison was over, happily talking to Y/N about everything and anything. The television was playing in the background at a low volume. Tom’s head was on Y/N’s leg and his body was stretched out on the rest of the couch. He was comfortably in an old hoodie and sweats, all matched up with some fuzzy socks his girl had bought him for his birthday. When he first pulled the spiderman covered socks out of the bag he laughed, a little confused on why he had received socks, but when he tried them out he was in heaven, gaining many “i told you so”s from his girlfriend. 

Tom’s hand was placed on Y/N’s exposed knee, thumb rubbing lovingly. Y/N’s and Harrison’s voice was melting together, blurring in his very tired mind. He felt his girl lean down, lips pressing on his temple before finding his ear and whispering, “It’s okay, pretty boy, go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He hummed in response, letting sleep overtake him. He was so, so happy being there with his girl, while she rubbed his curls away from his face while she talked with their friend. He would be happy here with her for the rest of his life and he was completely content with this fact.

[person A helping person B dry and brush their hair after a shower.]

Long and hard days were not something that only Tom owned. They were something Y/N also occasionally had. When her long days came around, she was more whiny than her boy. She would stomp in and throw her things down before finding and latching herself to her pretty guy. She would moan and groan until he dropped everything and gave her the attention she wanted. She would giggle and smile as Tom kissed all over her face. She’d pull him to the couch and snuggle up against him, eyes closed tightly in hopes of shutting away the whole word. 

She’d frown and cry until Tom would push her hair away from her face, softly asking, “Wanna talk about it, darlin’?” 

She’d never want to. She would just shake her head and say, “Just want you.”

He’d smile and he’d feel his heart warm. God, he loved her. He would do anything to see her smile, even if that meant letting her attach herself to him like they were one person. “How ‘bout a shower? Hmm? Might make you feel better.” 

That’s all it took, a shower and she’d come to her senses and realize that everything was alright and that she was being a little ridiculous(not that Tom cared, though, he wouldn’t care if she was the biggest drama queen around, he’d still love her). During her shower, he would gather up her comfiest clothes, including one of his jumpers that she loved (he even would spray it with his cologne so it smelled like him even more) and he’d place them on the sink where she could easily grab them. Sometimes if it was a bad night, he’d help her into siad clothes, but without fail, every time one of these nights happened he would always brush out her knotted hair. This would calm her nerves and to be honest, he liked playing with her hair. She would sleepily stand in front of the bathroom mirror and he’d comb out her hair while whispering sweet nothings to her or singing softly to her. And without fail, every night, she’d turn on her heal and softly kiss her boy, mumbling a very, very cute “I love you.” and then everything was right in the world because he had her and she had him and that’s all they needed.

@laureharrier @spider-bitten @bi-writer-in-the-dark @marvelouspottering @quacksin @friendscallme-emily @smexylemony @tom-hollands-eyelash @tomblrholland @spidey-pal @lovelyh0lland @spideymood @positiveparker @procrastinatingparker @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl @Bodakcello @sleepybesson @spideyshcllands @its-the-unknownspidey @tomshufflepuff @aestheticgaybish @bellaamarvel87 @peterparker-glee-other @kisses-holland @peterparkersbodyguard @ghostofdrfluke @avengersmarvelsocials @musicgirl234 

crossed out means it wont tag ya

[annathebeautiful]

So what’s it going to be?

It was a long day of work and all she could think of was a hot bath, her bed and a bottle of wine!

So as her shift ended she drove home, kicked off her shoes and did exactly that!

Draping her wet body with her robe , she grabbed a chardonnay bottle and a glass and laid on her bed.

With a wine glass in one hand and her phone in the other, she began going through her text messages; smiling at some annoyed at others and replying to a few.

She opened her instagram app, swiping through her timeline when her direct messages notification went off.

“Who the fuck could be messaging me? I haven’t been active on here in a minute”

But it was a familiar face, it was guy she knew of but didn’t personally know…

“Well this is random” she thought as she opened up the message.

It read “Hey I know this is random” ( she chuckled and agreed but continued reading) “I just wanted to see if you were okay, I don’t really see you on here and I missed your face on my time line”

With a sip of wine and a roll of the eyes she didn’t know if she should be flattered or annoyed.

Like is he really concerned? Or is he just another fuck boy?

She replied “ very random, especially since you don’t even know me like that, but since you’re losing sleep about me not posting , I’m good ! You Happy?”

She could then see that he “SEEN” her message but he never gave a response.

Laughing at the no response, she put her phone down for the night. For some reason She felt all types of empowered knowing that he could not pull that fuck boy shit with someone like her.

The next day while eating lunch in her office she picked up her phone and began going through her messages, emails and apps.

She went back to the direct message and still couldn’t believe he never replied…

“So this nigga really not going to reply?”, “He just going to leave my ass on seen?”, “He’s lucky I even said anything to him”, “See that just proves he was a fuckyboy!”

Working her self up she wrote to him again..”So were you really concerned?’’ she could see that he “Seen” the message but this time she could also see him writing back.

He responded “ Umm yea but I understand if you were taken back, because we honestly don’t know each other. I’ve seen you at a few functions, and we know some of the same people so I just wondered where you were”.

“Oh ok well all is good love, I’ve just been busy.. I apologize for being mean” she said. See she didn’t trust him but she also didn’t want to leave a bad impression with anyone.

Now its Friday night and her girlfriends were all at a local hangout and she finally decided to have a few drinks, to let off a bunch of stress from a long work week.

She hadn’t been out in so long and it felt so good! Laughing and dancing and just enjoying her self for once, When suddenly she felt some one tap her….

She looked back and it was HIM! Her eyes opened wide and she yelled “are you stalking me?”

As he stood there awkwardly and embarrassed she began jokingly laughing and told him she was only kidding! Immediately a sigh of relief came across his face.

“Im just here with a few of my guy friends, and thought I saw a ghost when I seen you” he laughed

Very funny she said I decided to come out of my house and kick it….. “sounds good as he sat down on an empty chair besides her.

She turned toward him and began to question him about, his job and overall hobbies…

“Well I own my own business”and he proceeded to tell her what kinds of business.

His tone was so deep and she couldn’t help but to notice just how attractive he was; “ Damm this man is fine af” she thought watching his lips move until there was no sound and seeing the lights in the club gleaming all over his built body.

She couldn’t help but to think all the things she would do to him if the location was different.

Those EYES, (she began to wonder) should be staring up at me while im riding him gently til im dripping down his shaft and streaming down his balls…

Those HANDS should be grabbing me and flipping me until im positioned on all fours and taking each and every inch of him, long thrusts and slow thrust then fast thrust til I shiver

Those Lips to travel down my back from behind til he reaches my lower lips and kisses it in excitement while proceeding to stick his tongue and taste all of me with satisfaction…

Biting my ass and choking me crazy, That SKIN being pierced by my nails from enjoying the pleasure and pain of it all..

And that DICK for me to lick each and every drop (she begins licking her lips) of the night we just shared!

*She begins to shake* As she swallows it all! “So what’s it going to be?’’ She hears as her body begins to shake some more “So what’s it going to be?” As she shook back into reality and realized she was still in the club!

“Are you okay?” As he shook her back and forth

“Yea, Yea” As she sat there with her panties soaked from fucking him in her head.

“So what’s it going to be?” As he pointed to a glass in his hand

“Oh ill take a shot of henny” she replied

His eyes widened and his lips curved hearing her drink of choice; “Oh ok I see you” he laughed

“So what’s it going to be?” Screamed the bartender over the loud banter and music

“Let me Get One, I mean let me get TWO shots of henny” he ordered.

Short story by Annathebeautiful

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1560 (Ch. VII) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Outlined for 10 chapters (although, my muse is bad at maths and these things have a way of multiplying). Chapter Summary: As the connection between Cas and the reader finds firmer footing, a link from his past arises to threaten them both.

Previous Chapter: VI

VII.

“Are you kidding me?” The question explodes in a puff of breath on the frozen air; before you unfolds a pristine island of black tarvia, the filtered sun beating down on it with enough heated force to melt the snow anywhere pavement touches. Parking spaces outlined in regular intervals of yellow striping, and a handful of abandoned vehicles, radiate from the mountainous façade of a Mega-Mart.

Surveying the scene through the squinted blue optics of his vessel, Cas casts you a curious knotted-brow glance from where stands at the edge of where forest rings this convenient miracle of civilization seemingly constructed in the middle of nowhere. “Is something funny to you?” he asks, looking between you and a building too empty and too quiet for his instincts to trust; out here you’re exposed - a living breathing target unprotected by a buffer zone of wooded isolation – and he doesn’t like it one iota.

“No-” you laugh, further confusing his brow with the conflict inherent between your answer and attitude- “I guess I was expecting a rinky-dink general store fronting a small town main street. Not this-” You gesture at the looming building, a wonderland promising to contain anything and everything your heart could possibly desire and more. More, that is, beyond the surprise solace of sharing a cabin with your very own personal overly protective angel, of course.

“There is a highway not far from here, and a town like you describe – one whose populace was decimated by werewolves and worse. It’s not safe there or here,” he says gravely. And yet here you are, allowed to tag along against his better judgement because, in a moment of weakness of reason, he let an inexorably extant and angelically errant emotion of fondness for you overrule his head.

“We should hurry-” haste propels his feet forward; he curls a beckoning arm backward- “Stay close.”

You obey, legs scissoring at a trot to try to keep step with his purposeful stride. On level ground, it’s even more punishing a pace than the hike that hurried you here. Feeling the bite of blisters forming on the boney points of your heels and on the tops of your toes, you make note on your mental shopping list to search for a pair of better fitting boots and Band-Aids.

As you thoughts wander, he begins to outpace you. “Hey, where’s the fire?” you pant across the growing gap of distance.

Gradually getting the gist that not all questions you pose want answering given he observes no indications of a blaze in the immediate vicinity, he ignores the query, but not the subtext of comment on his speed, and slows until you catch up.

Approaching the sliding glass doors of the entrance, he notes they are intact and locked just as he last left them. A scattering of stone spilling outward from the threshold, not so accidental as it appears, lies undisturbed.

Strategically speaking, this would be the easiest egress for an intruder to gain entrance inside. The rear and side admittances are steel, chained, and padlocked. Still, with you to watch over, he does not permit these subtle reassurances to soothe his caution.

A flick of two fingers to focus his grace frees the dead bolt. He pries the doors apart with brute strength just far enough to permit you both to squeeze through. On last look out at the parking lot as he secures the doors shut, his regard is drawn heavenward to the horizon to a solitary silvery vapor streaking the otherwise uniformly tarnished gold glow of the sky – a wisp of airy nothingness so slim as to barely be noticed and the sort of smoky linear disturbance a plane would create in its wake as it passed - a contrail disturbing the pressure of the low atmosphere.

