#so I can go outside and smoke a cigarette and sob and the world feels like it’s collapsing and no one else seems to even notice anymore

[milo-is-rambling]

Drove around for an hour after therapy scream singing music and I screamed FUUUCKKK at the top of my lungs a couple times while driving on empty back roads and it didn’t fix me :/

[imtotallynormalmhmyes]

Simon in a Speedo??

Ghost x Transmale!reader

Read Chapter 1 here.

TW: Implied Car Crash/drunk driving, grief, death of a friend

Chapter 2:

Crossing the bar's threshold seems to bring you into a different world as the light, salty air dissipates against the thick wall of cigar smoke and acrid alcohol. It's safe to say that this wasn't your crowd. You never felt welcome into the hypermasculine, beer-drinking, rugby-watching (though you didn't mind looking at rugby players) scene, and you felt that same isolation now. Johnny and his friends fit in seamlessly. They belong here. You don't.

You all squeeze into a table in the corner, and you're again pressed between two men, this time Johnny and Price. That leaves Ghost and Gaz across from you, making it hard to know where to look. Gaz makes your heart flutter and head spin, and Ghost makes you feel like a body on a slab. You decide to focus on tracing the grains on the wooden table.

Johnny goes off to get everyone some drinks and leaves you to chew on the awkward silence between the four of you. Eventually, Price speaks up. "So, um, Y/N... what do you do?" It takes a moment for you to process that someone is speaking to you, leaving Price to stare at you for a painfully awkward amount of time.

"Oh, I'm a professor. Literature," you tumble out, and your career earns you appreciative nods. The attention was stifling, but you promised to Johnny that you'd try your best to make friends.

Before you could continue, Johnny mercifully changes the subject as he put the drinks in front of you all. "You wouldn't believe the prices at this place," he slides into the booth next to you and rambles on about prices and the economy, something you couldn't care less about. You swirl your Shirley Temple with disinterest before a gravelly voice asks, "Not a drinker?" When you look up, you're met with Ghost's gaze.

The subject isn't a comfortable one. You don't talk much about your sobriety because of the reason behind it, "Not really, drank enough in uni for a lifetime." Your mind goes back to that night six years ago, the shattered glass, crumpled metal, and your best friend... Johnny knowingly puts a hand atop yours, anchoring you to the present moment.

Sensing the tender subject, Ghost answers with a simple "Ah" before changing the subject, but you feel his gaze on you long after that.

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

Two hours. That time in the stifling bar makes you feel claustrophobic, so you step outside to get some air. Turns out Ghost had the same idea, lounging on one of the outdoor benches with a cigarette between his lips. You were almost hoping he wouldn't notice your presence, but he glances at you and scoots over for you to sit. Guess I have no choice.

He waits so you can settle in before saying, "I know what it's like to lose someone."

Your eyes widen. You had said nothing about the loss of your friend, but he somehow knew as if he was a mind reader. "Johnny told me," he admits. Oh. "But what I'm trying to say is... I'm just trying to say that I understand."

And there it is, the grief. That pestering, virulent grief never seemed to go away no matter how many days had passed. Sure, it got "easier". You no longer sobbed every time the show Friends was on or when you passed her favorite coffee shop. However, that overwhelming pain still seemed to reach out to you and wrap its hands around your neck, and despite trying to push the dam closed, tears trailed down your cheeks. Ghost's discomfort was apparent, and it only served to intensify the flow of tears. You were burdening this poor man with a stranger's grief.

Slowly, hesitantly, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, "'s alright. Let it out."

[anjelicawrites]

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

Paring: modern!EMT!Osferth x nurse!reader Summary: During a snowstorm you realize it’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for. Warnings: NSFW and 18+ only. Cunnilingus. Dirty talking. Over the clothes handjob.

Of all the EMT crews that come to your A&E, there are two that hold a special place in your heart: Uhtred and Sihtric and Finan and Osferth. They work in couples and are in permanent night shifts, like the group of nurses you work with. They are probably the best paramedics you have worked with: fast, smart, they give a chef's kiss handover and are good looking. If you were one of their patients, you'd get a heart attack just by waking up and seeing their faces. On top of that, they feed your crew: after those night shifts where it feels like yours is the only A&E in the whole bloody county where they can bring patients, they either bring breakfast or treat your crew to one. Each and every colleague of yours has their personal favorite, yours is baby Osferth.

You developed a soft spot for him when he was still in training under Finan and Sihtric, who worked him hard and taught him everything they knew. It was in your A&E where Osferth had seen his first patient die and was distraught about it. You had found him hiding behind the ambulance, crying: he broke your heart. You had approached him making enough noises not to startle him and he had tried to hide his tears

“Don’t kid, it’s better to cry it out now than being upset for the rest of your shift”.

You had given him a couple of tissues and had et him put his head against your shoulder. He had cried like a child, with big sobs that rattled his whole body and you had hugged him, caressing his back to soothe him. Once he had calmed down, he didn’t have the courage to stare into your eyes

“I’m sorry” he had said, head hanging low “What for kid?” “I feel like I haven’t done enough”.

Legally he could’t really do much since he was still in training, but you had understood the feeling

“Sometimes you provide all the care possible and the person dies. It’s not your fault or your team’s, it just happens. People are not machines you put care and drugs in and they become better, sometimes they are just at the end of their tether and the best thing is to let them go”. “You make it seem so effortless” he had sounded so jaded you had wanted to hug him again “It’s not, but I’ve been in this game longer than you did. I can’t say I’ve gotten used to it, but I’ve learnt to compartmentalize the best I can. This doesn’t mean that sometimes I have to stop myself from crying in front of the patients and their families or that I am not going to have a cuppa now and smoke a cigarette. You'll learn what helps you, I promise".

Osferth has grown as a professional and while he still is the baby of the group, you can see how confident he has become and that adds on the hotness scale, putting him in first place.

It's a snowy day before Christmas when you finally manage to go for a cup of tea

"Now what the hell are you all doing in my kitchen?" You ask your two favorite EMT teams.

They are sprawled on the sofas, mugs in hand, chewing on food while outside the storm howls. They should be looking miserable since outside looks like Antarctica, but they are just owning the place

“There’s a snow bank, babygirl” Finan is the only one who can call you that without risking a scalpel in an eye “A what?” in you defense, you have been with a sickly patient for almost four hours and have just returned from accompanying him to the haemodynamics, you have no idea of what has been happening in the real world “Big snowbank at the end of the driveway, we are basically trapped here until the city sends someone to release us”.

Ah yes, some genius has the city council had thought smart to build the hospital at the end of a steep slope, in a part of the Country where winters are extremely cold and snowstorms are common. In the end an investigation had discovered that some bribes had been paid to place the building in that spot, too bad the hospital had already been completed and it wasn’t possible to build a new one. Fun, right? Even better is that an architect specialized in hotels was tasked to do the interior design and the spaces are all fucked up, just because it wouldn’t cost as much as another with years of experience under their belt.

“Sihtric, please tell me you are joking” you say as Hild enters, talking animated on the phone.

Sister Hild is your boss and is an actual nun. She is the most badass woman you have ever met and the best nurse you have ever walked with: she can be an angel with the patients and chew the head off management to protect her patients and her crew. She is the embodiment of the TikTok with the young doctor tries to diss the experienced nurse and everyone going “uuuh”. You want to be her when you grow up, minus the chastity wow, you love sex too damn much. Whomever she is talking to is probably shitting their pants right now and just by listening to her you know the guys are not joking. You go to the triage area to check on the waiting room and it’s absolutely empty; four hours ago it was full of people but you think that the danger of being stuck in the hospital for hours was bigger than whatever illness was ailing them. Once you are back to the kitchen you get the full story from Hild: the two ambulances are trapped here and the hospital is virtually unreachable until someone decides to clean the slope, too bad all snow plows are frantically trying to clean the streets

“Shouldn’t the hospital be a priority?” “That’s was I was trying to convey” she is fuming and you think the better strategy is to hide somewhere so that you wouldn’t incur in her wrath “Hild, you are too god a woman for this administration - Uhtred saunters to her with a big piece of nougat in his hand - eat and enjoy our company” “Will you ever change Uhtred?” “Nope” he grins, but Hild is already eating the confectionery “What are you doing here?” she asks you “Having a cuppa after seeing Mr. Richards off to the haemodynamics and then the ICU. I think I deserve it” “How is he?” “Well, on top of the pulmonary embolism, he might have a nasty fucking heart attack which our genius of a cardiologist might have recognised after four bloody hours. If the poor sod survives it’s going to be a fucking miracle. Merry fucking Christams to him and his family, I guess” “The swearing isn’t part of the standard handover” “But it adds flavor Hild” you say sprawling yourself on the last free couch, you are already tired and the shift it’s just started.

You feel your arm being touched and Osferth is there, a steamy cup in his big hands. You have no idea how, but he knows how you like your tea

“Thank you love” you smile and he reciprocates; he is so fucking cute you can feel your glucose levels getting higher.

Yes, he is stupidly good looking, but he made first place because of his kindness with patients and with you. Many times he had driven you home when your car didn’t work, he always made sure that you were sitting in the warmest place when having breakfast with them during winter, he brought you sweets when you were on triage duty and it was a bad night. You can probably name many more examples but the bottom line is: Osferth is a lovely, lovely young man with a big heart; that’s a huge win for you.

After a quick cup of tea you set on keeping abreast of the situation. You have no idea of which patients are still in the A&E and whether your colleagues need your help or not. You disappear for more than one hour, busy with reading the remaining patient’s charts and with checking the expiring dates of the equipment. By the time you are back, the guys are fidgeting in their seats, ready to hit the road again and you are stuck with the knowledge of how much of two separate species you are. They can’t wait to be out and about, even though it’s below freezing out there and you can’t fathom yourself working somewhere without walls: the mere thought of having to stabilize a patient in the middle of a street gives you a panic attack and the boys cannot fathom why you don’t like to be creative in your nursing. Your remaining crew joins you and the kitchen is so unbearably full you start itching yourself. You manage to get to Hild and ask her if there's anything you can do, otherwise you are going to hide somewhere until something happens, she tells you there's a big pharmacy delivery day shift didn't have the chance to put away. You jump at the chance to be alone in the big storage room; as much as you like your crew and the EMTs, there's too many people in the cramped room for your liking. You are halfway down the corridor when you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around to see Osferth trying to join you; he breaks into a half run which is super cute and you want to ruffle his hairs, the moment he gets to you

"Do you need a hand?" "Shouldn't you be chilling? The moment the snowbank is cleared, it is going to be hell out there".

He shrugs his shoulders

"I've sat still long enough. I need something to do or I'll drive myself crazy" "You truly are a different breed than us nurses" "You asked for work yourself" he says, the cheeky monkey "I didn't want to disappear on Hild but I hoped there was nothing to do left - he laughs with you - let's go love".

The pharmacy is actually a huge room full of shelving units and two big fridges. Osferth's eyes widen in surprise, which is the standard reaction of any single person who has never seen it. Two big plastic boxes sit in the middle of it and you snort in annoyance

"Ok so, there's no good news. Those boxes contain our stockpile for Christmas, obviously the drugs are going to be mixed up in there. Are you sure you don't want to run for the hills? I won't rat you out, I promise" you say with a smile and you see something pass very fast in his eyes, but it's probably just him dreading the work ahead and being too polite to back off now.

You take one box each and you direct him on where each type of medication is supposed to be stored. It is a job that should take no longer than an hour, considering the sheer amount of drugs, the chit chat between you two and Osferth's ignorance of the organization your unit uses. How you manage to find yourself in the most hidden corner, between a shelf and a fridge, with Osferth's head between your legs, it's beyond your scope of comprehension. He has unzipped his jacket and his face is buried in your pussy, his hands on your hips to guide your movements; your hands are buried in his short hairs and you are keening like a wounded animal just because his tongue feels like heaven buried inside of you and his nose moves just right against your clit, massaging it the way that is hurling you in the throes of a violent orgasm. You try to push his head away when it feels he is overwhelming you and he just snarls, a sound that makes you bang your head against the wall and he redoubles his efforts in making you come, plastering his face with more vigor against your pussy and just moving your hips in a way you know will make you come in no time. You hear desperate, moaning sounds and you realize it's you, coming all over his face, your legs turned into jelly as he licks you clean

"Where are you, baby monk?" You hear Finan's Irish accent in the distance and try to disentangle yourself from Osferth, who just finishes cleaning you with his tongue leisurely, as if  his partner is not getting closer to where you are hidden. When he finally stands up, he looks proud of himself, his face shining with your come. With infinite care he pushes your underwear and pants up your trembling legs and you use the proximity to snag his small cross to move his face closer to yours

"You didn't even kiss me" you pout "I'm sorry my lovely lady, I should rectify that mistake immediately".

Gods can the boy kiss, all tongue and teeth, pushing his lean body against yours, making you feel his hard on through the thick layers of his uniform pants. He makes your head spin again when he releases your lips, his tongue brushing against your palate with purpose, as if you don't already know how proficient he is with it. The magic is broken by Finan's voice getting closer, you both laugh and you clean Osferth's face with a tissue. Unfortunately there's little you can do with how red his cheeks are

"You're still hard" "Good, I'll be thinking about you for the rest of the shift. Not that I need an erection to do so" you can feel warmth expands everywhere in your body "Weren't you supposed to have almost made it into priesthood? That’s where your nickname comes from?" "Yeah, so?" "You fit the stereotype then. As soon as the clergy is away, you let go of all inhibitions".

Osferth plasters himself against your body again, caging you where you are

"Are you free for Christmas?" "We have the same shifts, I am free up the 27th night" "Good, I'll make sure to show you how much of a stereotype I can be" and he grounds his hips against yours, you moan.

Two can play this game, though and you palm his erection through the thick pants and squeeze delicately, he has to grab the shelving to keep his stance

"Want to come to my place, love?" You ask still massaging him through the thick material "Yeah" he is breathless and keeping it together by sheer force of will "How do you want me? Naked with a bow in my head? Or you'd rather like some skimpy outfit?"

He groans desperate pleadings but you are on a roll now and his hips are just following your hand's movements

"Will you let me eat a good Christmas dinner or will I be the one stuffed for three days?" Corny but it works, he comes in his own underwear with a  shout and needs a minute to gain his breath again.

He smashes his lips against yours and you are struck by the thought that the only reason Finan hasn't found you yet, is that the pharmacy is in a secluded area, but you might run out of luck. This doesn't stop you from kissing him, stating your claim on him, tasting yourself on his lips

"You are going to pay for this - his eyes burn so bright and blue you feel the heat on your skin - text me your address…" you don't let him finish "Promises, promises - you murmur against his lips - and what? Buy a full box of condoms? Don't promise what you can't deliver".

Why are you taunting him? Maybe because it's fun and the cute and compassionate baby EMT whom you have seen grow into a great professional, is far less of a cutie pie that you have previously thought and more of an unhinged sex god; in the end you have to look out for the quiet ones, that's very true.

"Buy two boxes" he says and then grabs your hand to guide you to the door, as if you don't know the way.

You find Finan and hope he doesn't realize anything, the guy has a sixth sense for these kinds of things. Luckily for you, the Irishman is way too stocked that the snowbank has been finally cleaned and he and Osferth can hit the road again.

On Christmas Eve you open your door wearing only a skimpy red outfit and a red bow on your head and Osferth is speechless, mouth hanging open and you can't help yourself to tell him he should close it or he'll get flies in there. That seems to wake him from his reverie; it's not even 10 a.m. and the two of you have already christened your sofa and the front door. Around 12 a.m. he has made you pay deliciously for having made him come in his pants. By 4 p.m. you start getting the memo that yes, you're going to be stuffed for three days straight and yes, he has the big cock you imagined him to have. You two don't finish the two big boxes of condom you have bought but that gives Osferth the assist to invite himself over the next days off you two share. He asks it while he is deep inside of you

"Pray tell, what makes you think I might want you here again?" "The way your pussy clenched the moment I proposed it" he says sassy and oozing male pride, he is so going to pay for this, you’ll make sure of that.

On the morning of the 27th, you kiss him on your doorstep, both of you are wearing more hickeys and bruises than when he had stepped through your door. He needs to go home and sleep, you need to sleep as well and the two of you know that you need to be separated to get that, otherwise you’ll fuck for the whole day and be too tired to work.

As you drive to the hospital you wonder if you haven’t made a mistake. If he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, everyone will know in no time what happened between the two of you and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to bear the jokes and the chit chat behind your back. A wave of anxiety drowns you and you have to stop on the side of the road to breathe and collect your wandering thoughts: you cannot control his actions, only your own and if he has pulled the asshole move, you are smart enough to know how to get your revenge.

In the end Osferth isn’t into kiss and tell, but makes sure a huge bouquet of red roses is waiting for you in the kitchen of the ward; his name is not on the small card but you know they are from him and you keep your mouth shut, even after a whole night of teasing from your colleagues. Obviously you invite him back to finish that box of condoms and to take your small revenge on him for his cockiness. No one is really surprised that Finan is your best man at your wedding.

[matthewloverr]

The Book P3

matt x maysen drew (femreader)

part three | part one | part two

summary: when watching the people you love destroy themselves and choose money and fame over you, you found someone else to love.

warnings: swearing, smoking (weed, cigarettes) angst, mention of substance abuse/ addiction, mentions of abuse, angst, some mentions of starving

a/n: again this chapter is pretty heavy so please read at your own risk and take care of yourself i love you and enjoy !

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

i stare at him blankly, did he really just say that, did those words come out of his mouth?? no i must’ve heard him wrong.

“masyn?” he says staring at me concern written all over his face.

“what do you mean matt” my voice cracking as i struggled to hold back my tears.

he takes a deep breath.

“that night i was gonna surprise you and show up at your house to hangout, i heard noises from the house so i parked down the street and turned my lights off, your dad sped out of there so fast he didn’t notice me”

i felt my heart go up in my throat. matt was fucking there, matt knew something had happened and never said anything.

anger pumped through my veins, im not sure why but my mind couldn’t focus on that.

i just stared at him with tears brimming in my eyes before i ran my tongue along my teeth.

“take me home” i said deadpanning out the window.

“what”

“i said, take me the fuck home”

“mays please” he pleaded begging me to look at him.

“ill fucking walk”

with that he threw the car in drive and out we went, the car ride was silent but there was so much tension. the tears just fell from my eyes and wouldn’t stop.

we reached my house and i just waiting until he left, that’s when i grabbed my own car and went to who i thought the only other person who knew, my best friend since we i was 3 and she was 5 celeste.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

i reached celeste’s house and as i walked up to the door i called her to let her know i was here.

“c-cel” you could tell by my voice that i had been crying.

“masyn? where are you?” she replied with a concerned tone.

“im outside can you let me in please”

with that i heard some shuffling through the phone and then the door unlocked and she opened it.

celeste’s pov:

i opened the door to the girl i had seen basically everyday since we were kids, she practically lived at my house. i knew the girl way too much to know that something was seriously wrong.

there she stood, on my porch, tears streaming down her face and this look like the life had been pulled out of her.

she immediately wrapped her arms around me and started sobbing. me and masyn were sisters at this point and we had maybe hugged twice in the years we’ve known each other.

i felt like i had been stabbed in the chest seeing her like this.

masyn’s pov:

i held my best friend so close i don’t even think she could breathe, i appreciated her so much for just knowing something was wrong and not turning me away.

celeste was there for everything, when my moms book blew up, when i found out she was using again, when my dad lost all our money and the night he left.

matt knew most things but the one person who would be there and listen everytime no matter what was celeste.

and i was there for her although she was a very quiet person, i would be worried at times thinking that she didn’t trust me but overtime i just learned she wasn’t a person that talked about their feelings.

and most of all i loved our friendship so much because even when we argue or just don’t talk for a bit because the world gets too hectic, we always come back together.

i loved celeste with everything in me, we never showed our affection but sometimes i just wish i could scream at her and tell her how grateful i am that she is here and how much i love her.

we walked up to her bedroom and i immediately sat on my specific spot on her bed, we just sat in silence and she gave me a minute to calm down.

“he was there cel” the words coming out of my mouth without me even registering it.

“who was there, and where?” she replied slightly grabbing my hand.

“matt, he was there the night my dad left”

i tilted my head to look at her and i watched as her face went blank.

“what do you mean he was there? did he tell anyone?” her words spat out faster than i could comprehend.

“he was outside waiting for me so we could hangout, i had no idea”

“he didn’t know the entire story but after i explained he told me and i just told him to bring me home”

we sat in silence for a bit before my thoughts cleared and then i remembered.

“oh and my dad is home”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

it had been two days since i spoke to matt, to be honest it was horrible i wanted to just text him and hangout.

that night i snuck in through my window to avoid any confrontation from my dad but with that i also never left my room.

i hadn’t eaten in two days.

i had managed to pull myself out of my bed and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

my hair was messy, i was wearing a shirt that was ten sizes too big and black shorts.

the thought of my parents barging in my room kept me up at night so there wasn’t much sleep either, and you could tell by the deep bags underneath my eyes.

i grabbed the hairbrush off my dress and attempted to brush my hair, ten minutes had gone by and a chunk of my hair was ripped out but it finally looked decent.

i immediately went to the shower and turned it on taking off the clothes that had been on my body for far too long.

i stepped in the shower feeling the warm water hit my skin, i couldn’t even think straight like what the actual hell was happening.

i hoped out and quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth and threw on a pair of grey sweats and a black tank.

here goes nothing.

i grabbed the door handle to my door and thought of everything that could go wrong in the next two seconds, i felt sick just thinking about it.

i twisted the knob and off i went, the smell of breakfast hit my nose and my stomach started grumbling immediately.

i walked down my stairs and went to the kitchen. there he was, my father sat at the dining table tapping away on his phone while sipping on a coffee.

he looked up at me and smiled from ear to ear.

it was so fucking fake.

“good of you to join us” he says while sipping his coffee.

my mother whips her head around and spots me and i almost fall to my knees. her skin was so pale and her eyes were puffed up like she had been crying.

she stared at me with a scared expression but quickly changed it to a weak smile.

“good morning hunny, where have you been?” she says as she focuses on flipping pancakes in the pan she’s holding.

“celestes” i say lying through my teeth. i didn’t want then knowing i was home this whole time.

“not excited to see your father” my dad says finally peeling his eyes away from his phone.

“no” i say blatantly as i grab a peice of bread throwing it in the toaster not daring to look him in the eye.

“that’s no way to speak to me” he says anger starting to build in his tone.

the words running down my spine making me freeze.