Except there are no planes, and there hasn’t been anything save the bodily bound bombs of angels skimming the firmament in flight - or, like him, falling in a smoldering ruin of fate - since the day Michael donned a crown formed by the flayed flesh and bone and souls of billions of humans and the emptied glory of the thousand and more angels who opposed him and whose snuffed existence stains, in a bloodied shadow of once brilliant light, Castiel’s hands.

In the seconds he spends considering the cloud, it dispels in a freshet of cool wind. It wouldn’t make sense, angels scouting here where there is nothing. They’ve done with him, banished him to dwell in and on his defeat, and ever since he etched a warding sigil upon the curved carriage of your ribs, they cannot so much as sense you exist.

Besides, with what you’ve told him of the holdouts of human resistance groups, why waste heavenly resources hunting one human in a haystack of the wild when bigger targets persist.

The tear of a candy bar wrapper loudly resonates in the benumbed and stagnant space; the crumpling of plastic and crunch of chocolate crust is swallowed up as eagerly by the silence as your gullet.

“I missed these,” you mumble and moan in immodest taste bud titillating pleasure around a mouthful of melted sugary goodness as his gaze rounds to seek out the source of the sound.

“Shh-” he scolds; the grit of worry in the warning hushes you instantly.

Terror tightens your throat so that you cannot swallow the amalgam of sugar and saliva held amid your teeth and tongue. Heart seizing, then pounding with such ferocity each ferried beat of fear shudders your frame, bits of brown moisture ooze at the trembling corners of your clinched jaw.

In the depths of the store, somewhere down a darkened aisle, winding to reach his celestially superior discernment, a soft scraping of fabric and rubber soles, slightly sticky on the tiled floor despite the feather-lightness of the footsteps, faintly perforates the calm.

Lashes widened in alarm quickly narrow again in a lethality of resolve; an inner luminance of blue burns in his searching gaze as he shifts a few steps into the eerie fringes of where the window light bleeds into the dimness. When he shakes his sleeve, you see a glint of metal flash into his grip.

Adrenaline opens up your veins and, also oiling your muscles to fight or flee from this place, it permits you to thickly and audibly gulp the wad of partially chewed chocolate nougat.

He extends the hand unburdened by a blade out at you, a movement meaning to say that you should do neither and duck out of sight behind the register.

You misread the purely practical physicality of his request and instead cede to the instinctive tug at your emotions to meet his fluttering fingers halfway, meshing yours into the warm sanctuary of their apertures and securing your other arm through the crook of his elbow to flatten his entire weaponless limb to your chest.

To say the action – a clingy suggestion of deeply rooted trust, concern, and consequently of a firm belief in his ability to shield you in the face of danger - catches him off guard would be an understatement.

However, with a hiss of his name in a tone familiar to him as that of his unwaveringly loyal lieutenant and sister – Rachel – slicing through the dark loud enough, even, for you to hear the anger and resentment whetting the knife of feminine voice, he has no time to analyze the exhilarating effect your embrace and corporal nearness exerts upon his being, nor does he permit more than a speck of added anxiety to alter the determination of his affect.

Pivoting, his typically stony rigidity a balletic display of swiftness, grace, and fluid urgency, he covers your mouth, pins you flush against the waist-high wall of the register, and very briefly steals your breath in the press of his hips against yours. The dynamism of his blues, desperately sparking hue dancing less than an inch from your flared lids, implores you to stay there no matter what happens.

He’s certain she heard you - can hear the wild banging of pulse within your body just as clearly as he can – she is, after all, an angel, and a sometime ally sympathetic to humanity who is not as dead as he presumed and evidently has an axe to grind with him.

If you stay out of her way, you may yet survive. Castiel maintains less hope for himself, and before he found you, he would’ve welcomed whatever retribution she required up to and including his life – a life sunken into meaninglessness and seeped in suffering; but now, staring into your eyes, their pleading concern begging him to be careful, to not leave you alone, he feels reason to fight.

Numbed by panic, limbs turning into immovable lead weights of worry for him, you feebly nod against the electrically charged scent of his skin a promise to stay put for his sake and collapse as he pushes you down to your knees and into the alcove underneath.

You watch the lower portion of his legs retreat from your sight and disappear into the gloom. Straining to hear what is happening, the pain pinching your heart in his absence drums dully in your ears and pulls with each strung and stinging beat at the fluid filling the blisters on your feet.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy​    @bluetina-blog​  @dont-trust-humanity​  @afanofmanystuffs  @honeybeetrash​  @bucky-thorin-winchester​  @superwholockz​   @tistai​  @wordstothewisereaders​  @gill-ons​  @mrswhozeewhatsis​  @marisayouass​  @stone-met​   @castiel-savvy18​  @samualmortgrim​  @trexrambling​  @magnificent-mantle​  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx​   @mandilion76​  @rockfairy​  @peaceloveancolor​  @unicorntrooper​  @anisolatedship​  @itsilvermorny​  @aditimukul​  @kudosia​  @goofynerd-67babylove​  @uninspirationalsonglyrics​  @gray-avidan​  @mishascupcake​   @mishapanicmeow​   @praisecastielamen​  @roseyhxnt​  @jessikared97​  @let-the-imaginationflow​  @warriorqueen1991​   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox​  @coolpencilpie​  @jenabean75​  @luciathewinchestergirl​  @morganas-pendragons​  @heyitscam99​  @fangirl-and-stuff​  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade​  @splendidcas​  @pointlesscasey​  @i-larb-spooderman​  @thewhiterabbit42​  @thelostverse​  @castieliswatchingoverme​  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick​  @jtownraindancer​   @carowinsthings​  @passionghost​  @ladyofletters67​ @futureparent​  @gabbie7-11​  @myfandomlife-blog​  @dreamerkim​ @shamelesslydean​  @earthtokace​  @neaeri​  @justanormalangel​  @lone-loba​  @supernaturalymarvel​  @lilrubixx​  @wings-and-halo​  @x-cassiopeia​ @thehoneybeecastielfollows​  @musiclovinchic93​  @81mysteriouslyme​  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​  @jaylarkson​ @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

[orionwhispers]

Devil Like Me - Part XVI

(A/N - Forgive me friends. It’s been far too long. My mental and physical health has been in the worst state its ever been and life really got in the way. I tried to take a hiatus and almost swore of writing as a whole but you know what? It really fucking helps and I love it. I know how long you guys have waited and Im sorry I'm such an asshole, please enjoy this VERY late christmas present. I love you all. Please please please don’t forget to tell me what you think it means the world to me, my ask is always open xoxo) - also sorry if there are any mistakes I'm half asleep and a whole ass mess. love you forevs)

Then

Klaus’ hands are so tight around his steering wheel his knuckles start to turn white; mirroring the moon that follows overhead. His teeth are gritted, the vein in his throat pulsating and his breath quickening. He only calms down when his eyes flit to the rearview mirror, pupils slowing over the figure slumped in the backseat, waiting and watching for any sign of movement. He’s never been one to control his anger, the thousands of people he’s killed speak for themselves, his hands coated in more blood than a butcher, but one look at you makes his undead heart stop.

Bruises the colour of blooming violets and roses litter the delicate skin around your neck, your leg is oddly contorted and swollen, and there are gashes and wounds scarring your body. Technically, your heart stopped beating a few moments after you made contact with the ground, but he can still smell the dried blood tainting your injuries, as tantalisingly delicious as summer berries. The hybrid side of him, the animalistic, carnivorous side of him longs to tear his fangs into your flesh and drain you of blood like its cherry wine, but he knows he never will.

Once upon a time, nothing would have stopped him. The very first time he laid eyes on you, you should have been dead instantly, nothing more than a midnight snack as he made his way out of town, but it wasn’t that simple. Something changed in him that night, somehow as you made your way towards him under the cover of moonlight, trying to be brave despite cowering in fear, he felt something for the first time in a long time. That made him want to kill you even more, he despised not being in control, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you.

Now here you both were.

He had turned hundreds of people in the centuries he had lived, and not once had he cared if they made it through the transition. They were completely dispensable, he fed them his blood and turned them solely for his own personal gain, nothing more. They were nothing but pawns to him, alliances in cities all over the world, minions forever at his beck and call.

He had never felt red hot anxiety prickling under his skin as he waited impatiently for signs that you had awoke, never felt panic and bile in his throat at what might happen if you didn’t. All of these feelings were foreign and unwelcome, he despised not being in control, it made him feel powerless and weak, all things he knew he wasn’t. He gritted his teeth so hard he thought they might break as he continued down the empty country roads, the car bumping and tearing along the gravel. He felt fury like he had never felt before, rage that bubbled inside him like lava, threatening to spew over.

He had killed the witch he reminded himself, torn her head from her spine and watched her blood stain the oak floor. She was gone for good, ordering his inferiors to burn her body in the woods ensuring she would never come back. None of that diminished the hatred in his head though, he had been reckless and stupid, he should have killed her the very first chance he got. He was so sure he could have protected you, but his feelings for you made you vulnerable and he had almost lost you due to his own greed.

He would never come that close again.

He looked up to the mirror once again, and immediately calmed at the sight of you, his whole body relaxing like waves smoothing onto the shore. He would never let anything happen to you.  A feeling washed over him, one that had been rising in his insides since the very first day he met you, it was like his overprotective nature towards his siblings, but heightened. You two were bound, something had drawn him to you, something inside you had unlocked his emotions again, and it was euphoric.

He glanced at you, the curve of your bitten lips, the arch of your nose and the shadow of your eyelashes cast onto your battered cheek. He didn’t believe in God, or fate or destiny, but he believed in you. You were his and he was yours. That was all the faith he needed. His blood was the thing keeping you alive, coursing through your body, making you sired to him. Maybe it was wrong, he knew that vampirism was a curse, that you hadn’t been able to make the choice for yourself, but this way you had an eternity together. Whatever you wanted, anything you desired, he would get for you. He wanted to take you to places in the world, bring you to his favourite hidden spots and secret escapes, show you culture, art, museums, spend evenings under candlelight and mornings with sun bathing your tangled limbs. He wanted it all, and he wanted it with you, only you.

He made a vow that night, as the car bounced across dusty roads, raindrops splattering along the windshield. He made a vow that, no matter what, he would never let you regret turning that night, he would give you the world and more. He knew he would get it wrong sometimes, he was possessive, easily jealous and sensitive. He could be argumentative, violent and overprotective, but he would never take it out on you. He would help you through the transition, be by your side through anything, because as he drove further into the night, he realised how much you meant to him and what the feeling taking over him was… Love.

Now

You sat on your haunches, cradling your knees with your arms and peering out of the large bay windows watching the sky change with every passing minute. It had been a couple of days since the prank night and the first successful hybrid transformation, but you were feeling less than celebratory.