“sorry” i reply with my head down.

i glanced up at him and he stared at me, like right into my soul i couldn’t do it anymore so i ran up stairs completely forgetting about the toast i had just made.

i shut my door behind me and lean my back up against it, i slid down and pulled my knees to my chest and i noticed my heart was racing.

i couldn’t stay here, i whipped out my phone and clicked on the last contact i had texted. matt.

“are you free right now?”

“on the way.”

a/n: sorry if this parts a bit boring idk, anyways love yaz and see you at the next part😉

[trevorite]

I just Wish.

[Now Normally I don't write fan fiction because I struggle with Writing but I did this as a practice so I can get better :D] [Ps: This ain't happy fan fiction Sob]

The rain fell making a soft pitter patter as it hit the roof of the Villa. Kerry was fast asleep and all cuddled up to his pillow, sleeping in just his underwear as he always did. Meanwhile Vincent was outside sitting down in one of the sun loungers that were near Kerry’s lake-like pool. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a cigarette between the fingers of his other hand. It may have been raining but V didn’t care, he just… needed some time to think. It felt like just yesterday everything happened… felt like just yesterday him and Jackie were having fun doing gigs, making fun of each other, and fucking around just being gonks together. That just yesterday he had gone out and done the horrid heist at Konpeki Plaza with Jackie and T-bug.. and had lost both of them. And that just yesterday Dexter Deshawn had put a bullet into his head, and he woke up with a terrorist named Johnny fucking Silverhand Yelling at him for a smoke. Truthfully that had only been a few months ago, but it all was still so vivid. The memories kept replaying in V’s head, and every time they did he felt more and more guilty. Didn’t help that he was also dying,  getting worse by the day. Finding a way to save both him and Johnny seemed impossible at this point, but he wasn’t going to just give up, not just yet. V sat up for a moment, setting the bottle of whiskey down as he took off his jacket. “Johnny?” he called out, waiting for a response. Of course the one time he wanted to talk to Johnny he was busy doing who knows what. V sighed, as he leaned back again. He had been feeling a bit down lately, and he couldn’t figure out why.. yeah he knew one of the reasons was because he was dying, but he just didn’t understand what else was making him so down. I mean he had everything he could dream of currently, a pretty and kind lover, a body that he felt comfortable in, fuck he had even been staying in a nice home with the man of his dreams. “Damn it Vincent… everything has been going pretty great, you’ve even got some leads on how to bring back Johnny, stop being such a depressed gonk,” V muttered to himself. He took a long drag of his cigarette, now pressing the cigarette against his arm to put it out. Then he grabbed the bottle of whiskey leaning back in the lounger, taking a sip of the drink… before just closing his eyes. The rain kept falling from the sky, and at this point V was soaking wet, but he didn’t care, he loved the rain. He took this time to just think about everything, and why he had been so down lately. A few hours passed, which had only seemed like a few minutes to V.. but he had slowly started realizing why he had been feeling the way he had been. Just 2 months ago Kerry had all the time in the world to hang out with him but ever since Kerry had started making music with the Us Cracks and working on his new album they had started hanging out less. “Oh I can’t be upset with that, he’s happy, and that’s all that matters,” he spoke to himself, now softly sighing, before thinking about it more. I keep waking up to nothing. I used to wake up with Kerry right next to me, all snuggled up, but now I wake up in the morning and he’s already up, already doing something else. He’s often busy now as well, we rarely talk. Lately, I’ve only seen him in the morning playing guitar on the couch or at dinner. Working towards finding a cure has also made it hard to see or talk to him but I’ve been trying to make time. But it seems every time I am able to get some time off to just hang out with him, he’s busy. I just want things to work out in the end… but I don’t even know if Kerry has noticed that I’ve been getting worse. I can barely eat, feel sick every time I try to, and I’m getting weaker by the day. I’ve been having more frequent seizures, and barely can recover from them…

Vincent had got so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize that he had started crying, or that Johnny had appeared next to him. “Ay, kiddo I promise you things are going to work out, even if I have to get wiped,” Johnny stated as he looked down at V. “I’m not letting that fucking happen Johnny, and you know that, and you know how bad things have been getting…,” he now looked up at Johnny, “I just need you to promise me something okay fuckface?”

“Alright kiddo, have no idea what you need me to promise you, but I promise,” Johnny laughed softly, sitting down on the side of the lounge chair. “If I don’t wake up one morning and you wake up in my body… I want you to take care of Kerry for me, help him get over my death..” V looked off to the side before looking back at Johnny, “Just be there for him, make him happy… got it..?” He now closed his eyes again, yawning.

Johnny sat in silence for a moment before speaking, “Alright, got it.” Johnny said softly, running his hand through V’s hair. “I just wish we both could live, that’s all I want Johnny, for us to live and both be happy,” V stated softly, before drifting off to sleep.

[letters-from-anwei]

Who is Yun ?

I have a lot of thoughts about Cheng Yun after this new chapter... I wanted to share them so buckle up, it's a long one !

We meet Yun for the first time at th end of chapter 0. We don't even know his name yet- only that he is desperate, and dreaming of saving all of those whom are as desperate has he is.

At this point he is just a mysterious hero. We really are introduced to him at the very beginning of chapter 1. He is a high-schooler, we learn. We caught him in the middle of a conversation with a teacher. He tries to stay composed, smiling tight, trying to look apologetic, maybe ? But something slips when he talks about his mother. His tone, shown by a bigger typography, is harder.

But he always stay polite. He keeps his smile, fake or not, as he answers to his classmates, the panelling creating a separation between him and them. We understand that something, probably his sick mother, prevents him from having a normal youth.

As he strolls the city, he disapears behind smokes. We follow the narrator's tale : he is invisible to this world.

Yun gets back to his home : the dark interior clashes with the white dominated panels of last pages. His mother is here, terrifying, a force of darkness herself. But Yun seems used to it, as his face is free of any emotions. No fake smiles, barely any talking : he is the most emotionless we've seen him since the beginning.

We quickly understand that Yun's life is dictated by his mother's illness. For her sake, he silently keeps working more and more. School is secondary at this point, but he keeps going on. He (politely) rejects all of his teacher's words of help and just take extra shifts, hoping to be able to pay for his mother medication by the end. But he always refuses to take the cigarette. Maybe he still believes things will get better, if he works a bit more, if he pushes himself a bit further- he can stay in the right path.

But at the end, he made barely enough money to cover one week of medication. His face stays neutral (again). But something shifts. He asks for a cigarette. He lets go of the right path. And yet, after taking upon himself for so long, he exists for the first time : he is the one creating the smoke.

Cut to chapter 2. We catch Yun in the middle of a conversation- again. But something's different : his clothes, and the person he is speaking to. He doesn't look like a high schooler anymore, and the man isn't a kind teacher. But his fake smiles are the same.

The negociations go awry : turns out smoking cigarettes was the first of Yun's many new vices, and thivery the second. And, for the first time, he gets angry.

Until now, Yun was a very composed character. Even when he harshly answered his teacher, he never yelled. But now, as he screams in the middle of the street, as he smashes down the bottle of lyssa, symbol of Anwei, we could say that we meet him for the first time.

Frowning, his mouth distorted, feelings that he hid very deep are starting to creep to the surface- and finally explode, as he walks on the remainings of lyssa. His disdain for the actual government, until now suspected, is stated aloud, loud and clear.

What follows is sadness, or desparation, or maybe both. He runs back home sobbing, running away from the merchant, from the sentinels, from the stares of others, of his mother. But the only place he can hide is in her house. Alone, trapped in between outside and the door, the narrator asks us if he should have worked harder, kept on the right path or gone to seek his teacher's help. But on his mind is only one questions : when is this going to end ?

The answers awaits beyond the door. Yun steadies himself, stops crying and takes his emotionless face he has when facing his mother. When he enters, he encounters the hard, sad truth his mother left him with. She chose to escape in her dreams, leaving him utterly alone- and, maybe, freeing him at the same time.

With this scene, we are clearly witnessing the moment someting definetly breaks in Yun. All the anger, frustration, sadness and hate finally submerges him as he can not stay emotionless now.

How will this affect him ? How will this change him ? What new Yun will we meet in the next chapters ? I don't know ! (but i cannot wait to meet him !)

So, again : who is Yun ? He is young, so very young. He is alone, with his mother at charge. Did he loved her ? He did all of this for her after all. Or did he exploit himself out of duty alone ? He is a victim of a system and the culprits are clear. He is desperate. But this despartion is about to change into something new.

And, when nobody cares about Anwei, will he ?

[mapsareforbraindeads]

@unofficial-deathnotetober day 13: moon

TW: smoking

i'm gonna be honest this started out as something completely different but just transformed into... this.

Light always enjoyed the nighttime.

It made sense, after all. His name was read as Moon.

The night was calming, the stars would shine above him as he took in the cool air. 

This night, however, was not calming whatsoever.

The full moon hung in the sky, and Light could do nothing but stare at it as he stood outside his apartment complex. 

A cigarette rested between his fingers, tainting the world with the smell of smoke.

Light had never enjoyed the feeling of smoking, but this felt like an exception.

His father would have scolded him for damaging his lungs…

But he wasn’t here anymore.

He was dead as of two hours ago.

Light brought his free hand up to his face, and felt a small tear start to fall down. 

Why did he feel so much? He knew that no matter what, his father would die.

But it still hurt.

He pressed the end to his lips and exhaled, choking back a cough. 

He then heard the door open behind him.

“Oh, hey, Light. I didn’t know you smoked.” Aizawa.

“I don’t,” Light put out his cigarette, “Not usually.”

Aizawa sighed, “Today has been hard on all of us, you know. It’s fine if you need time to grieve.”

Light wiped at his eyes, “I’m fine. Just go home. I can handle things.”

“I’m not going home tonight. I’m needed here.”

“Aizawa, I’m-”

“Light, your father just died. You’re not fine. I can take over the task force for a few days, if you want.”

Light shook his head. He was supposed to be the God of the New World! This was a necessary loss. Who cares if it would damage his…

Family.

Sayu.

His mother.

They didn’t know.

Before he knew it, he was sobbing into his hands, Aizawa looking on with empathy.

No, he didn’t need his stupid pity!

“I’ll meet you inside.”

Aizawa hesitated, but went inside.

It would all be okay. This loss wouldn’t be in vain.

Light would win, and this would all be worth it.

Right?

[tangiblejournal56]

01/05/12

Sitting outside on the steps of the back porch, 7:18 am, smoking a cigarette, that deep longing like poison seeping into me, for your thick, hirsute arms around me, for my back to be leaning easily against your broad chest like a chair I could always sink comfortably into without worry that I might be too heavy.  I hate that you did this to me, made me the girl who aches to be called “baby” & “honey” again, who pains to understand that I will never have that with you again.  Even after so much time has passed, I can still feel it like yesterday, how easy it was to be with you.  I fake that I can have that with Max, but he is not so open with me, not like you.  You were never embarrassed of your feelings, or shy of baring them all over our world.  He also cannot love me the way you so effortlessly did, how you gave in quickly & accepted that we were soulmates, when it turns out we weren’t, we were just going to end up a year in each other’s lives just as easily outgrown.  I can’t outgrow you, no matter how hard I try, no matter how often I’ll determine that I’m getting past it.  Why you?  Why is that one year still the greatest time I’ve ever had, even amid so much awfulness & pain?  Yes, I’d do it all again, over & over, on repeat until I can no longer breathe.  I’d go through all that same pain of conceiving & abandoning & being abandoned, if it meant hearing you call me by one of your many terms of endearment, or knowing the way your mahogany hair smelled when the sun shone upon it, or the reach of your arms when I’d roll away in our khaki-colored bed, your grandmother’s quilt atop our slumbering bodies, fitted so perfectly against one another.  How it felt to live with you, in our eden, when it was still an eden, not an inferno.  I didn’t protect it the way I should have, neither of us did, not expecting that anything could be bad enough to tear us apart.  I weep knowing that I may never have that again, with any person.  There doesn’t seem to exist a love like we shared, for me, at least.  In your life of course, I have been replaced, & you seem happy.  I portray the image of contentedness to the outside world, lying even to Max that I am okay, all the while submitting to this wave of chaos inside of myself, merely surviving, each day feeling like a lie, a breath wasted.  You cannot imagine, nor understand how my feelings are still so damn alive toward you, when I would lie to anyone that you are no longer a part of my world.  You created this girl that I am now, before you I never truly loved.  And now I sit this unholy mess, wishing I had never felt a love like we shared.  I write this out knowing I can never show anyone, how they wouldn’t, couldn’t understand, not anyone I know.  The bad part about surrounding myself with tough-cored people, they all know how to survive, how to get past the bad, deal with it, move on.  I am underneath not made of any such steel, I only know how to sob for the past.  I want more than anything to get past this.  I want to have never known what it felt like to be us.  I want to go back to the girl I was before we met, before you shifted my life so inimitably, before you shook the world that I inhabit.  My own person, whole & wholly alone.  I knew how to live then.  I don’t know what it was like to be part of a whole, I only knew my particular wholeness.  I despise this feeling of incompleteness.  I am terrified I will never feel whole again, & no amount of pretending as I do with Max will cure me of this awful malady.  How do you do this, over & over?  How could I have been just a ship passing in your night, another relationship for you, when you were the relationship for me?  I hate you for that.  I miss you.  So completely.

[ppersonna]

swipe right - jjk | m

“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers

♡ summary-  after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)

♡ word count- 9k

♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.

♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia​ @untaemedqueen​ for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks​ and @hongism​ for the perusal and help in writing this!

Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.

He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.

Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.

Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.

“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.  

You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”

“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”

You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.

“I’m at our park.”

Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.

“Give me five minutes, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. 

“Okay.”

Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.

He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.

You still look so beautiful.

And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.

He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.

“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.

He sniffs haughtily. 

“The trash added character.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.

“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.

He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.

“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”

You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.

“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”

Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.

“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.

“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.

He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.

“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”

“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.  

“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”

As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.

You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it. 

“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water. 

He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk. 

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.” 

Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo. 

“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?” 

You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above. 

“You call Jimin a prince?” 

Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband. 

“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.” 

You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.” 

You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own. 

“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.” 

“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.” 

Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid. 

It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom. 

The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed. 

The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it. 

Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can. 

“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”

Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone. 

The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway. 

He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk. 

His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read. 

He just matched with YOU. 

His best friend. 

His secret, lifelong crush. 

He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it. 

YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!

He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen. 

JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?

You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other. 

Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message. 

JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀

Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone. 

A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend. 

YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies

“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone. 

Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion. 

“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”

You huff. 

“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband. 

“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.

There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line. 

“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”

You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend. 

“It’s nothing!” 

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.” 

“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”

“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”

“I’ll be expecting your call later.”

“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”

You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.

“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.

You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.

So, why do you care so much about what you wear?

You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.

Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?

The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.

You shake all thoughts off. 

No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.

You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.

Perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.

JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!

ME: See you soon!

Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.

Is he too casual?

He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.

He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.

He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.

You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.

He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.

You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams. 

“Jungkook?”

It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.

“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.

“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.

“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.

“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.

“Oh?” He asks, taken aback. 

In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.

“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”

His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly. 

“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”

The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”

A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.

“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures. 

You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.

“Well, are we going?”

Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.

But he resists.

“Let’s go!”

You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen. 

But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more. 

Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is. 

But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork. 

Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.

And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you. 

It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause. 

“What’s up?” He asks curiously. 

Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner. 

You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours. 

“Wha—oh, mmmmmm.”

Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own. 

Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to. 

As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.

Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.

“What? We were going to get ice cream?”

You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.

You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.

“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.

His body stiffens.

“Okay, let me walk you home.”

You shake your head, already moving away from the man.

“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.

Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.

You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.

“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.

“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”

“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.

“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator. 

Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.

“We’re on our way over.”

Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.

Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.

Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.

“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”

Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.

“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”

Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.

“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”

Jimin nods knowingly.

“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”

Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze. 

“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”  

You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face. 

“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”

Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”

Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.

You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.

Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light 

speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.

Ouch.

You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.

“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”

Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”

“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”

“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”

Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.

“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”

You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”

“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.

He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”

“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”

He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.

“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”

You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.

He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.

He can’t watch you run away from him again.

“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”

Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.

“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”  

He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.

The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.

“Hi Kook.”

The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.

It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others. 

Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.

Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.

“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.

The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.

“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”

He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”

He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park. 

“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”

The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too. 

“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”

He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.

The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.

“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”

The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.

The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.

“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”

The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth. 

“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”

His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm. 

He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.

“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.

Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.

The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.

It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.

It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing. 

Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.

Maybe it was too late.

You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it. 

“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”

“You should have brought a jacket.”

The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face  down the intruder.

Jungkook.

He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.

He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.

“You came.”

He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.

“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.

“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.

“Every word.”

His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.

“Why did you run away?” Another step.

You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.

“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”

One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck. 

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”

You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”

All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes. 

“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently. 

“And I promise to never run away from you again.” 

Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel. 

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself. 

“I would like it if you would.”

As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again. 

“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with. 

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing. 

“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”

Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss. 

Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip. 

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours. 

“You’re such a little smartass.”

His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly. 

He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed. 

“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?” 

You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement. 

“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.” 

Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited. 

“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle  his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs. 

His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge. 

“Oh fuck,” he breathes. 

“Feels pretty real, huh?”

“Y-yeah.” 

Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more. 

“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.” 

Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable. 

One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan. 

“How about this? Not a dream?”

He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water. 

“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”

You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently. 

“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue. 

“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue. 

You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets. 

“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”

He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully. 

“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.” 

He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body). 

Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are. 

“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”

Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down. 

“Still dreaming?” 

He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire. 

“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.

You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes. 

“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”

Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart. 

“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”

His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout. 

His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.

“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?” 

His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug. 

Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing. 

“I plan to find out everything.” 

Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.

“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.

“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.” 

He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss. 

He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you. 

“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.” 

Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body. 

He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.  

He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands. 

“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.” 

His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation. 

“You’re so pretty. So perfect.” 

He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.

His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.

One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.

“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”

His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.

“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.

“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.

“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”

He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.

“And I need you, my love.”

“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.

“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off. 

He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.

After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”

You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.

“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”

He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”

“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”

He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”

A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.

“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”

Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.

“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”

Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.

“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”

Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.

“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”

Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.

“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”

He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.

“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”

You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.

“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt. 

He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.

“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”

The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation. 

“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”

A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.

He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.

“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”

With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”

You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”

His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion. 

He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.

Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.

After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.

“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”

You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.

“All yours.”

“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship. 

You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.

You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.

“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”

Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.

“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”

Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”

Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister. 

You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.

“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.

“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”

Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.

Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.

“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”

You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.

“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”

Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.

“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”

You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.

“Sure, Kookie.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”

Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”

tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo 

© ppersonna - 2021 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[dark-mnjiro]

if i only [could] . prologue .

Author's Note: So, if people end up liking this little bit I post - I will probably continue this "fix it" fic. If not, I'll just leave it up as an open-ended one-shot drabble. But I wanted to start a new multipart fic with my lovely Shinichiro who was just taken too soon. My love for the Sano family knows no bounds.

Warnings: sano shinichiro x afab!reader, tokyo revengers spoilers, established relationship, character death/funeral, "fix it" fic, nightmares, future telling(?), dreams vs reality, dead character lives (?), AU, eventual smut (if I continue), first-generation black dragons, besties with wakasa, jokes about virginity and shin's terrible luck with women, will add more warnings if i continue.

===

. and if only I could .

. I’d make a deal with god .

. and I’d get him to swap our places .

It was strange, sitting in this room, surrounded by his family and friends. Soft sobs filled the room, but unlike them… you were running on empty, practically running on autopilot now. You heard your name before slowly glancing up and seeing Wakasa outstretching his hand. He mumbled something to you as you took his hand and shakily rose to your feet. But you couldn’t hear him. You could hardly hear anyone anymore.

Your mind seemed far away.

He gave you a reassuring squeeze of his hand as you froze in place, finding the smiling picture at the end of the aisle staring back at you. Mocking you. Almost asking why you were being so weird, so withdrawn.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of your lungs and the room as all the eyes in the room fell on you. The room was silent minus a few people whispering in the back, questioning who you were. You felt Wakasa tug your arm, but your legs would no longer work. 

After days of feeling nothing, it was as if everything you had buried washed over you at once. Your eyes widened as you looked up at Wakasa and shook your head in fear. Your mouth opened but no words came out before tears beaded in the corner of your eyes.

“I-I-”

“Hey-”

Your chest tightened before you pulled your hand away from Wakasa. Balling your fists, you felt your mind beginning to race as memories of the past replayed over and over… Choices you made and regretted playing over and over.

“I can’t-”

“Hey it’s okay,” Wakasa whispered trying to reach out to help you stay on your feet. “We can go outside-”

“I should’ve made him come home,” you said as the tears began streaming down your face. “I should’ve insisted. I told him it was okay!”

“You know that wasn’t your fault,” he said, rushing to your side as his hands placed firmly on your shoulders. “You couldn’t have known what would happen to Shin. You couldn't have known.” Wakasa paused before glancing over his shoulder toward Shinichiro’s family and giving them a small nod. “Let’s go outside. Have a smoke. We don’t have to do this today.”

“I’m a terrible girlfriend-”

“Stop that,” Wakasa hissed before leading you outside the building and pulling out his lighter and pack of cigarettes. He handed one over to you before lighting it for you as you both took a seat on a bench by a small pond.

Inhaling deeply, you slowly pulled away the cigarette from your lips before exhaling the relaxing smoke. You mumbled an apology to Wakasa for your actions and practically freezing up at Shinichiro’s funeral. His hand came up and waved you off, indicating there was no need to apologize. Staring at the pond, you watched a family of ducks swimming around and it almost felt as if the world around you was mocking you.

How dare this beautiful day to exist on such a depressing day? It didn’t seem fair that the sun was shining or that these animals continued to live. Not while you had to continue going on without Shinichiro. Replaying that night over and over again, you couldn’t help but think that maybe had you made him come home that night, maybe - just maybe - he would be alive right now.

You recalled him insisting that he had to stay late at the shop to finish working on the bike that he planned to give Mikey for his birthday. He had assured you that he didn’t mind sleeping on the couch in the office and that he would see you in the morning. One of the last messages you had sent him was “don’t stay up all night, idiot. I love you.” with his response of “love you too”.

A sigh came from Wakasa as he gave you a quick side glance. “You know,” he said. “We were all jealous that Shin had such a great girlfriend, y’know.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he replied with a shrug. “You don’t have to believe me but it’s a pretty shitty insult to call yourself this terrible girlfriend when we all thought you were the best thing that happened to him.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better-”

“And so what if I am?” Wakasa questioned, sitting up and tilting his head before taking another drag of his cigarette. As he exhaled, the smell of the smoke fill your senses and you could only be reminded of Shin. It was the same brand he would often smoke and the smell alone was so comforting. “The dumbass was so desperate for any girl, it was pathetic.”