Klaus’ happiness was infectious. It always had been, his wide toothy grin and contagious laugh always made your insides light up like a furnace. Klaus had a reputation, he was the most powerful being on the planet, and he made sure everyone was aware of that. Speaking his name alone was enough to make even the most impressive of vampires cower with fear. You were one of the lucky few that had seen the other side of him, whilst you were familiar with his ruthless, barbaric and ferocious ways you were blessed to see the side that was hidden from most.

He was without a doubt the funniest person you had ever met, always able to make you crack a smile no matter how down you were feeling. He was playful and flirtatious, whispering teasing words into you neck when you both attended lavish dinner parties, making you blush and giggle into your palm. Mornings in bed were filled with lighthearted banter and funny anecdotes of his past, and he always had a witty comeback whenever you were feeling argumentative. You had never met anyone like him and you knew no one could ever possibly compare.

That’s why it was so bittersweet to see him radiating with happiness. Even though you would never fully understand it, you knew that creating successful hybrids meant the world to Klaus and whilst you were pleased at his victory, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It was clawing deep inside your gut, the feeling that something much bigger was going on, and you were both in the centre of it. Despite the animosity between the both of you, he was unable to stay away when he was so ecstatic, because you were the only one he wanted to share good news with.

The night everything happened and you all returned to the mansion to a bewildered Elijah and Kol, Klaus was practically bouncing off the walls with glee. You slunk in behind him with Rebekah, still on edge from the evenings events but more so from the uneasy butterflies in your stomach. On the car ride over, Klaus had opened the door for you and made you sit shotgun, he spoke loudly and animatedly into the phone to someone, beaming with pride as he discussed future plans.

As he finished the call and smiled widely, he reached for the gearstick before casually reaching over and placing his hand atop yours and squeezing your palm; making you instantly freeze. The touch lasted merely a few seconds but sent electricity through your whole body, his large thumb stroked over the delicate skin on the back of your hand and then he returned it to the steering wheel, placing another call as if it was nothing. You were sat unmoving, your mind racing and heart pounding at his sudden display of affection, nervous but still yearning for his touch, you didn’t know how to react and glanced up at the rearview mirror, catching sight of a gobsmacked Rebekah staring back with large eyes.

“Where have you all been?” Elijah asked, placing down his book and uncrossing his legs from his spot on the armchair.

“We’re celebrating, brother!” Klaus replied with a grin, reaching over to the bar and rummaging around the bottles of liquor, grabbing something dark and bitter looking.

Kol smirked, leaping over the cream coloured sofa and grabbing his own bottle, uncapping it and taking a swig, grinning at the taste. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Celebrating?” Elijah asked, shooting you a look, you shrugged exasperatedly, offering a wan smile of support as Rebekah linked her arm with yours and pulled you towards the fireplace, a bottle of wine in her arms and a knowing smirk on her perfect pink lips.

“We made history tonight, Elijah! Call up everyone you know, they’re going to want to be a part of this.” He held his drink above his head, a large smile on his beautiful face, practically illuminating the room with his happiness. He glanced around the room, nodding at each of the people gathered in it, finally settling on you. He placed the neck of the bottle to his lips, pausing as he said, `’To us.” He threw his head back and drank, and you could feel everyones eyes on you, burning holes into your head, you swallowed thickly and grabbed the bottle from Rebekah and took a long swig, relishing in the burning feeling at the back of your throat.

It was going to be a long night.

———————————————————

An hour or two passed, you were sat in the enormous kitchen, perched on a barstool away from the crowds, watching the party unfold around you. Klaus and his siblings must have called every witch, vampire and werewolf they knew in an 100 mile radius; as the house was practically heaving with people. Your glass was empty, and you ran a finger over the rim as you watched the guests fawn and gush over Klaus, congratulating him exaggeratedly. He relished in their attention, he was practically a God to them, and you knew it was beyond entertaining to him, watching them almost kiss his feet, desperate for his approval. Often, after encounters like this, Klaus would tease and mock these pathetic conversations in private to you as you laid in bed, making you giggle into his shoulder, but you didn’t imagine that would be happening tonight.

You put your head down, determined not to torture yourself with memories of the past, and decided to eavesdrop on the guests, tuning you're hearing and listening to the conversations around you. If you were going to sit and wallow in self pity, you might as well get some entertainment out of it. You were engrossed in a vampire from New York attempting to flirt with a disinterested Rebekah when you felt a presence beside you, instantly recognising the warm comforting smell of pine and bourbon.

“Something tells me you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

You smiled gently, not sure where to look, focusing on the tiny beads of wine at the bottom of your glass, round and plump like drops of blood. How did he make you this nervous, even after all this time? Regardless of the situation, even when things were perfect between you, he could make you blush and squirm like you were a child.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” You meet his gaze for a few seconds, feeling his eyes dart over your face, and you turn back to the glass, blushing as red as the wine. “No, I’m fine. Really I’m…” You think for a moment, plucking up the courage to say what you feel, turning back to him and taking control, 'I’m proud of you Klaus, really.” His eyes flicker with emotion, disappearing as soon as it appears, and you swallow, stifling a fake yawn. “I’m just tired, not really in a party mood if Im honest, I think I’m going to head to bed.” You swung your feet out from under the stool, ready to head upstairs to think in silence, when his large hand gripped your shoulder, fingers around your flesh.

“No,” he said, his voice was soft, but his tone was firm and explicit, making you stay rigid in your spot. “Stay,” he continued, ‘for me.” A second passed and his voice changed, softer and gentler, like new snow. “Please.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your eyes met for a moment, lingering too long on one another, and you watched them glimmer and shine, mimicking the grin widening on his face. All thoughts you had in your head vanished, and you sat dumbfounded.

“Besides,” he said, reaching for a bottle of something dark and bitter looking and pouring it into your glass, “I need someone to help me carry Kol up the stairs later.” He joked, motioning to his younger brother who was completely intoxicated, dancing on the mahogany dining table.

“Klaus!” You squealed as your glass started to overflow with alcohol, copper coloured droplets sliding onto the table. You lurched forward to stop him from adding any more and looked up at him with wide playful eyes, “Stop it! Or else you’ll be the one carrying me to bed later!” The unplanned innuendo is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and you blush beet red at your comment, closing your eyes from embarrassment.

You feel him lean into you, hot breath on your skin, that god damn smirk rising on his beautiful face. “Don’t tempt me.”

If your heart was still beating it would be racing into oblivion, you melt at his words and it makes you grimace at how pathetic you can be towards him. His eyes meet yours over the rim of his own drink, and he takes a sip of bourbon. The smell instantly hits you and memories flood your brain, one glance at him and you know he’s thinking the same. Long nights, dancing until your feet bled, drunken kisses and skin glistening with sweat. You’re reminded of his whispers of affection, lips buried into your flesh, “I love you’s” shared under neon lights, the weight of his hips against yours, giggling into his hair, his possessive hands around your waist as you partied together,  

He gives you one last dark, knowing look before he parts to talk to the rest of the guests and you bite your lip, staring down at your drink and then hastily reaching for it; downing it in one, Rebekah watching you intently.

—————-

That was a few days ago, and it replays in your head like a movie as you drum your fingertips against the windowsill. The party had been fun and everyone had been in great spirits, but as soon as your head reached the pillow, exhausted and exhilarated from the night, and you fell into a deep sleep, everything went back to normal. Klaus’ never allowed himself more than a moments rest, and you were sure he didn’t even sleep that night, rattling around the house, making phone calls and sending messages until the sun rose.

You had woken up to an empty house, and been informed by one of Klaus’ overzealous workers that everybody had left on their own private missions. To make matters even worse, when you tried to grab your coat and explore the town on your own, two of his henchmen grabbed your arms and told you they were under strict orders to keep you in the mansion. You obviously protested, but as you struggled to come free, the younger one looked at you and said through his compulsion, “If you leave, we have to kill ourselves.” At that you swore angrily and rolled your eyes, stomping back upstairs and flopping dramatically onto the bed. Fucking men. 

Being left to your own devices was torture, and you couldn’t pry anything out of anyone during the stolen moments when they returned home and you were feeling utterly sorry for yourself. You had flicked through all the magazines you had found in Bekah’s room, watched hours and hours of mind numbing reality tv, and even scrubbed the bathroom until it shone, but the days still dragged and you were devastatingly bored.

You watched a wood pigeon dart onto a branch and exhaled loudly, tapping your feet to a made up rhythm, you paused mid step, ears twitching rapidly as you swore you could hear footsteps approaching. You twisted your body to the sound, waiting for the tell tale twist of the doorknob, and expecting it to be one of the servants, telling you that you were going to be alone for the nest few days.

Only it wasn’t, it was Klaus.

You stared dumbfounded at the man before you, even though it was his mansion, filled with people working for him and you were only there because of him, he was the last person you expected. He looked as beautiful as ever, tousled curls and flushed cheeks, and that damned cheeky smirk on his lips.

“Klaus?” You asked, sitting up straighter and messing with your clothes. You were wearing fuzzy leggings and an oversized sweatshirt you had stolen from Rebekah, and you had haphazardly thrown your hair into some kind of up-do, tendrils falling into your eyes. You brushed them behind your ears and glanced up at him, pink hitting your cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” You said, staring up at him, curling your toes in your fluffy socks.

He stared down at you, offering a smile that made your insides do flips, as he simply said “I have something to show you.”

———————————-

The garden was as beautiful as you remembered from your walk with Elijah all those weeks ago, and under the moonlight it looked magical. You glanced at the blooming flowers and decorative statues, borders of rose bushes and fragrant lavender, trailing your fingertips across them as you walked. You were so caught up in the beauty that you hadn’t noticed Klaus staring intently at you, watching you and your childlike wonder at everything that surrounded you. He felt the familiar sparks igniting inside him that only occurred around you, the heat in the pit of his stomach whenever he looked at you. He was amongst some of the most breathtaking and striking scenery but none of it came even close to you.

‘So, where is it you’re taking me?” You asked, your words snapping him out of his trance.

“Not too much further now.” Was all he offered, picking up his pace and rounding a corner towards an archway covered in vibrant indigo flowers. You were in awe of the colours and smell, bunches of pretty plants overhead, leading down a path towards something in the distance.

“Wow, Klaus. I’m impressed,” You teased, “I had no idea you were such an avid gardener.”

He rolled his eyes at you, quipping back. “Well, I’ve always had an eye for beautiful things.” He gave you a look before raising a brow and stepping further into the darkness.

You paused, unable to hide your flush and silently cursed him out. Damn him and his stupid looks and stupid words.

He was a ways in front of you, you could see his silhouette morphing into the distance and you turned on your heel to catch up. You dipped and dashed under the vines and petals, careful not to crush the grass underfoot as you chased after him, wondering when he got so fast. You were about to call out to him, when you came to a halt, exhaling in wonder. You could see the lines of his frame, his hands resting on the balcony of a regal stone gazebo, rustic and beautiful, overlooking a vast tranquil lake. It was stunning, and you tentatively stepped up, there was a marble bird bath in the centre and statues of cherubs and angles resting on arches above your head.

You stood next to Klaus, watching him gaze forward like a king surveying his kingdom, which actually wasn’t that far from the truth. It was so quiet, the lake was still and calm and reflected like a diamond under the moonlight, the stars twinkling above you both. You steadied, relaxing and gazing out at the lake. A moment of peaceful silence passed, and you heard Klaus fidget next to you.

“My family owned land here, in Mystic Falls.” You nodded, letting him continue. “We would often come here and stay, but I don’t have many fond memories of it here.”

You weren’t surprised. Klaus’ rarely opened up about his childhood but when he did, the anecdotes made your heart hurt, you knew how evil his dad was and how much of a challenge it was growing up.

“When I heard about the Petrova doppleganger living here I knew it wouldn’t be long till I was coming back. I thought I’d collect her and leave; be in and out of this town within a couple of days, but of course, nothing is ever that easy. The Salvatore brothers obviously had to get involved and some challenges rose up on my end as well.” He added, looking at you with a playful smirk.

You mirrored him, watching his face under the light of the moon, illuminating his sharp jaw and ocean eyes. His voice was as soft as the water beneath you as he spoke, “At first, I despised being back. Towns like these always stir up things… memories.” You know what he meant, Mystic Falls was a rainier, woodier, gloomier version of the town you had met and fallen in love in, it was like déjà vu, the small city life reminding you of the past.

“This house has been in my family for centuries, but nobody ever had any use for it. It was just sitting here, covered in dust.” He pauses, his eyes flitting over the scenery “I came out one day when I needed some air, and I found this spot hidden away.” You nod, listening to his words. “It was breathtaking. I had no idea it existed, no idea that all of this was out here. So much innocence in a town I’ve always despised.”

Thunder crackles overhead. A storm appearing, grey clouds looming in the dark of the night. A few stray droplets of rain fall onto the lake, you watch it form ripples and you sigh.

“It’s beautiful.”

A moment of silence. “It reminded me of you.” His voice is quiet, and you look at him, struck by his words, but he keeps his eyes away from yours. I had so much on my mind.” He says, letting out an exasperated laugh, finally turning to face you. “So much. The Doppleganger, the Salvatore’s, my siblings and that bloody hunter Saltzman. I thought for once you might be off my mind, that for once I could get something done without constantly thinking about you, but thats bloody impossible isn’t it?”

You gulp. Feeling completely bewitched under his gaze you are unable to do anything but stare at him, losing yourself in his eyes.

“It’s crazy how all of a sudden, all of my thoughts can turn to you, just by seeing something that rivals your beauty.”

You shudder.

“I wish I could lie and say that I haven’t spent every single day thinking about you, but I can’t. You drove me bloody insane. I thought I was losing my mind, nothing made sense without you.”

He gazes down at you, the rain pelting down now, droplets splashing across both of your faces as it bounces off the side of the gazebo. You’re inches apart now, the heat of your bodies mingle against each other and he can’t resist the urge to clasp your face between his palms. It sends fireworks through you both, his fingers are like electric wires torching through your skin.

“When I found out where you were I lost it. I’d gotten so used to the idea of never seeing you again, I thought it was my punishment. Penance for all the evil things I’ve done, karma taking away the only thing in my life I care about, no one like me deserves something so pure, so good.”

His fingertips graze along your cheekbone and you can feel your eyes welling up at his words, you’re breathless, wanting to explain everything, but he’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“I needed you back, I didn’t care what I had to do, I had to have you. The idea that you were out there, possibly with another man…” his jaw clenches, “The thought of you with someone else, another bastard making you happy when it should have been me, it drove me crazy. I needed to see you, to touch you, to know you were safe.”

With hesitation he pushes himself off you, the pressure from his fingers leaving burn marks on your skin. He’s back to staring out at the water, the torrential rain and wind thundering around you, your hair whipping round your face.

“Klaus?”

“I hated you. Despised you for leaving me. I trusted you, and you left.”

“Klaus… please.” Your voice cracks, salty tears making their way down your face and catching on your lips.

“I didn’t want to look at you when you came back. When I knew you were safe I locked you in that  room, I couldn’t bear seeing your face. Until I heard you crying.”

You think back to that very first night, overwhelmed, exhausted and emotional you collapsed into a heap of your own tears. You had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, waking up in the plush bed. Someone had changed you and tucked you in, you had suspected it was Klaus, but know you were certain.

“I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but hearing you cry broke me. Knowing that i was the cause of your pain, it was too much. Seeing you after all that time… I realised I was a fool to think I could ever not love you.” The moon is wide and full, he watches it, almost as if the wolf inside can’t contain itself. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Forgive him? You almost look up to see if pigs are flying across the night sky. These aren’t the words you expect to hear from him.

“The way I’ve handled things has been… regrettable. I’m realising that now, I should never have treated you as if I owned you… it was wrong of me.”

You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off, slicing through the dark like a blade.

“I’ve asked for all the spells to be removed, I’ve taken off my compulsion. You’re free to do as you like.”

He falls silent again and you can swear you see him visibly exhale with something, almost deflating, as if all the energy and power has been sucked out of him.

“What changed?” You ask, stepping towards him.

“I love you too much to keep hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” Love. Love. Love. He loves you, it fills you up like thick warm gooey honey, but it’s not as simple as it sounds.

“I’m letting you go.”

You falter, furrowing your eyebrows as you watch him, trying to understand what he’s saying.

“If you leave, I won’t follow you. I’ll… I’ll let you go… You’ll be free of me.”

“Klaus.” You begin, inching towards him, reaching out to grab his arm but he turns red, anger getting the best of him, the alpha hybrid clawing its way back to the surface.

“No. Just go! Tonight!” He bites his tongue, eyes filling with emotion and the vein in his throat pulsating rapidly, “Pack everything and leave before the sunrises, I… I can’t have you in the same house as me.”

“What if I don’t want to leave?” You bite, snapping him out of his own rant.

“Then you’re an idiot.” You scoff and resist the urge to give him the finger. “You know what I am. I’m a monster! I ruined us once and you know I’ll do it again. Leave! GO!”

He’s speaking with fury, crimson in the face. If you were anyone else you would be cowering with fear, terrified of the creature before you and everything he’s capable of, nut you know him better than anyone, and you aren't scared.

“You know what Klaus? If you hadn’t have brought me back, I don’t know if I would have ever returned.”

He swallows thickly, mouth agape, hurt in his beautiful eyes.

“Because I’m a coward, not because I stopped loving you.” You force him to look at you, taking his face in your hands this time, holding him firmly in place. “What I did… How I left… I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I thought I was doing the right thing, I never meant to hurt you.”

You rest your forehead against his, your breath hot and heavy. Its magnetic between the two of you, pulses synced and intertwined, the way you are supposed to be. Silence fills up the space between you both, thick like smoke, neither of you know what to say. You’re speaking through your eyes, domineering stares and hands gripped on one another, terrified to let the other slip away.

“I’m leaving for Portland tomorrow.”

“You are? Why?” You ask, lips milliermeters away from his own.

“There’s a pack of werewolves camping out, I’m going to go and have a talk with them.”

You give him a look, knowing exactly what that ‘talk’ is going to consist of. A lot of blood and arguing, possibly death.

“Besides, I didn’t know if you were going to leave, I didn’t want to be around if you did.” His voice was bashful, so rare to be heard coming from his lips. He pulls closer to you, his nose brushing yours, the rain still thrashing and thundering around you sending chills between you. He sounds so vulnerable, so innocent, as he mumbles against you, “Will you be there when you get back?”

You don’t answer. Instead you do the thing that you’ve craved since you saw him, you pulled him impossibly closer and kissed him. He was in shock, dazed by the taste of your familiar, enchanting lips, you were as addictive as bourbon, making him feel a high like no other. His hands on your hair, mouth opening to drink in as much as you as he could, what he would give to take you right then and there, but he knew he had to be patient. Under the moonlight and the claps of thunder and icy rain, you kissed feverishly and frenzied, he was possessive and dominant, marking you as his.

You were pressed up against one another, his hands clambering over you, on your tiptoes, desperate for as much of him as you could get, you had been starving for his touch for so long. You were breathing into one another, a mess of hair and sighs and fireworks that sparked under your skin. After a moment he pulled away, reluctant and breathless, resting his forehead against yours once more, bound to one another with invisible chains.

He looked up at you with big playful eyes, a mocking pout on his now swollen lips. “Does this mean we’re friends again?”

You exhaled, reaching for him and pulling him onto you again, burying yourself onto his lips with a teasing smile and a flirty wink, “I’d say we’re a little bit more than friends.”

—————-

to be continued….

[irwinsx]

okay here me out: what if like you meet cal & y’all are friends & you like him but don’t wanna date him bc you know he mostly just hooks up but then you overhear him talking to the boys ab how you’re like a game changer & he’s never felt these things before & then y’all fuck & he keeps whispering things like “so beautiful” & “pretty girl” & ugh what a dream

ugh what a dream i unfortunately didn’t write the smut (sorry!) because i knew i was gonna butcher it. but it is super fluffy so i hope that makes up for it.

Words: 1.5k

Triggers: none

Story: In which you finally hear the harmony between your best friend, Calum, and yourself.

im taking writing requests!

“Seriously, stop!” you giggled, pushing Calum with your elbow. You were both grasping controllers in your hands, focused on the screen. Calum had killed your character, once again, irritating you. He erupted in laughter, loving the way you had gotten worked up. He knew you were bad at video games. In fact, it had become an inside joke between you two.

A joke. Ironically, the way you met: a huge joke.

Everything about college was a nightmare. You had forgotten your cutest clothes back home, hours away, and lost your school card far too many times to count. You were late to class multiple times, and only met one person, you’re roomate. She wasn’t friendly, only offering harsh glares layered with stress and annoyance.

Frankly, you avoided her. It wasn’t until two weeks later, on a cold night you met someone.

The street was overflowing with life; the lights beamed yellow along the sidewalk and each bar was opened late night, blasting music and conversation. It traveled in the night sky and danced around the stars. Even at 10pm, your small college town was alive.

You, however, were walking home from the local library and back to your dorm. You avoided the bars, headphones blocking out the movement of sound and feet avoiding miniature potholes in the pavement. Before you could take another step, a sudden tug at your elbow had spun you around, knocking melody out from your ears and your heart into a panic.

Before you knew it, your fist dug its way into a large, tough chest. You heard a yelp of pain and witnessed a man grasping his chest while leaning over.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you gasped, reaching out to the stranger. A sudden wave of guilt strangled your heart.

“Fucking hell– you just had to punch me?!” he coughed. He managed to stand up straight, revealing a dark blue t-shirt, holding onto his broad shoulders. His black hair fell just above his brown eyes, now piercing into yours.

“Yeah, you, like, grabbed me!” you exclaimed.