The corner of your lips twitched into a smile. “That’s not nice.”

“And he was an idiot.”

“ANd your best friend.”

Wakasa flashed you a half smile. “Feeling better?”

You nodded. “Yes… thank you.”

“Wanna head back in?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Yes. Let’s go-”

You shot up in bed, panting. Your eyes darted around the dark room as your gaze slowly began adjusting to the darkness that filled the room. Running your fingers through your hair, you tried to catch your breath before glancing at the spot next to you in bed. 

“...babe?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched Shinichiro raise from bed with a huge yawn before rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “..Shin?”

It was as if he had just realized just how distressed you were. “Hey,” he said, frowning. “What’s wrong? C’mere.” His arms encircled around your body before pulling you into his chest. “Bad dream?”

Nodding weakly, you closed your eyes before taking in his scent. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke… A content sigh fell from your lips before your arms snaked around his waist and gave him a light squeeze. You managed to mumble an explanation of your nightmare to him before he chuckled and planted a kiss on the top of your head. It was real. He was real. It was just a nightmare. 

“I’m alright baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

“Thank god…”

“Wanna lay back down?”

Nodding again, you felt his arms release you before you both laid back down on the bed. Resting your head on his chest, you brought your hand up and used your finger to draw shapes on his bare chest, trying to ease the anxiety from that nightmare. 

“Goodnight babe,” he whispered. “We need to get some sleep. We gotta open the shop early.”

You snuggled against him. “Mhm…”

“And I need time to work on Mikey’s bike. I only have a month left.”

You froze. “His what?”

“His bike. You know, the one I’ve been planning to give him for his birthday.”

Your body tensed.

“Babe?”

Was it just a nightmare?

[harry-writings]

We’ll Be Alright

The one where Harry and Y/n have a hard time coping without one another, and Harry finally understands what it means to be a husband

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

How to support me <333

-

Y/n knows she’s hit rock bottom when she pours her fifth glass of whiskey at three in the morning, lighting up her seventh cigarette on her bedroom balcony, as if furthering herself away from her right state of mind will somehow bring her closer to all the answers she had been looking for.

She doesn’t even smoke.

The last time she came this close to a cigarette was five months before she found out she was pregnant with Topher. It was the third time Harry didn’t show up to marriage counseling, and Y/n was so upset and so angry and so hurt that she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying until it was in her hands.

This time, though, the shaking and the crying don’t stop.

She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her elbows propped up on her knees, one hand resting at the roots of her hair and the other holding her glass in her palm and her cigarette between her fingers. Her leg is bouncing and her eyes are wet, zoning herself out from the rest of the world, trying to get as far away from herself as possible.

She hasn’t seen Harry in thirteen days.

Not only has she not seen Harry, but she also hasn’t talked to Harry or had any ties left to Harry for nearly two weeks now and Y/n can barely hold herself together anymore. She’s surprised she’s even gotten this far without him.

They aren’t divorced — the papers were left on the courtroom table practically untouched, and though she hates to admit it to herself, Y/n was the first to leave them behind — but they might as well have been.

He wasn’t even the one to pick up Topher today. And she didn’t realize how much she’d miss their traditions — even the ones they’ve made while being separated — until she saw Mitch standing at the other side of her door and watched as he buckled her son into the same carseat Harry once had in his car.

It was at that moment that she knew that even though they weren’t divorced, they really were over, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Now she’s so drunk she can barely remember where she is. The skyline and the buildings look familiar, but everything is so out of touch she can’t find the same peace and comfort in it as she once used to.

Everything has faded to nothing.

And whether it’s from the alcohol, or the revisitation of bad habits, or if it’s from grieving the loss of somebody still alive, but everything to her feels numb. All that’s left is pain and sadness and the fear of living the rest of her life exactly like this — lost, hopeless, and alone.

She thinks back to the day she slept with Harry — as she does, she throws the last bit of whiskey down her throat and swallows it down without a flinch — and how that day was forever going to be the last day she had ever held him, had ever kissed him, had ever told him that she loved him.  

If she had known — really, really known — it was going to be her last chance to do any of those things, she wouldn’t have pushed him away. She would have done all the things Harry wanted — would have spent the rest of their day in bed, drinking wine, celebrating all that once was and what always could be.

Because that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she’s wanted since the beginning of this mess they’ve made of themselves, she just didn’t ever want to admit it.

This feeling that burns in her stomach at the thought of not being with Harry makes her want to scream. She can’t escape it, even as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream and takes away every other feeling in her body.

She sobs, her chin tucking into her chest and her palms pressing to her forehead, agonizing and inhumane cries falling past her lips.

Her Harry is no longer hers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a puddle of tears falling down her cheeks as she does so, her hand dropping the whiskey glass, her cigarette left sparked on the balcony floor as her fingers twist and pull at her hair. She hunches over her knees, trying so desperately to put herself back together again.

But it’s impossible. She knows it’s impossible because it’s him that makes her whole — him that holds her and keeps her together, even when everything else around her is falling apart.

She’d do anything to feel his arms around her now.

And it’s all she can think about — how lonely and cold and frigid it feels without the feel of his touch, and how loud the silence is without the sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how in love with her he is, giggling at her blush.

And she’s had so much to drink she can trick her mind into believing that he’s here, if she thinks about it hard enough. She mistakes the wind for the feel of him walking past her, smells his cologne in the liquor, but it’s still too quiet for her to really, truly believe it.

And she just wants to believe it. For once, she wants to pretend that he’s here with her, loving her, wanting her the way he always used to. Even if it’s the wrong thing to do.

Her hand shakingly reaches for her phone.

“‘Ello, this is Harry! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your call, but I promise to return to you whenever I’m next available. Thank you, talk soon! Bye.”

And oh, how good it feels to hear his voice again.

It brings her back to all the times she’d call Harry while he was away on tour and how every phone call lasted at least two hours. Whether it was to check up on him, or to wish him goodnight, or to have phone sex, he never failed to make every second they were spending apart feel so worth it.

She calls him six more times just to hear his voicemail.

By the seventh and last phone call, Y/n is so low she’s tempted to just finish it off — down the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey that have kept her more company than her husband. Maybe filling her void with vices will be enough to last her until the blackout, where she will finally be free.

But what will she have left if she does?

The loneliness and the sadness and the hopelessness will all still be there. She will still wake up to a cold bed, in an empty home, with nobody to share her life with. She will still have this sick and twisted feeling that happiness doesn’t exist outside of her Harry — that happiness doesn’t exist within these walls, miles away from him, with only herself to hold.

She can’t keep waking up without him anymore. She can hardly keep living.

So, she does the first and only thing that comes to her mind.

She calls Mitch.

The clock nearly at four in the morning doesn’t seem to strike her as her drunken fingers struggle to tap on his contact name, knowing that this is the only way.

“Mitch.” Y/n hiccups when he answers her call, watching as everything around her starts to spin out of her control, instinctively reaching her hand beside her to hold onto Harry’s — the way she always did whenever she got too drunk. Her heart hurts even worse than before when she’s met with nothing but the ache of what once was. “Come get me, please.”

Something in the air shifts around Mitch.

He has known Y/n for years now, yet he can barely recognize that it’s her voice on the phone. He has to look down at the name on his phone twice before pressing the speaker to his ear, his heart nearly still as he wonders the reason behind such a disturbing and unexpected request.

“Y/n… is everything alright?” He asks tentatively, carefully, because she’s never awake this late at night and has never sounded so hurt. “What’s happened, love?”

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, almost angrily.

“My husband’s been ignoring me for the past two weeks and I’m not —” She stops, sucking in a broken breath, not even believing the words she just spoke because she never believed he’d leave her all alone for so long. “I’m not taking it so well, obviously.”

Mitch sighs.

He should have known, from the second he saw the look on her face earlier that evening, that her night was going to end like this. The love she and Harry share is a kind he’s never seen before — something so far from ordinary, something he couldn’t even understand despite the love for his own girlfriend, who lays beside him so peacefully now.

Their love is more than love. It’s deeper, more soulful, as if they have found each other in every past life and every after life. They truly are, in the most unexplainable of ways, made for one another eternally. Forever, they are theirs.

It’s both a blessing and a curse — their preexisting connection— because they are everything together, but absolutely nothing apart.

“Y/n, love... he’s not ignoring you. He wouldn’t dream of it.”

Oh, how she wishes it was true.

“He didn’t even want to see me tonight. He sees me two days out of the week and he didn’t even want that. There was a time he’d do anything just to look at me for even a second.”

He wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see her — all he does is cry and whine and sulk about how he hasn’t — he just believes leaving Y/n alone is truly what’s best for her right now.

She has barely had any time away from him. Surely, she did have the weekdays to herself and Topher, but she still had to see him every weekend — still had to face him at her doorway; still had to be around him, even on her worst days; still had to be reminded of everything that had gone wrong.

Being around him confuses her. He knows that now, and so does Mitch. But Mitch always knew. Y/n has always been too in deep with Harry. One proper look at him would be enough to send her to her knees.

He’s her greatest weakness.

She needs to be alone.

Or, so he once thought.

“Have you been drinking?”

Y/n laughs in an almost sarcastic way, the side of her wrist pulling at the corner of her eye as she wipes away at her tears.

“Drinking, frying my brain with nicotine, crying my fucking eyes out.” Her lips tremble as she stuffles away a cry. “All of the above.”

Mitch frowns.

This behavior isn’t unusual for her — it hasn’t been since her marriage with Harry started to turmoil — but it never gets easier to witness.

It’s when she’s in the depths of her own hell that she depends on the intoxication to get her by, as if it numbed her from all the pain she’d be living with without it. And as hard as it is for him to admit it, she only ever feels this way whenever it comes to Harry.

This side of her never existed until she met him.

“You want to see him, don’t you?”

To see him. To touch him. To talk to him. To hold him. She wants it all, everywhere, for the rest of the night — for the rest of her life if he were to let her.

But she can’t get ahead of herself. She won’t be able to survive it if she does.

“Even if it’s just for a second.”

His heart falls.

“Will it get you to put down the drugs and alcohol?”

Her eyes linger at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and though it still calls for her just as strongly, she knows it’s not what she truly wants.

“Yeah.”

She can hear him smile softly through the phone.

“Then hang tight, love. I’m on my way.”

-

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep all night.

And if he wanted to get technical, he supposes he hasn’t been able to sleep since he and Y/n nearly signed their marriage away, but tonight is far, far worse than anything else he’s ever felt.

His body senses his good days. The sun somehow brighter, the rain lighter, the clouds thinner — he sees it all so differently on the days he goes to see Y/n. He’s used to the routine, he looks forward to it all week, even if it is just to see her for a couple minutes at her doorway.

So to say his body feels the loss of her is an understatement.

He caught himself reaching his hand over to her side of the bed one too many times, only to shiver and whine when met with the emptiness of it. His fingers would squeeze at her pillowcase, hugging it closer to him, fantasizing about her smell and her feel as he tried to drift into his dreamland — that only, of course, consisted of her.

But it was helpless.

He moves to the living room couch, where he finds himself flipping through the photo album of their wedding day — the same one he claimed he had thrown out when Y/n asked if she could keep it, moments before she was about to move out after he had brought the divorce papers home.

Of course he hadn’t thrown it out, but he could never tell Y/n about the lies he only told to make himself feel better about his decision.