“I wasn’t gonna kill you, ya know! I was just playing a … joke!” he said.

“A joke?” you questioned, “where you abduct a woman?”

“No– don’t be dramatic. I was dared to hook up with the first ugly girl I saw. Glad that didn’t work out…” he said, rubbing at his chest. You were suddenly offended, all feelings of guilt fluttering from your heart and out into the sky to mingle among the music and stars above.

“You asshole,” you scoffed. Once again, before your feet could dig into pavement, you were stopped by a familiar grasp.

His grasp.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he sighed, lowering his voice, “let me make it up to you. My friends may be assholes but i’m not. I’m Calum”

You looked past his shoulder, noticing a group of guys looking over and snickering to themselves, no doubt saving this for a future story while sitting together in suits surrounded by their dolled-up wives.

However, you gave in, and suddenly had a coffee date.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t always kill me off like that,” you said, throwing the controller onto the floor next to you.

It had been a year since that coffee date. You were shocked by the person you met and how different he was from that night. The Calum you met in that coffee shop had made your heart flutter. He made you laugh, filling the world with the sound of your laughter, and what he called, your undeniable smile.

Over the year you two had done it all: sneaked pecks on the cheeks on nights of light drinking, danced in an empty bar at 3 am, jukebox playing Nirvana, tangling around the two of you as he spun you around, almost tripping on your feet. He spent late nights with you in the dorms after your stress induced episodes, holding you at the edge of your cheap twin mattress and whispering jokes into your ear.

“Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” he whispered, arm around you and his face in your hair, “it has great food, but no atmosphere.”

You laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was Calum, holding you, smiling against your hair and tracing circles into your arm.

And as much as your heart had sung for him, his didn’t sing for you. Instead, his heart jumped from girl to girl, party to party, and you didn’t want that.

You couldn’t imagine a life of just hooking up. Not with Calum, not with someone who made your heart burst in falsetto. So instead, you lingered, hearing about his late night hookups, as if they were trophies on a pedestal.

He would brag, boasting about bar scores, scratching ticks into the wall to count off another body, on another night. Every time he brought up his faux achievments, you thought to take a trophy and break it in half, throw it in the trash or burn it.

But you didn’t.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you came to the kickback tonight,” he smirked, turning towards you.

“Right, as if I don’t have studying to do.” you replied.

“Studying? Come on– education is for losers!” He laughed, ruffling his hair with his hand.

“Fine…” you said, racking your brain with excuses, “I have a date!”

A silence boomed between the both of you, staring at each other with the paused expression of hiding smiles.

“Not that excuse again. You’re coming tonight, I don’t care!” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, causing you to fall into his chest.

“Fine!” you shrieked, laughing and lightly hitting his chest, “I’ll be there. Promise.”

You arrived to a house filled with modern bleak furniture and concrete floors, leading to a large backyard, wrapped in fairy lights that resemble lightning bugs you used to catch as a child. A smaller group of people were here with you, drinking to light music that waltzed on the flowerbeds outside.

This felt different from most of Calums other events. Those were usually filled with blasting music and screaming people who made out in unlabeled bedrooms.

On your second drink and third guy failing to flirt with you, you still had your mind on one person.

Him. Where the hell was he?

You stepped back into the house, greeted only by people you barely knew and empty cups sprawled on tables. Calum was nowhere to be found, not until you came across an unlabeled bedroom. Then you heard it, like a dog reacting to a whistle.

“It’s just… something else,” you heard from the bedroom. It was Calum.

“Like what?” another voice came from the room. Luke, a friend Calum introduced you to months back.

“I’ve never felt this with someone. Everytime I’m with her I get.. nervous? It’s like I don’t even… care about anyone else. I want to be around her, and only her.” He explained, playing with the rings on his hands.

Metal, twisting up to his nail bed, and back down again, like clockwork.

“Only her? That’s a first,” Luke laughed in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.

“She changed it for me. I don’t care about who I’m gonna hook up with tonight. I just want to see her. I wanna see Y/N” he continued to explain.

“Then see her!” Luke insisted, “Who is stopping you?”

A series of shuffling came from the room, and suddenly you found Luke stomping out from the bedroom, looking annoyed. He whipped past you, leaving you looking at Calum.

The only thing separating the two of you was this door frame, until you walked through it and shut the door behind you.

A silence crept its way into the room, squeezing itself under the doorframe and standing between the two of you. It wagged its tail and jumped, begging for your attention.

You didn’t pay it any. Instead, you kept focusing on the sudden sweat that leaked from your palms, on your heart beating against your ribcage, and the face of your best friend, the boy from the bar with a hurt chest and dark hair.

“Listen…” Calum began, standing up and wiping his hands against his dark jeans.

“You know… you were all I wanted to be around, Cal. Just you, for so long,” you interrupted, looking right into him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “I promise.”

Once again, before you could take a step closer to him, the familiar feeling of his hands on you raced up your spine and back down again. It found its way to your shoulders and into your hands, where they rested on the back of Calums neck. And for a split second you felt your lingering fingers zap against his skin.

And then he kissed you.

Your heart began to sing, crescendoing into a high tune of excitement and nervousness. However, it wasn’t alone. It was paired with another tune that escaped from Calum.

Your hearts, for the first time, harmonized, and silence snuck its way back to the party to beg for attention from other strangers. The melody curved around the two of you, creating the lights of fireflies and street lamps next to bars. That stupid bar, you thought, made your chest sing.

And you both parted from the kiss, still held in embrace, surrounded by twisting sounds and blazing lights like stars.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You looked up at him and smiled, your heart still and always in falsetto.

[fantasticnewtimagines]

Drabble: Hopeful 🍀

Requested by anonymous 

A/N: I kind of based this off of Titanic when Jack asks Rose to meet him at the clock. Hehe!

It was no secret that Newt Scamander had deep feelings for you. Queenie didn’t even need to be a legilimens to be able to read his mind when it came to you. 

The long stares, the blushing cheeks and silly smiles. He had it bad. And tonight, he could barely contain himself as he watched you giggling alongside Tina in the living room as you both chatted about something that was obviously funny. 

The way your lips curved in to the most delicate and enticing smile was enough to get his heart racing a thousand miles per hour. The wizard could look at you all day and never grow tired of you. It nearly killed him to think that what you’d only ever have was friendship.

Tonight however, Newt was planning on finally asking you out. Whether you said yes or no, well, he would just have to wait and see. But he was hopeful you’d say yes. Oh God how he hoped you’d say yes.

As the evening came to a close and everyone gathered their things to leave, Newt hastily scribbled on to a small piece of parchment in which he carefully folded and shoved in his pocket. 

“Thank you so much for the wonderful evening!” Beaming, you hugged both Goldstein sisters before shrugging in to your jacket and heading for the door.

“Y/N?”

Turning, you watched as Newt made his way over to you. His head was slightly tilted down, something he always did. His curly hair covering his eyes just a bit and a nervous look on his face the wizard pulled the note from his pocket and as he neared closer he held it out.

“R-read it later.”

Your fingers touched his just the slightest as you grabbed the note from him and while a smile you nodded and said goodbye one last time before disappearing behind the door and making your way home.

Y/N,

I can’t hold it in anymore. The feelings I have for you are nearly tearing me apart at the seams. If you at all feel the same, please, meet me at the coffee shop near 5th street at four ′clock tomorrow. 

Newt

It was nearly four o’clock and the wizard stood outside the coffee shop, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms growing sweaty by the second. There was still no sign of you and he was beginning to believe he had ruined everything between the two of you.

Had he been too up front?

Did he scare you away?

Merlin, what had he done?

As the clock finally ticked four o’clock, Newt took one last glance around but with a heavy heart, saw only strangers passing by and no s sign of you. 

Letting out a sigh, Newt kicked himself internally for ever being hopeful that maybe you held the same feelings for him that he did for you.

As he began to walk away, the sudden familiar voice behind him caused him to pause and a jolt of fear and joy to surge through his body. Turning slightly and looking up, his eyes met yours. 

There you stood in a light blue dress and black heels, your hair gently blowing in the wind as you gave him a small smile and tucked some hair behind your ear. 

You came.

Feeling the weight of disappointment and pain lift from his shoulders, Newt breathed out a sigh of relief. Before he could even speak however, you held out your hand and as Newt looked down he saw a tiny piece of paper in which he took and carefully opened. A wide smile spread across his face as he read it.

Newt,

I was beginning to think you’d never ask.

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[minglossy]

retry? yes/no

Rating: Teen and up Paring: yoonkook Tags: fluff and angst, angst with happy ending, break ups, missing each other, trying to get over each other,  Words: 7,226 Summary: “Yoongi has never thought his apartment was a lot. Just two cramped rooms with too many things and not enough space. But now it feels empty like never before. Absence isn’t supposed to feel like a physical thing, is it? He hears doorbell and wonders why does Jungkook bother to ring when he has his own keys. Few seconds pass. Answer clicks. ” Notes: im too weak to write sad things. hah. anyway, heads up because English is not my native language.  / playlist

Yoongi doesn’t like clubs too much. No matter how big they are they always feel cramped with too many people, too much noise. The music is so loud that the air in stuffy room seems to be vibrating to the rhythm of the pulsing bass. Yoongi finishes his drink, some weird blue thing Hoseok bought him, and realises he doesn’t mind that much. He slides down on a leather couch and his cheeks start to feel warm. Somehow everything around him becomes a little bit less real.

He looks around the dance floor and catches a flash of a smile, so bright it couldn’t belong to anyone else but Hoseok. He already looks too happy, even for himself. Yoongi makes a mental note to drag him out of this place before he ends up with a lifeless body instead of a friend.

When Hoseok comes back, breathless and with his bangs lifted up off his forehead, he is not alone anymore.

“Look who’s here!” Hoseok makes sure his voice is loud enough to be heard through the music. “Remember Taehyung? I mentioned him to you a few times.”

Brown hair, nice eyes, handsome face. Yeah, Yoongi recalls hearing about some Taehyung guy, Hoseok’s university friend. He nods his head as a way to say hello and it seems to be enough because Taehyung returns it with a smile. They start a conversation Yoongi isn’t exactly interested to be a part of. The only thing he hears is that someone else is going to join them soon.

Yoongi doesn’t know why his lips are the first thing he notices. He blames the alcohol making him dizzy and stupid. Or stranger’s face that's so much he doesn’t even know where to look at. In any case, lips are the first thing he focuses on, when Taehyung’s friend shows up next to their table. He sees how they move when he speaks even though words alone don’t seem to reach Yoongi. He smiles, Yoongi realizes, and it’s a nice smile despite its timidness. His voice is lower than Yoongi expected. He leans in closer to make sure Yoongi hears his name. Jungkook. A pretty name.

Jungkook, a stranger with starry eyes and bunny teeth. Jungkook with black, messy hair and pierced ears. Jungkook in too loose shirt and with cute laughter. Jungkook with his shyness gone as soon as his feet touch the dance floor. With body that moves with such a fluidity, Yoongi can’t take his eyes off him. Full of confidence, smugness and whole annoying attractiveness of it.

Yoongi takes in as much as he can. The way he breathes through parted lips with his chest heaving. Sweat on his neck glistening in red light. Hand moving to push back his hair. Heavy-lidded from alcohol but still attentive eyes. And a smile, lazy and sweet, slowly spreading across his face.

It starts out simply. 

Something, an accident or fate, decides to let them meet again. Jungkook and Yoongi  find common language pretty quickly. Helping Jungkook with his music project is easy. He is smart and quick to learn new things so Yoongi is not complaining. Being with Jungkook is fun and Yoongi hopes he thinks the same about him.

They circle around each other, both knowing what they want but neither of them ready to admit it. It’s a time of conversations about everything and nothing at all. Counting hours to next meeting and stolen gazes at each other faces. Pinkies brushing as they sit next to each other in library. Too fast heartbeat when one of them gets a little bit too close.

It’s too many longing looks when they say “bye” to each other. Hoping for something that neither of them has the courage to do.

Yoongi didn’t expect to ever get excited by phone buzzing in his pocket. But it’s exactly what happens everytime he gets new message.

“I swear, if you don’t ask him out, I will.” Hoseok says, looking at Yoongi. “And I will make sure to be embarrassing about it. Tell him how you smile like an idiot every time you get a text from him.”

Yoongi puts his phone back but doesn’t answer right away. He can still feel his lips curving in a smile behind his scarf. It’s not like he didn’t think of that. He did, more than he wishes to admit.

“I don’t know if he would say yes.”

He hears Hoseok’s sigh. “So you won’t even try?”

Yoongi shrugs. At least he would avoid disappointment that way. It’s not so bad, whatever they have right now. Friendship, let’s call it. It’s good. It could be enough, right? They stand in silence for a long time, before Hoseok speaks again.

“I think he wouldn’t say no.”

Jungkook didn’t say no.

After a while Yoongi doesn’t know what was the movie about or what did they order. But he remembers getting stuck on an empty bus stop, disconnected from reality by blizzard. Single street lamp giving enough light to see Jungkook’s face. Snowflake on Jungkook’s eyelashes and his pink from cold air nose.

Coldness of his hands on Yoongi’s cheeks. Lips trembling against his own.

Taste of mint.

“You didn’t say anything for a while. Is it that bad?”

Blonde hair, still damp from washing, covers Yoongi’s eyes, making them seem ever darker. In the morning sunlight it looks like it’s glowing and Jungkook can’t take his eyes off it.

“Actually, it’s the opposite.”

Yoongi’s pout disappears and a smug smile takes its place. “I had a feeling you’ll like it.”

Yoongi takes a hint when Jungkook pats an empty spot on a bed next to him. He sits down, his legs crossed, fingers still playing with the ends of his bangs. Jungkook reaches out, runs his hand through Yoongi’s hair, lifts it up off his forehead. Few stray strands find their way between his fingers and go back to their previous place.

“You really can pull off every color, can’t you?”

Corner of Yoongi’s lips rising is the only warning Jungkook gets before he’s pushed back until his back hits the bed. Yoongi twines their fingers together and leans in so close few droplets of water from his hair fall on Jungkook’s face.

“Sure I can.”

It’s funny how they could start on the most opposite sides of the room but then always end up next to each other. Pressed side to side on a small couch. It’s not the most comfortable position for watching tv. There’s not enough space and Yoongi’s legs are slowly getting numb. But familiar weight of Jungkook’s body next to him makes it his favorite one.

‘’Next.”

The TV screen changes again, from some drama to variety show. All colorful lights and smiles.

“Next.”

Yoongi skips few channels again, not even paying attention to what he’s looking at. He gets a little bit distracted with Jungkook lips pressed against his neck, soft and warm.

“You are so picky,” Yoongi says, keeping his tone not interested.

“Sure I am.” Jungkook presses a small kiss on Yoongi’s collarbone. He  goes up higher, stopping to press kisses on Yoongi’s neck until his lips brush against his earlobe. “I always pick the best things.” He kisses him again, right below jawline. “That’s why I have you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks burn from embarrassment but he laughs until he feels tears in the corners of his eyes. “That was so lame, you know.”

“Yeah? Maybe.”

Jungkook moves, pressing his body against Yoongi to make him lie down. He looks at him, cute little wrinkles showing around his eyes. “Still made you smile though.”

There’s a lot from Jungkook’s personality in the way he kisses. It always starts out a little bit shy like he’s asking for permission. And when he gets it, it builds up to reveal something else. Confidence, as his hand slips under Yoongi’s shirt. Teasing, when his teeth close around Yoongi’s bottom lip. A little bit of dominance in a way his fingers curl in blonde hair and in marks he leaves on pale skin of his neck.

Sometimes Yoongi likes to remind him that he’s not the only one in control. It doesn’t take much for Jungkook to melt under Yoongi’s touch and show him something he usually keeps hidden. Softness, when he sighs as Yoongi’s hands move up the length of his spine. Embarrassment, when Yoongi’s brushes Jungkook’s hair away from his eyes. Sweetness, when he rests forehead against Yoongi’s to catch his breath and laughs.

And loving, loving, loving in the rhythm of the heart pounding in his chest.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook who seems so small curled up in a ball on the passenger seat. He hesitates for a moment before touching him and running his hand through Jungkook’s messy hair. He blinks few times before opening his eyes. Enough to know what’s happening but without waking up fully.

“Where are we?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I’m not sure. But you wanted to see the sunrise, right?”

They travelled without any particular destination, played rock-paper-scissors to choose the direction. Stopped on gas stations away from big cities with colorful neon signs, tasteless coffee and bored to death employees. Slept in a car or small motels near the road, with suspicious stains on the walls, rooms filled with musty smell and halls full of cigarettes smoke. Survived bathrooms with cranky shower controls and never enough hot water. Lay in bed tired, talking until their words became to fade from sleepiness. Fell asleep to the sound of each other’s steady breathing.

Sunrise drowns empty beach in it’s warm, golden light, leaving the sky bright blue. Jungkook stays still, hands hidden in his pockets and mouth slightly opened in a silent awe, fully awake now despite 4:45 on the clock. Only when the clouds turn less pink he turns to Yoongi with shiny eyes and smile so bright it could put the sun to shame.

  Yoongi watches how his feet drown in wet sand, deeper and deeper with every wave. He listens to seagulls flying above their heads and thinks that maybe it’s not quite what Jungkook wanted for his vacation. It’s just a beach, same as many others, in some boondocks where they don’t even have a place to stay for the night.

“Sorry it’s not enough.”

“You’re here. It’s enough.”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Yoongi says, his mouth so close to Jungkook’s ear it tickles. His arms wrap tighter around Jungkook’s waist and his body presses closer against his back. “Move in with me.”

The summer night is warm but Jungkook still shivers. He covers Yoongi’s hands with his own. He feels bones of Yoongi’s wrist under his fingers and then a coldness of silver bracelet. He thought he was completely wrong choosing it as a gift but didn’t see Yoongi without it since the day he got it.

“Okay,” he says and he’s not surprised how easy it was. “But don’t expect me to clean after you.”

Yoongi lies on the couch, resting his head on Jungkook’s lap as soon as he’s inside the room. It’s a clear message of “I had a shitty day” and Jungkook doesn’t ask. He will say. Eventually.

It’s hard to get to Yoongi sometimes. He tends to keep things to himself which doesn’t really surprises Jungkook that much. He does the same. Sometimes he wonders why they both insist on keeping quiet instead of just talking.

He looks down on wrinkle between Yoongi’s eyebrows that shows every time he’s upset. He wishes he could do something, make it go away but he isn’t sure how. He doesn’t feel confident with his words and decides to rely on action instead.

He presses his fingers to it and giggles when Yoongi pouts even more. He bends down and it’s an awkward position like this but he manages to press lips on Yoongi’s forehead.

It takes some time and more kisses but wrinkle disappears. 

Their lives go on and they both fall into daily routine too busy with their jobs to notice that some things start to change. They talk less. Laugh less. Do things together less.

They get past each other even if they live together. Yoongi’s asleep when Jungkook’s awake and the other way around. They try to find time for each other but it doesn’t always work.

Sometimes it feels like they don’t even see each other.

Jungkook finds out the he can’t always rely on action alone. It’s getting harder to communicate and he isn’t quite sure how to fix it. They seem to hide things from each other more and more. And neither of them wishes to be the first to talk about it.

It grows and grows until anything can be a reason to fight.

After it’s over there are arms wrapped around the other or kiss pressed to forehead. But never enough words to tell “I’m sorry.”

The distance grows so big they can’t see what they used to had.

They don’t talk. Sometimes for a day. Sometimes for a week. Just exchange information if it’s necessary. Simple, short sentences.

“I’m going out. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be home late tonight.”

“Don’t wait for me.”

Sometimes Yoongi thinks he prefers to hear “fuck off” and slamming doors than being stuck in this silence.

“I’m scared of losing you” neither of them says out loud.

Jungkook disappears for few hours. Sometimes for a day. Yoongi wakes up alone and then falls asleep in empty bed that only smells like Jungkook, too tired to wait up for him.

They both know where this is going and it’s not like they don’t try to stop it. They do, but it never seems to work for longer than a week. It gets better and then everything breaks again.

They try to put their lives back together but it’s like trying to solve puzzles. With time and patience it should work out eventually. The only problem is that they both seem to have pieces from different boxes.

[01:02] we’re over right?

[01:03] yeah. i think we are

Jungkook’s phone breaks into three parts when he throws it against the wall.

It doesn’t take too long to make the apartment look like he didn’t even live there.

They don’t talk much when Jungkook shows up for the rest of his things. He comes in with simple “hi” said more towards the floor than Yoongi and makes sure to keep his eyes away from him most of the time.

Hearing Jungkook walking around their bedroom was always nice to Yoongi. There was something comforting about the sound of opening cabinets and drawers and footsteps on wooden floor. It reminded him that he’s not alone, that Jungkook is right there, occupied with something. Right now he wishes he would not hear anything at all.

“Are you sure you took everything?” Yoongi manages to ask somehow even though his mouth feels so dry he can barely stand it.

“I’m sure. Sorry for bothering you.” Jungkook searches his pockets until Yoongi hears  silent clink of metal. “Here.”

Yoongi takes the keys from him. He doesn’t have the chance to say whatever he thinks should be said because Jungkook is already walking towards the door.

Standing in the entrance Jungkook looks at him for the first time that day. He’s not angry or sad. If the blank look on his face is anything at all, it’s tired.

He looks at Yoongi for few second like he’s searching for something. He looks down and nods, almost like he’s giving himself courage to leave. His smile is just lips pressed in thin line.

Neither of them says goodbye before Jungkook turns and walks away.