He was angry and he was hurt, both of which consumed him in the scariest and most dangerous of ways, leading him to sink his teeth in a lie and spitting it in her face just to make her feel all those things, too. Though he’s sure she already did.

But as he flips through the pages now, reliving that day torturously in his head, remembering how beautiful she looked and how in love he was, he can’t help but feel like these moments weren’t his to take.

He had kept their home — had kept the furniture they bought together when they first moved in, kept all the movies and cd’s they’d play together each night, kept all the pictures she had chosen for the walls and tables he hadn’t had a clue on how to decorate.

He stayed so perfectly in their past while she was forced to move on, away from him, when she wasn’t even the one who wanted to leave.

He had truly taken everything from her — her love, her trust, her marriage, her home — and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the one and only thing she had asked for before she left.

That day was hers, it always has been and it always will be. She never once gave up on it the way he once had, always holding it so close to her, always cherishing its moments.

This simply doesn’t belong to him.

He presses his forehead down to a picture of Y/n wildly smiling at the camera, her hair styled up, makeup slightly smudged, as if holding her to him. And he rubs his thumb along the laminate, right against her cheek, in the same way she always liked.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs out before he can try to reason that it’s not her, that she can’t hear him, that she can’t feel the way he’s holding and touching her right now, that he looks like a lovesick idiot for thinking this is anything close to the real thing.

None of that matters to him right now, though, as he holds the picture to him and realizes this is the closest he has been to her in so long. And she needs to know.

She just needs to know.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

-

Harry must have cried himself to sleep because the next thing he knows, his front door slams open against the foyer wall, julting him off of the photo album and leaving him with dry and confused eyes.

Without much of a second thought, he throws the photo album off his lap and stands frantically from the couch, his head twisting around in an attempt to follow the footsteps scurrying towards the living room.

He knows it’s her just from that sound alone.

“Y/n?” He calls out in question, still delusional from his sleeping state, wondering if he had even woken up at all.

But it’s when he sees her stumbling toward him with soaken and beaten eyes that he knows this isn’t just a dream — that she really is here, back in their home, with him at last. And he would be happy, would be so goddamn happy to have her in front of him again, if she didn’t look so broken.

He can’t stand the sight of her like this.

“Y/n?” He asks again, devastated.

But she doesn’t answer him. Rather, she does the one and only thing her mind can make sense of now that he’s in front of her again.

Her trembling hands cradle the back of his neck before pulling her to him, their lips meeting for a sloppy, drunken, frenzied kiss — one that nearly has Harry falling to his knees before her.

She pushes him onto the couch, barely giving him any time to compose himself before she sits herself down on his lap and kisses him again, hard — harder than before and harder than she ever has, she thinks.

Teeth clattering, tongues battling, mouths opening, lips smothering. It’s desperate and messy and sloppy, but she doesn’t want it any other way.

She knows this feeling. She wants this feeling. It’s what she keeps going back to because it’s safe and warm and familiar. She could be in the middle of nowhere, lost with no direction or any sense of belonging, yet the feel of his lips on hers would somehow make her feel at home, just the way she is.

She moans against him, her hands splayed on the back of his head and neck as if to keep him there — on her, with her.

His hands, however, don’t know where to go. They switch between her arms and her thighs, setting boundaries for himself because he’d give into her in a heartbeat if he were to touch her just right. And he’s already doing so much he shouldn’t, he’d ruin himself if he were to go any further.

So as a subtle way to slow it down, he drags his lips down to her chin before leaving open-mouthed kisses along the shape of her neck — devouring her taste, savoring the sweetness.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her, so much so he can’t even remember the reason he let it all go. Right now, in this moment, nothing seems worth it enough to ever give this up.

He can hardly think straight.

“Y/n, please don’t do this to me…” Harry whines against her collarbone, her touch and smell and feel overwhelming him beyond all forms of comprehension. “This isn’t you. We’ve been here before and —”

“And I want to make it right this time.”

He nearly cries.

He bites down gently on the base of her throat, nibbling at it, a strangled whine falling from his lips as his hands slither to her back, pushing his body up against hers as if to bring her closer. And he growls silently to himself as she starts grinding herself against him.

“Y/n —”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Baby…” He tries again, to which she giggles and smiles as she nibbles on the lobe of his ear. He gets lost in it for a moment — to hear her laugh, to feel her hands rub along his chest and up his neck, to have her so close, like nothing ever happened — but he snaps himself out of it just as quickly as he fell into it. “You’re drunk.”

He tries to reason, to make her see that he does want this, more than anything else in the world, but he can’t. Because if it were to happen again, he wants it to be real. He wants her to mean it, to need it, to be all in it with him the way he’s all in it with her.

He wants her to stay.

“I’m only drunk because I miss you so much.” She confesses breathlessly to him, to which he groans and throws his head back, as if he were in pain. “So give me what I want and nothing else will matter.”

His hands find purchase to her hips, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of them as he tries to steady the movement of her groin against his, desperate to hold himself together. But she makes it so hard when she knows exactly where and how to touch him — when she knows that he can never resist her all over him, begging for more.

His eyes are pinched forward and closed, his head still hanging off the edge of the couch, words seeming to fail him as she moans against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it as she works herself harder against him.

“Fuck, you know I want to.” He croaks out, his hands giving into their urge to wander every dip and curve and inch of her, even the places he shouldn’t. “You know I do.”

Good, she thinks. I want you to want it. I need you to want it. I want you to want it so bad you give it to me all night, all morning, all day. I need you to want me.

She lifts her head up from his shoulder so that she can look at him with a winning smirk, both of her hands fisting at the collar of his t-shirt to steady herself upon his lap, her movements now smooth and effortless, giving him everything he needs to give in.

He lets out a proper moan at this, allowing himself a moment of weakness to feed his undying greed.

His mouth hangs open and practically drools as he touches her in ways he’s been aching to, rubbing himself against her, allowing her lips to wander anywhere and everywhere they craved.

It all feels so good and all so right, he wishes it was enough to make things work, but he knows in his heart that it isn’t.

Not now, at least.

“But I can't — I can’t take advantage of you. I — oh, fuck!” He yelps from below her when her arm sneaks between them so her fingers can scratch at the skin of his upper inner thigh, mercilessly giving him everything that has ever made him feel good.  

And it’s all too much.

One more right touch in the right place and he’s done for, as pathetic and weak as that makes him. But it’s only for her. Only for her does he find himself shuddering and moaning and creeping on the edge for, one push away from falling off, waiting to be caught by her.

After all this time, after all they had been through — all the fighting, all the tears, all the downs and lows they’ve lost themselves in — she still consumes him whole. She still is and forever will be the only person he’ll ever love like this.

There is nothing and nobody else. There is only her.

Which is why he can’t let himself do it. He can’t let her do it.

So right before he reaches the end, his hands frantically grab onto hers and pin them down against each side of his legs, her forehead meeting his shoulder, her body collapsing onto his.

“No!” He bites through clenched teeth and shut eyes, his hands squeezing hers as his body ricochets back to reality, yet still holding her close. “No, no, fuck. No.”

And whatever remained of Y/n’s heart burns to a crisp at that one godforsaken word.

Harry never denies her.

Even at their lowest and darkest moments, her simple touch made him powerless. He succumbed to her even when he told himself he wouldn’t, gave into her touch like a drug he couldn’t get off of no matter how hard he tried, drowned in her love even when he swore he no longer craved it.

It’s the very reason Y/n found herself pregnant in the midst of their downfall. Harry never stopped wanting her.

She should have known that everything was different now, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Oh.” Y/n’s lips tremble, her eyes wide with woe, glossy with burning tears as she looks at him through slow blinks. “I get it, I —”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She’s nearly sobbing now, her breaths heavy and frantic as she pushes herself away from him, practically falling off of his lap. And if his head wasn’t so clouded from what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t have let her go.

She’s a mess, a kind he’s never seen in her before and it breaks him in two when he sees her face soaked in tears, her hands trembling as they push her hair back, her eyes looking at everything but him.

He is just so sick of her looking away from him, and so tired of watching her cry.

He never wanted this.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harry speaks softly, his hand reaching out to grab ahold of hers before she has the chance to walk out on him again. And the shock of his touch is enough to bring her right back to him. “Baby, this is your home more than it is mine. Your son is here, I am here, don’t ever think you have to be sorry for wanting to come home.”

She’s silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his words and what they mean. But it’s so hard to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be holding his hand, and how that’s all it took to get the room to stop spinning around her.

She trusts him.

Whatever he wants out of this and whatever he’s thinking, she trusts. Her body wouldn’t be so reliant on him if she didn’t. And it’s been years since she’s felt this feeling she feels so fiercely now, but she could never mistake it. It was once the most familiar feeling in the world to her.

He rubs at her knuckles, patiently waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t, her gaze just drunkenly fixated at their intertwined fingers, a hint of longing in her eye.

Even when he’s right here, holding her, convincing her to stay… she still feels as though he isn’t all hers. She wants more of him, as if she hasn’t seen and touched and loved every inch of his body and claimed every last beat of his heart.

She is the only one and yet she feels as though she’ll never be enough for him, after all this time, after all these years spent together. It makes him feel like the worst person in the world.

He lifts her hand up to his lips, as delicate and gentle as possible, just the way she likes.

“And as for kissing me.” He adds, eyes looking up fondly at her as he kisses at her knuckles one by one. “You’re my wife, it’s what I want. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes we once did.”

He settles her fingers against his mouth for a moment longer before pulling her closer to where he sits, looking insistently in her hopeful eyes.

“If we sleep together… it’ll only drive us more apart, just like it did the last time. And I swear to god —” he hangs his head off the edge of the couch again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom the idea of it. “If I have to go another day without seeing you, I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m fucking miserable.”

She knows it’s true. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, sleeping together without speaking to one another would only bring them back to the same dark, numbing cycle they’ve been through for far too long now.

But she wants to milk it — wants him to do whatever he can to get her to stay because she needs to know he really wants it, needs to know he really wants her, before it’s too late.

And when Harry lifts his head back up to look at her, his heart nearly explodes from within him.

“Come here.” He tugs softly on her hand, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees Y/n pouting down at him with furrowed brows — the same face she used to make whenever she wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t. It brings him back to all their happiest times. “Come here!”

He pulls her down to him until she lands on his lap, both of them laughing as she nearly trips over her own two feet.

The moment stills when their eyes meet, however, the giggling dying down and their smiles falling as they captivate each other with just a single look.

His fingers move her hair out of her face, his palm resting on the side of her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the skin of her blush as he admires just how beautiful she’s gotten since the last time he had seen her.

And she does the same to him — her fingers pulling at his hair, dancing along his scalp, humming in admiration as her eyes wander every dip and curve of his face. He is just so perfect, it endlessly mesmerizes her.

“I’ve missed you.” She confesses softly, her gaze trained on his lips, her tongue poking out to lick her own.

“I’ve missed you so much more, my love.”

And they meet for a kiss — a real kiss this time. Not the hungry, desperate, fevered kisses they’ve been sharing since their separation. It’s slow, their lips just settling against each other’s, refusing to move, only leaning in deeper when desired.

It’s how he kissed her on their wedding day.

She remembers how different it was, now, as she feels it again — full of vows and promises, hopes and dreams, a hint of sorrow for all the times he had let her down, and how he’d never wish to do it again.