First night after he’s gone Yoongi sleeps on the couch too afraid to smell Jungkook on his sheets. He throws the bedding into the washing machine the next day.

Yoongi has never thought his apartment was a lot. Just two cramped rooms with too many things and not enough space. But now it feels empty like never before. Absence isn’t supposed to feel like a physical thing, is it?

He hears doorbell and wonders why does Jungkook bother to ring when he has his own keys. Few second pass. Answer clicks.

It’s Hoseok with his too polite smile and worried eyes. He’s quiet like he is too afraid to say something wrong. Yoongi feels irritation creeping in his gut.

“I don’t really have anything to eat, sorry. I should go shopping soon or something.” Yoongi rambles to the point he doesn’t even know what is he talking about anymore. But he’s talking, right? Filling in this fucking silence around them. He’s trying. “But we, I mean, I still have some coffee left. I can make you if you want.”

He’s about to go to the kitchen when he feels Hoseok’s hand on his wrist. “Yoongi, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?” He snorts. “Make you coffee? “

Pretend like nothing happened. Yoongi knows the answer well enough. He tries to pull his hand away but Hoseok’s doesn’t let go.

“Let me go, asshole.”

“I won’t until you talk with me.”

“Talk about what?!”

His voice is louder than he intended it to be. The look in Hoseok’s eyes and way he lets go of his hand make Yoongi feel even worse. He shouldn’t come here in the first place. Yoongi takes a deep, shaky breath. “Talk about what, Hoseok?”

He bites his lips so hard it start to hurt but it’s the only way he can stop himself from breaking completely. He doesn’t want to blink, too afraid the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes will spill. They do anyway, rolling down his cheeks before he wipes them quickly.

Something in his throat is burning so much he’s unable to speak anymore. He looks away, tired of seeing the same look in his friend’s eyes as he saw in everyone’s else. Worry. Sadness. This fucking pity he doesn’t need.

When Hoseok’s arms wrap around him, he doesn’t hug him back. Just stands there with head resting on his shoulder until one spot on Hoseok's shirt becomes damp from tears.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you. It won’t take long. I just…” Jungkook looks back down on his half unpacked bag. It's mess of clothes he didn’t have time or patience to fold properly. “I just need to find something cheap I can rent and I’m out of here.” He forces a laugh but knows it sounds pathetic.

“Stop saying that. You can stay as long as you want.” Jimin leaves his place by the doorframe. He spent at least ten minutes there, talking and cracking jokes. Anything to distract Jungkook somehow. “Me and Taehyung are happy to have you here.” He puts both arms around Jungkook in a hug. “You sure you’re okay, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook clenches his teeth together. He pats Jimin’s head in light gesture. “I’m sure.”

Jimin leaves him alone, giving him last worried smile before he leaves the room.

It feels like it has always been like this. Jimin being there for him and Taehyung when they fucked up. Coming to them with his arms opened and shoulder ready to cry on. No matter how hard things got or how angry he was with them. At the end it was always Jimin with his warm embrace and too kind heart.

The inside of Jungkook’s bag is not a lot. Few plain t-shirts, sweatpants and jeans, wrinkled shirts, jackets. Toothbrush he threw there in a rush. He places his clothes in a dresser, filling the drawer Taehyung lent him, not caring for any kind of order. He promises himself not to stay there for long anyway. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s bothering someone. Not anymore.

He finds it on the bottom of the bag, among some crumpled papers and single socks. He must have grabbed it by accident in a hurry. His heart sinks painfully when he feels soft material between his fingers.

Simple white shirt, at least one size too small to fit him. With faint smell of Yoongi’s cologne still on it.

Yoongi wanders around the city alone and it’s scary how lonely human can feel at two a.m. in the morning. All the streets he knows, all bars and cafes he’s a customer of, all benches he passes. All of that used to be shared with Jungkook.

And if he’s not with him then what’s the point.

Jimin and Taehyung are his best friends, Jungkook knows that. He would never exchange them for anyone else in the world. But they can get a little bit too much with their caring and sometimes Jungkook feels like he has enough. Of everything. Of constant questions if he’s okay. Of that look in their eyes. Of tiptoeing around him too afraid to mention Yoongi’s name by accident.

Of pretending like Yoongi doesn’t exist when he’s the only person he can think about.

Single drops roll down between Yoongi’s shoulderblades. He knows they’re going to leave dirty stains on his shirt, the same they left on the tub, but he can’t bring himself to care. Gray water swirls and goes down the drain. He collects the empty package of hair dye and throws it away.

He looks in the mirror. Both, the difference and forgotten familiarity of his black hair catches him off guard. He runs his hand through it, making his fringe fall on his eyes.

There’s no sign of blonde anymore. Almost like it wasn’t even there.

Jungkook didn’t know muscles can get this stiff until he touches his aching shoulders. He rubs them for a moment but without any effect. His eyes feel dry from hours spent staring at the computer screen. He allows himself few seconds of break before he goes back to his laptop with resigned sigh. The door behind him open with silent creak.

“Jungkook? It’s almost 4 am. You should sleep.”

Taehyung voice is even deeper now with sleepiness. He looks at him through squinted eyes wearing a shirt so big it reaches almost to his knees.

“I’ll go as soon as I finish this. I promise.”

“You can’t overwork yourself like that, you know?”

“I’m almost finished. Twenty more minutes and I’m in bed.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced but he lets it go. Jungkook waits until doors close and he’s alone again. Blank page of document is still in front of him with black cursor blinking at him. He fights the urge to shut his laptop close. Takes a deep breath. Starts typing again.

He can’t sleep anyway and this, at least, keeps his thoughts away.

The cafe is busy at this hour, filled with people chatting and laughing here and there. Yoongi catches fritters of conversations as he passes the tables. Some names he doesn’t know. Happy news he’s not a part of. Jokes he doesn’t understand.

He sits down and warms his hands against hot cup. For now, he leaves the talking part for Hoseok who doesn’t seem to be bothered by Yoongi’s silence.

Yoongi knows he’s not there because Hoseok was “just passing nearby” as he says. He’s a good friend but a terrible liar and recently it shows more than ever before. It’s another day of his plan to drag him out of the apartment. Movies, cafes, walks and bars. Anything to occupy Yoongi with something. He watches his friend talk about something he lost a track of few minutes ago. It’s cute how invested he gets every time he tells him something, no matter how trivial it may be. He feels warmth and gratitude he’s not sure how to return to him.

“So anyway, you have to see this movie. Taehyung promised to borrow it to me sometime. We had fun and Jungk-” He stops as if he said something bad and looks at Yoongi with scared eyes.

“It’s fine.” Yoongi’s lips curve into a soft smile despite the weight he feels in his chest. “It’s not like his name is forbidden around me or something.”

The atmosphere gets somewhat stiff. Hoseok changes the topic but Yoongi doesn’t listen anymore.

“How is he?”

He manages to keep his voice monotone, almost bored. As if every cell in his body was not telling him to go and check the answer to his question on his own. Hoseok looks like he’s unsure if he should say something. He stares down at his cup, way too focused on mixing his coffee.

“I know you two got close when we were together, it’s okay. Just tell me.”

Hoseok sighs, putting away the teaspoon. “He’s fine. At least this is what he tells me.” He looks at him with a sad smile. “You know him. He would never say anything else.”

Yoongi understands. No matter what he felt or what he was going through Jungkook has always been fine.

“Jimin and Taehyung take good care of him. It’s just…” Hoseok stops like he was searching for a proper words. He must feel Yoongi questioning look on him because he fidgets nervously in his sit before speaking again.

“He became so quiet without you.”

When Jungkook enters the room and sees Seokjin sitting with Jimin and Taehyung he can’t help but feel like going out again. He likes him a lot, always did but sometimes he has the tendency to be painfully direct and honest. Jungkook can’t decide if it’s good for him at this moment.

“Oh, Jungkook!”, he says not looking up from his phone. “Are you still sad over your boyfriend?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Sorry. You won’t hear anything more about this from me. I promise.” He makes a pause to take a sip from his glass. “I still think the same anyway.”

Jungkook remembers what was the last thing he had said about this whole mess. He thinks about it a lot and starts to agree with him more and more.

“I think you’re both idiots. Or just like to hurt yourself for fun, whatever. But it’s obvious you still love him. So maybe it’s good to stop hurting yourself even more.”

“Hey, good to see you’re not trying to starve yourself to death anymore. Making progress, I see,” Namjoon says looking at Yoongi from the opposite side of the table.

Yoongi decides not to mention that eating is still one of the least pleasurable things for him. He forces himself to swallow tasteless piece of burger he’s been chewing for the last minute. “Kind of.”

When Namjoon’s done with his fries, Yoongi already knows what he’s going to ask. He always asks that and Yoongi knows he’s doing it because he worries. But that doesn’t change the fact he finds it irritating.

“So? How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Man, you really suck at the “being convincing” part, you know?”

And there it is. The phrase that makes Yoongi’s blood boil. “You sure you’re fine?” “You don’t look like you’re fine.”

Yoongi feels his fist clench under the table. He counts to ten as he always do to stop himself from yelling “maybe it’s because i’m not okay.”

He wants to be. He wishes his words to friends were true. He wants to be fine, to feel normal again. To stop waking up every morning feeling like something’s missing. He wants this fucking hole in his chest to finally be gone. But he doesn’t know how.

He hears Namjoon sigh. “You still love him, don’t you?”

He does. He knows he does even if he tries not to. He nods.

“Then you either tell him about it or learn how to stop.”

Jungkook always knew he didn’t love Yoongi for something. He didn’t love him for his independence or creativity. He didn’t love him for the way he laughed. He didn’t love him for the way he cared about him. He just loved Yoongi. That’s it.

Before they started dating Yoongi used to change his hair color a lot. He tried different things before he settled for blonde and Jungkook loved him in every one of them.

He loved meeting him for the first time and realising that he has never seen someone with mint hair before. He loved how it faded until it became something between grey and blue. He loved him in that ridiculous flaming red he was so embarrassed about he refused to take off his beanie for a week. He loved him in pink that followed right after. And he loved him in blonde. The way his hair looked when his head rested against a pillow. Tickling feeling of it against Jungkook’s skin. The way it moved between his fingers.

And now, when he sees him in front of the same club he saw him years ago, he knows he loves him in black too. Still. Without stopping.

Suddenly, hours he spent convincing himself he’s over him mean nothing. Every minute of trying to forget doesn’t matter anymore because Yoongi’s here, right in front of him. He knows he’s going to break every promise he made to himself but he doesn’t mind.

“Yoongi,” he says more to himself than to him. Like he needs to hear his name  to make sure it’s happening.

Whatever Jungkook saw in Yoongi’s eyes, surprise, fear, hope or maybe mix of everything, is gone after few seconds. He collects himself quickly, falling right back to his forced indifference. He takes a sip from his bottle of beer before looking at Jungkook again. “Been awhile, huh?”

There’s so much questions Jungkook wants to ask him. How have you been? Are you doing okay? Do you miss me? Do you still remember me the way I remember you? He keeps all of them to himself though, not because he’s afraid to ask but because he isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the answer. From all of things churning in his head he picks the simple one.

“Did you come here with someone?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Nah. You?”

Yoongi looks like some weight has been taken off his shoulders when Jungkook denies. He leans against the wall more comfortably and asks

“How are you?”

The question is so simple and yet Jungkook has nothing or maybe too much to tell him. Really, how is he? In any other case he would say “fine.” But now he knows it’s not true. He’s not fine, hasn’t been fine for the past few months.

He can clearly see two paths he can take from that moment. First one is a lie. It’s saying “fine.” Turning around and coming back to his life as he left it that evening. It’s repeating “fine” over and over again to convince himself it’s true. Second one is taking a risk. It’s following a road but not knowing where or how it ends.

Something silver around Yoongi’s wrist shines when he rises hand to finish his beer in a single gulp.

Thing is, Jungkook was never afraid of risk.

“Could we talk somewhere else?”

“You realise it’s a twenty minutes walk to my house, right?”

Jungkook does, he still knows the route by heart. But he doesn’t see why that would stop him from walking, holding Yoongi’s hand in his own as he follows him few steps behind.

“Do you have money for a cab or bus tickets?”

There’s a silence before quiet “No…”

“Guess we have no choice then.”

It’s a familiar feeling to hold Yoongi’s hand. He’s one of those people with always cold  hands and Jungkook missed making them warmer.

“I’m not so drunk. You don’t have to hold my hand.”

Yoongi’s probably right. He’s many drinks away from being drunk for real. For now it’s just his words, a little bit too close to each other when he speaks. But then Jungkook hears silent curse as Yoongi trips behind him and reflexly holds his hand tighter.

“You sure about that?”

Yoongi’s grip on Jungkook’s hand loosens somewhat but he doesn’t let go.

“Fuck, it’s just… this shitty pavement is so crooked. That’s why.”

“And everything spins around, huh?”

“I’m practically sober.”

“Mhm. Whatever you say.”

God. He missed this. He missed it so damn much it hurts. His own head is spinning even though he didn’t drink anything.

“So,” Jungkook starts, hoping that they can fall into conversation like they used to do. “How are you?”

“I asked you first and still didn’t hear my answer.” There’s no pretense in his voice. It’s soft and quiet, just like Jungkook remembers it.

“I’m asking you now.”

A sigh and then “I’m…” Jungkook waits for “fine” or “okay” but neither of them happens. “I got a new job. In the radio.”

Jungkook feels excitement starting to bloom in his chest. That’s what Yoongi always wanted to do but somehow never got the chance to start. “Really? In which station? I don’t think I’ve heard you anywhere.”

“And you won’t,” Yoongi laughs.“I’m just a broadcast assistant. I don’t present anything on my own.”

“With your voice you’d be perfect for that though.”

Twenty minutes long walk doesn’t seem that much with Yoongi talking. Jungkook doesn’t know if it’s thanks to the alcohol in his system or not. But it feels like it used to do. Maybe a little bit more stiff but it’s better than where they were at the end. It feels easier, smoother somehow.

Yoongi talks about his job and about people he met there. How he is finally doing something he likes. How he’s paid less than in his previous job but he doesn’t mind as long as he can sleep in more human hours.

They reach Yoongi’s apartment building and Jungkook feels overwhelmed. It’s a little bit too many memories all at once and he’s not sure how to handle that. But he doesn’t want to run away. Not again.

Yoongi notices that he’s still holding Jungkook’s hand and it’s not the most comfortable way to search for his keys. He lets go, even though ridiculous fear that he won’t be able to touch him ever again creeps somewhere behind him.

When they’re finally inside Yoongi plops down on a couch and observes. It hurts him to see Jungkook acting like a guest in a place that used to be his home. Not for long, but still.

Yoongi realises that his shirt smells with someone’s cigarettes and for some reason he finds it unbearable. He starts to unbutton it but fumbles with it and gets stuck on one stubborn button.

“Are you still trying to tell me you’re not drunk?” Jungkook asks reaching out to help him.

Yoongi wants to smile because no matter how he looks at it the situation is ridiculous. Here he is, with his ex-boyfriend unbuttoning his shirt. With someone he still loves so much and yet has no idea how to make him stay.

He looks up at him, sitting so close now, and it all drives him crazy. Jungkook’s eyes focused on the buttons with eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His lips so close to his own. Even that beauty mark on his neck. All he thought he had lost is right in front of him.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi starts. “What is this?”

“Hm?”

“This situation, you here.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m… not sure.” Jungkook answers biting his lip. He always does when he’s stressed. His hands let go of Yoongi’s shirt and fall at his sides.

“Is this like, I don’t know, blast from the past?” Yoongi can feel his voice getting harsh and he tries his best to control it.  “Fuck your ex for the sake of good old times?”

Yoongi regrets opening his mouth as soon as he’s done talking. The look of sadness and defeat in Jungkook’s eyes, no, in his whole body, are making his heart ache.

“Do you really think I would do that?”

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t. That’s why I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“You asked how am I, right?” Jungkook takes in a deep, shaky breath. “Well, not so well.”

Yoongi waits until he speaks again. “I was always lying to people that everything’s fine. But it wasn’t. I missed you so much I sometimes didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Yoongi watches how Jungkook’s hands clench and unclench on his knees.

“I always thought that when I’ll see you again I will feel angry or I don’t know. Indifferent.” He stops and rises corners of his lips in a sad smile. “But seeing you today made me happy. I haven’t feel like that in months.” He lets out a tired laugh. “Sad, right? The way I can’t force myself to let go of you.”

Yoongi’s heart beats so fast in his chest he feels like it’s about to burst. He tries to control his thoughts but they show and disappear so quickly he doesn’t know on what he should focus. All he knows is that Jungkook’s here, on his couch, in his apartment. All he need to do is to reach out, hold him like he always used to do. Feel that he’s alive and real.

Yoongi’s whole body burns with the need to touch him but he stops himself. It was the reason things ended up as they did. Action. But no words.

“Jungkook, I..” He knows what he feels, he knows so well and yet there’s no words, no sentences that could express that. “Fuck. I tried to stop thinking about you. But I can’t.” Now when he already started he doesn’t feel the need to stop. For once, he wants it all out of his system. “I thought I could do that, you know? That it would be easy to just move on. But I can’t. I don’t know how.” He laughs and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s happy or so stressed his body doesn’t know how to react anymore. “And when I went out to at least try to forget you, from all of the people, I ran into you.”

Now Jungkook’s laughing too and god. He missed the sound of it. Missed the way it echoes through the walls of this room. He doesn’t want to stop hearing it again.

Jungkook wipes tears from the corners of his eyes and Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s sadness or happiness that caused them. He sniffs before speaking

“We fucked up.”

Yoongi lies down and closes his eyes because suddenly everything hurts. His stiff muscles, his stomach and head. His hands are shaking and he feels so dizzy it’s almost making him nauseous.

But his heart feels happy. Finally.

“Yeah. We did.”

Yoongi doesn’t open his eyes when he reaches out to find Jungkook’s hand. He twines their fingers together to make sure they still fit perfectly. They do.

“Do you want to stay?”

“Yeah.” He hears Jungkook say as his fingers squeeze around his. “I’d like that.”

Yoongi wakes up to three things. First, a bright sunlight shining in his eyes. Then, a headache starting to buzz at the back of his head. And finally, to the sight of Jungkook looking back at him.

They don’t say anything for a while, just lie next to each other on that too small and uncomfortable couch. But Yoongi doesn’t mind, he never did. No matter how narrow it was and how hard Jungkook’s knees pressed into his thighs.

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

Yoongi thought he forgot how it feels to have someone pressed next to him, with his body warm and breath tickling against his skin. He’s glad Jungkook’s here to remind him.

“I can’t believe you were so sad without me you dyed your hair black. How dramatic.”

“I can’t believe you were so sad without me you haven’t spoken to anyone for over a week.”

“It’s the last time I told Hoseok anything,” Jungkook laughs and it’s sleepy and sweet. Yoongi’s favorite kind.

He wants to tell him so much he’s not sure where to start. And he wants to listen to him. To know every detail Jungkook’s willing to share with him. Yoongi brushes Jungkook’s hair out of his face. “So that’s it, right? We’re trying again.”

“I wouldn’t stay otherwise.”

After all this time breathing finally becomes easier.

Jungkook fumbles with the keys because this one lock is always stuttering. He moves the key inside, up and down, in a way he learnt some time ago but still remembers. It works. The doors open.

He’s there, leaning against the counter and waiting. Not like an enthusiastic dog that runs to you with its tail wiggling. More like a cat, quiet and attentive.

It’s hard to kiss him when he’s smiling but Jungkook knows he has time to finally learn that.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

-bonus-

“Tell me,” Yoongi says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “How is it possible that I bought the biggest bed and yet you still take all of it for yourself?”

He would lie if he said Jungkook wasn’t making a nice view like that, lying on his stomach with hands hidden under the pillow. In the dim light of the bedroom, tanned skin of his back makes a pretty contrast to the white crumpled sheets around him. Black hair, a complete mess now, sticks out in some odd directions. He doesn’t open his eyes, just smiles sweetly.

“Why did you buy such a big bed when you are so small?”

Yoongi can see his shoulders shaking a little bit with laughter.

“Obviously not for some asshole who sprawls like a goddamn prince in the middle of it.”

Jungkook yawns. “So you can’t use it either, huh?”

Being hit with the pillow just doubles Jungkook’s laughter, his whole body shaking now. “You could just politely ask me to move, you know?” He finally opens his eyes and turns to lie on his side instead, bending his arm to rest his head on hand.

“Move.”

“I think you didn’t hear the “politely” part.”

Yoongi leans closer to him with a hint of a smile and makes sure their eyes meet before he speaks again. He lowers his voice until it becomes a whisper. “Move, babe.”

Jungkook’s smug expression turning into embarrassed one with his cheeks blushed and eyes unable to look back at him, is one of Yoongi’s favorite things. Jungkook groans and lies down on his back, hiding his face between fingers. Yoongi suddenly feels so fond of him it’s almost too much.

He somehow finds enough space to fit next to him. After enough time of accidental kicks and elbows shoved in ribs, they both managed to work the cuddling system out. It takes a moment to lie in a position comfortable for them, Yoongi’s head resting against Jungkook’s chest. After a minute he feels fingers playing with his hair. Yoongi closes his eyes, his body relaxing under the touch.

It’s one of those times when time seems to slow down a bit around them. When they don’t need to be anywhere except next to each other. Do anything else beside breathing together and feeling each other’s heartbeats.

It’s simple and Yoongi learnt simple works the best for him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”