Quite truthfully, she never wants it to end. She could stay pressed against his lips like this all night and never once get tired of it — would probably beg for more if it ever came down to it. But she doesn’t have to anymore, she knows that now.

They both pull away together, dopey and loopy smiles painted on their faces. And it doesn’t get better than this.

“Can I show you something?” He whispers to her, his thumb pets at her temple, circles and circles. “And know that when I give it to you, it’s me trying to make this right again? No matter how much it hurts?”

His breath falters when her lips press gently against his wrist, humming a small “mhm” against the skin of it.

She always did that whenever she could. Whether he be holding her cheek, or rubbing at her head, or running his fingers through her hair, her lips would seek just the smallest bit more of him. And it always warmed him to feel it. It reminded him that yes, she did in fact love him and want him and need him with the same burning he has for her.

It always felt too good to be true.

And to know that she’s feeling it all over again makes every worry in the world collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the life he had always desired with her, and the hope that it only gets better from here.

He smiles in endearment, his own lips seeking the sole of her cheek before he turns his body to the fallen photo album, his fingers shaking as he reaches for it.

She gasps before he even has the chance to sit up fully.

“Is that —” she stops before she finishes, her hand flying over her suddenly trembling lips because it is.

He looks at her with eyes full of regret as he holds the photo album out for her to take, but she’s in too much shock. All she can process is that it’s here, still alive in the home they once shared, not shredded and burned and broken like she always thought it was.

And it just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that over a year ago, he told her a lie that ripped her apart from the inside out every day since he’d spoken it. It doesn’t matter that all she had left of their wedding were the moments captured in her memory, to which she went back to every night before bed.

It just doesn’t matter because she’s just so happy to see it again — so, so, so fucking happy that she can’t help but sob into her palm, admiring it, somehow at peace with the idea of reuniting with it with her husband right beside her, shedding the same tears as she is.

All she has ever wanted is happening all at once, and she couldn’t ask for more.

“Can we look through it?” She sniffles, her fingers graciously running along the cover of it.

He pulls her in closer, his head nodding, a breathy laugh of euphoria falling from his lips.

As if she even had to ask.

-

It was the next morning that Harry decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Upon waking up to an empty bed, there wasn’t this overwhelming sense of sadness rippling through him, or loneliness drowning him to his duvets, refusing to set him free. It felt… right, and warm, and safe, and like it had always meant to be this way.

He was weightless as he carried his naked body over to his dresser, where he slipped on a new pair of briefs and one of his plain white t-shirts. He even found himself humming a tune he only ever sang to on good mornings.

And it was when he made his way downstairs that he started to hear his company.

He found Y/n in his day old t-shirt, holding Topher at her hip, flipping pancakes at the stovetop, humming and bouncing to the beat of a song they played during their wedding ceremony.

Her hair was unbrushed, her nail polish chipped, one of her socks pulled too high and the other too low, in her most hungover state. And the world stopped turning then, it seemed. Because it was the most simple and most casual sight to see, yet something he was once so blinded to.

He finally felt at home.

And it was as if nothing else had ever really, truly mattered. His world simply revolved around the two littles ones in his kitchen, getting their hands messy with pancake batter, giggling with every other step they took.

And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

Which is exactly how he ended up here — seven hours later, standing on one knee in front of his wife, whose hand fits so perfectly in his.

She sits cross-legged upon the kitchen chair, her plate half empty and on her second glass of her mocktail. And if he had more preparation, he would have taken her out instead of settling for her favorite home cooked meal. But something about doing this here, in the home they once shared together, at their happiest hour, feels much more real to him.

“H? What are you doing?” Y/n asks with wide eyes, looking down at their intertwined hands, squeezing onto his tighter.

“I know we’re already married, but I needed to do this anyway.”

He sucks in a breath as the pad of his thumb passes through her knuckles, slightly flicking her engagement ring in the process.

“When I left earlier, it wasn’t for work. I mean, it was for work but not — but not in the way you may think.”

Y/n tilts her head down at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart races with all the endless possibilities, the pit in her stomach falling with it. And she really does try to not seem worried, but she can’t help but let it crash over her.

She had just gotten her husband back. Finally, she’s his and he’s hers and that’s all she ever wanted. That’s all she ever needed, so how is she expected to say goodbye so soon?

How would she ever survive it?

“I terminated the contract.”

Her heart stops beating.

Her body sits frozen still as Harry bites at his bottom lip, where he hides a smile.

This truly is it — the beginning of their forever, the start to the life they always wanted to share alone, with no distractions, no obligations, no anything besides each other and their child — and he doesn’t want it any other way.

“I’m done with having a career that takes me away from you. And I’m so sick and tired of pretending like this is the life I wanted to have with you. It wasn’t, baby. It isn’t.”

But she just can’t believe what she’s hearing.

The words had translated yet somehow, she can’t make sense of them. She can’t make sense of anything as her mind twists and turns around what they could mean and what it could mean for them as a couple.

“You — you terminated the contract? I don’t — I don’t understand. I —”

"If it were ever to come down to you or my music, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” The fingers of his free hand twist at her wedding band, hypnotizing her. “I did it all for you — the writing, the touring, the traveling. My future with you was all I ever cared about and yet, I had somehow convinced myself that my music meant more to me, when it never really did.”

Her breaths get deeper and deeper, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And if it weren’t for the tears of happiness leaking from her eyes, Harry wouldn’t know what she’s truly feeling inside.

But he knows. Oh, how he knows.

“I choose you, Y/n. And I choose Topher and I choose our Alaskan home everyday for the rest of our lives. That’s what I choose. That’s what I will always choose.”

It’s those words that make her really start to lose it.

How long she had been waiting for this moment, she can’t even remember anymore. So much time has passed and yet everyday, she dreamed and hoped and prayed and died to hear him say that to her.

She had been waiting for so long, she once believed them to be impossible.

But here he is on one knee again, sacrificing his entire life and heart and soul just to make their marriage right. He wants to leave the music behind rather than leaving her to be all alone. He wants to move away from the life he had built for himself and rather spend the rest of it with her.

He wants her, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he finally wants her.

“But — but you — how? How did you — what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about the how, okay? What matters is that I made it work and I have more than enough to last our family a lifetime. I promise you that.”

One of her hands reaches forward to cup at his cheek, pulling herself closer to him because she needs to feel him, all of him — needs to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath.

She needs it all, all around her, until she drowns in it.

“Don’t care about the money, just — just want to make sure you’re okay.”

His wife is reaching for him, pulling him in, wanting and loving him despite everything he put her through… how could he not be okay?

He’s on top of the world right now.

“Baby, I’m so much more than okay. I have you, don’t I?” She nods her head as she wipes her tears away, sniffling with trembling lips and shaking hands. “Then that’s all I need.”

She sobs against him, her face tucked in his shoulder as he holds her hands between them, kissing at her head.

And sometime in the near future — when Harry and Y/n have found everything they had lost, have grown to be better together than ever spent apart, and have become the best parents they could ever be to their son — he’ll rent out a small venue in the outskirts of town and renew his wedding vows to his wife, whom he plans to never be parted from, even in death.

“So, Y/n, baby love.” They both giggle at the pet name, her head lifting from his shoulder and meeting his eye halfway. “Will you please do the honors of being my lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of our disgustingly perfect child, in our home in Alaska? Forever?”

She nods her head, her thoughts clouded by euphoria, her hand still in her husband’s.

As if he even had to ask.

[johnnycakez]

[First post hello outsiders fandom (:]

Desc;

Angst

Sensitive Topics

Su!cude

Hurt/No comfort

[staring off with angst, why not? johnny x reader is implied]

—

It was a regular day in the far side of Tulsa. Gangs were fighting, police were rushing around, neighbors were yelling, dogs were barking. Just a usual day.

Although.. I guess you could say everyone has different perspectives.

It was silent last night.

You stared at your feet dangling off of your bed, slowly swinging them back and forth. Just a few hours ago you had gotten home after seeing a move with Pony, Dally, and Johnny. Johnny and Ponyboy got busy talking to two other girls Dallas had previously harassed, so you decided to leave. No one really noticed. You told them you were going to get some popcorn and you never came back.

Well, you thought no one noticed, at least. Johnny was thinking about it all night but never really said anything about it. Maybe you got bored and left, nothing personal, he got it.

But being alone wasn’t your strong suit. When you were alone, you had time to sit there and think. Nothing good comes out of thinking. Ever. That’s what lead you to this now. Rope in hand, chair pushed under your ceiling fan. You decided to wait no time, adrenaline rushing and hands trembling. Feeling like you were going to cry but you knew you wouldn’t be able to if you tried.

You stepped up onto the chair, pulling your head through the loop of the rope, and tying the other end on the ceiling fan with a strong knot. You stood there for a minute, body shaking. Memories flashed through your head.

You thought of the gang.

How would Johnny feel when he saw you? How would Sodapop, who cared for everyone, scream? How would Darry feel to lose another person close to him? How would Dally, who already had no hope feel about the world now? How would Two-Bits grin, which was always stuck on his face, drop?

Regret and guilt rushed through your body. Maybe it was best to go visit Johnny in the lot, or maybe even stop by the Curtis’ house and talk it out with someone.

You went to pull the rope around your neck off, when you felt a sudden drop, and a stinging pressure around your throat.

The chair beneath you had broken. It was a shabby wooden chair. You should’ve thought this through.

You clawed at the rope, trying desperately to scream for someone or get a breath, but the only noises made were your failed attempts of breathing.

——

[9:58 AM.]

“PONYBOY!”

Darry hollered, setting 8 plates down on the table. He made breakfast for everyone today, which was something that rarely happened, but he had the money this week, so why not?

Two-Bit rushed out of the brothers’ shared room with Pony over his shoulder, cackling as Ponyboy yelled at him to put him down.

Steve and Sodapop were having their daily arm wrestl, Dally was smoking, standing by the TV, while Johnny walked in.

“Wheres [Name]?” Dallas asked, cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“I was hopin’ she’d be here.. haven’t seen her since the movies last night.” Johnny replied, quiet.

“Prolly sleepin’, that girl..” Two-Bit commented with a grin on his face.

“We can’t blame er’.. we know how hard it is for her to get out of bed. Give it another.. 5 minutes and one of us’ll go check on her, alright?” Soda butted in.

“Yea.. just uh, give her some time. She’ll be here sooner or later.” Johnny agreed.

[10:15 AM.] The gang finished up breakfast, and Two-Bit was already started on a beer. Ponyboy looked over at the plate that still had eggs and a small slice of chocolate cake on it. He shuddered.

Darry noticed, and watched as Sodapop said something, probably to comfort him.

“I say we all go to [Names] place. We can cheer er’ up and help her get outta bed.” Steve announced, and eventually, everyone agreed.

Johnny’s heart beat picked up. Why did he feel so .. weird?

[10:30 AM.] As the gang rushed into the apartment complex and got weird stares, Two-Bit made it to her door, second behind Johnny.

“You alright, Johnnycakes? You look pale as a ghost.” Sodapop pat his head, and Johnny nodded.

“I’m alright.” He lied. Why was he sweating so much?

Dally took note of that.

“Alright, let’s not stand here like a buncha weirdos. Someone knock.” Dallas barged in.

Two-Bit knocked the gangs special knock.

“Wakey wakey, [Name]! There’s chocolate milk back at Darrys calling your name!”

...

No response.

Johnny knocked a little louder.

“[Name], you gotta get up now..” he said a little loud.

...

“She’s a heavy sleeper.” Darry knocked with force.

.....

“We look like a bunch a’ hoods tryna kidnap a girl. [Name]! We’re comin‘ in.” Steve shouted, and let Johnny take over because he knew he had the only spare key to your apartment.

The door was gently pushed open, a faint breeze hitting the boys’ face who were in the front, followed by a strong smell..

They all eventually walked in, and Darry turned the light on.

Silence filled the air.

What the hell...

What the hell?

Ponyboys knees buckled and he threw up the eggs, chocolate milk, and chocolate cake just served. Sodapop shakily put a hand on his back, his eyes not moving from your figure.

Johnny stared.

You were pale. You had deep eye bags which were coated with dry tear stains, and red marks and bruising all around your neck. He looked down at the broken chair beneath you.

He thought of how much you must've struggled. He understood the situation immediately like he was there. He choked on his own breath, and felt hot tears streaming down his face. Johnny never cried.

“[Name]...” he sobbed out.

Two-Bit was standing in fear, his happy go lucky grin long gone, now replaced with a frown and tears.

Dallas‘ face was completely blank. Any smirk that may have been there that morning was wiped away.

Steve backed up so much that his back met the wall, and he stood there.

Darry ran a hand through his hair, quickly turning around to hide his miserable attempt to not cry.

Johnny was hyperventilating, hands cupping your face. He was mumbling something over and over. No one understood him. No one understood anything now.

If you payed close attention to Johnny, though, you could hear a faint.

‘i love you, i’m sorry.’

[gohyuck]

smoke and cherries

or, alternatively, bonnie & clyde

pairing: criminal!jeong yunho x criminal!reader

genre: fluff (between yunho & the reader), some suggestiveness

warnings:  mentions of smoking cigarettes, armed robbery, guns, theft, what is literally cold-blooded murder actually (minor character death of a convenience store clerk), reader and yunho are definitely like… screws lose in a murdery way, reader sucks blood off of yunho’s fingers for a second (i’m so sorry it’s kinda fucked up), yunho blows his smoke into the reader’s face but it’s like consensual, littering

word count: 1.4k

“since when d’you keep suckers on you?” yunho lets the question escape out the side of his mouth in tandem with the smoke of his cigarette, and when you look over at your other half, his expression is as amused as his words are inquisitive. his eyes are already back on the road ahead of you, though you don’t doubt that he’d been gazing upon you a second ago when he’d asked about your new vice. you swirl your tongue around the bright red candy one more time for good measure before pushing it into one of your cheeks, stick jutting out the very corner of your slightly chapped lips.

they hadn’t had cherry back when you’d been growing up, the concept of it only having been introduced during your high school years. you find that it’s your favorite flavor now. perhaps novelty doesn’t wear off.

“since this mornin’,” you respond after a beat, your lips pulling into a teasing grin while you allow your words to sink in. once the meaning behind your words has settled, yunho can’t help but laugh softly but genuinely, removing the Lucky Strike from between his lips before resting his hand, cigarette between two lithe fingers, over the edge of the window. it’s a sweet moment between lovers; a shared secret.

between the soft mirth in your eyes and the red stain on your tongue, between yunho’s rounded features and good-natured gaze , there’s not an outsider in the world that would guess just what the two of you find so funny.

you’d grabbed a bag of lollipops at the Southland Ice Company store the two of you had hit up in the morning. there’d been a sign - hand-painted, by the looks of it - on the wall above the candy bin, something or the other about a discounted rate. free is a discount, right?

the two of you may seem sweet, unassuming, even kind in this stolen moment, but if anyone knows better, it’s you. then again, not many people have seen you with red stains on your clothes and lived to tell the tale. even less have survived yunho when his eyes switch from soft and loving to a cold, steely glare. he never looks angry, no: just soulless. you have never seen your lover feel remorse.

this thrills you. birds of a feather.

you let your tongue wrap around the lollipop once more, wrapping a finger around the stick to pull it out of your mouth for a second to savor the flavor that now coats your tongue. there’s a torn-open package with other cherry candies in the back somewhere, hidden under piles of other things that were free-but-not-really. the clerk had been too busy cowering under your boyfriend’s sneer - and the barrel of his Browning Automatic - to notice you swiping the suckers.

on one hand, you can’t imagine a better image to see before dying: there’s something undeniably sexy about yunho with his finger against a trigger and a lack of soul behind his eyes. on the other… it’s just a little fascinating, you think. working day in and day out at a shitty job must be the most awful, crushing thing possible, and yet the fool behind the Southland counter still wants to live. he’s still sobbing, snot running over his lips and a wretched, choking noise bubbling up from the depths of his throat as he begs for his pathetic little life, hands shaking as he drops stacks of bills into the bag in yunho’s other hand. 

 you stuff the lollipops into your own oversized bag, scouring the shelves for things of more worth. there’ll be a shady dealer or two in a neighboring city that’ll be willing to take most anything off of your hands, you’re sure of it. at first, the man’s hysterics don’t really bother you: this is fairly run-of-the-mill. still, your patience wears away over time: there’s only so much caterwauling you can take before your eardrums beg for release. 

“baby,” you call from one end of the store, dropping a few bottles of medicine into your bag, not bothering to read their labels. the bawling rises in volume at the sound of your voice. before you can say anything else about getting the collateral to be quiet, yunho beats you to it.

“shut the fuck up,” he growls, voice loud enough and low enough that you can hear him clearly despite being across the cramped building. there’s a dull thunking noise, followed by a soft whimper, and you know that the barrel of yunho’s rifle is now against the clerk’s forehead. you can’t help the giggle that escapes you: you love this part. your boyfriend lets out an airy chuckle in response to your laughter, because what makes you happy makes him happy. 

“you done?” yunho calls, and by how light his tone is, you know that he’s talking to you. you take a moment to sift through what you have, and, upon realizing that you’re done for now, you call out an equally pleasant ‘mhm!’.

“go ahead and get the car started for me then, darling,” your lover responds. the clerk lets out a wet gasp, not knowing if this means life or death for him. poor, naive, still-hopeful little thing. yunho pushes the cool metal into his skin with a miniscule amount of heightened force as he speaks to you with the casualness of a white picket fence couple in suburbia. “i won’t be but a minute.”

the bang had been muffled, but you’d heard it nonetheless, even from the car, just as you’d grabbed a couple of lollipops from the package before throwing the whole thing back into the back seat. just as yunho’d stalked out, bag full of cash and dirtied gun in hand, you’d slid into the passenger seat. he’d dropped everything into the back alongside your stuff before hitting the gas, making you fear for your life for one beautiful moment before regaining control of the car.

he’d raised a hand up once he was sure of his place on the road, placing two fingers against your lips. you’d tasted the clerk’s blood then, sitting heavy against your taste-buds as you pulled it off of yunho’s skin. you know his process well: even after putting a hole in the poor man’s head, yunho would’ve wrapped one of his hands around the victim’s throat, mostly to ensure his death. you can never be too careful, after all. 

you could see it clearly, the blood dripping down the side of the dead man’s face and over your boyfriend’s fingers. there’s something surreal about it. always is. yunho had pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, laughing softly when you’d nipped at his fingertips for a moment before pressing a kiss to his knuckles. he’d dropped his hand to your thigh just as you’d lit a cigarette for him. the same hand is currently wrapped idly around the top of the steering wheel. 

“thought you were gonna use the candy to try ‘n quit cigs for a second there,” yunho states at a stop light, taking a drag of his own cigarette before turning towards you. you don’t turn towards him, knowing full well that he’s going to playfully blow smoke at the side of your face. 

he does so. you can’t help your smile. 

“you’re the one that needs to quit,” you respond easily, rolling your eyes solely for good measure. you aren’t lying, not really: you smoke maybe once or twice a day. your lover goes through a pack in the same time. the smoke wraps around you like an old friend. nobody in the surrounding cars knows who you are, what you do. you feel safe. yunho drops the cig stub out the window onto the road, and you realize he’d blown his last smoke cloud at you. your smile grows. 

“i need to quit, hm?” he raises an eyebrow, though his eyes smile just as his mouth does.

“you’re the one that’s addicted.” you affirm your own claim, words a little slurred around the lollipop in your mouth. yunho laughs, real and loud, before reaching over to pinch the end of your lollipop’s stick, tugging on it gently. you realize that he isn’t trying to take it from you; rather, he’s simply pulling you closer to him. you oblige. 

he pulls harder once, and you part your teeth to allow him to pull the sucker off of your tongue. yunho leans close, lips brushing over yours, before he speaks again.

“the only thing ‘m addicted to is you, sweetheart.”

he tastes of real smoke, and you taste of fake cherries. it doesn’t get any better than this.

[st0nesnglitter]

Poly relationship w/ the marauders

Headcannons and drabbles about dating James, Sirius and Remus

Mentions of sex, nudity and non-sexual nudity

Not proofed

-----------

It’s the most beautiful relationship ever

Growing from platonic love to romantic is hard as it is, so when it happened between four people you really needed to have a strong foundation

Remus was pretty surprised when he started seeing Sirius and James share intimate moments around their dorm but he also felt a twang of jealousy as he watched the interractions

So now their was constant reassurance that the love was between all of you, everyone loves everyone

Sirius can get a little bit possessive over the three of you and would not hesitate to throw out dangerous looks to anyone that lets their gaze lingers

The biggest sap out of the four of you is definitely James

He loves slowdancing in the kitchen in the morning as you cook breakfast

”Aw come on you two, you’re gonna burn the food!” Remus whined and runs up to the stove to stir, but James just giggled.

”But how could I focus to such a mundane task when I can admire this beauty?”James grinned toward you and you rolled your eyes.

Prongs always remember every date that needs to be remembered, and a couple that doesn’t and loves celebrating birthdays

Sirius had never had a real celebration for his birthday and can barely remember the date of his birth

And Remus don’t want to be a burden and try to refuse to tell James when he asks

Remus is always very warm and often goes to sleep in the guest bedroom when all of you have fallen asleep, not because he doesn’t want to cuddle but because he feels like you would get uncomfortable from his heat

But in the morning he wakes up with all three of you cuddled up to him in the guest bed

You’d spend the summers in the Potter’s summer house, right by a lake

Sirius tries to insist that clothes are unnecessary and wants to implement a ”no pants”- rule

James agrees and walks around in only boxers for three days straight

Skinny dipping in the lake after really hot days

The suns wrath was upon you and sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Remus’ prediction that it would cool down toward the evening could not have been more wrong and at around 7 PM it was unbearable. The rule Sirius had tried to get you all to follow had come true and the four of you were lounging around in the thinnest shirts you could find.

”Lets go to the lake” James murmered and stands up from his loveseat, stretching his arms over his head ”gotta cool off”.

Thankfully the shore was basically in the garden and you and Sirius raced down and stripped as fast as possible before running down the jetty and jumping into the water.

James and Sirius took their time taking off their clothes, spending some extra time aprreciating the others body, before walking out to you and Sirius.

Rem collects chapsticks and you show him the best muggle brands <3

And Sirius has made it a game to kiss him and guess the flavour

”I know, wait... SHUSH” Sirius pulled a hand through his hair as he took in the flavour with a laughing Remus behind him.

”Marshmallows!!” The raven-haired boy exclaimed proudly but his face faltered as Remus didn’t burst out in celebration.

”Actually it’s ”s’mores”, so that means that you are once again incorrect”.

Walks are very common throughout your group

Remus likes to air out his brain after long study sessions or a hard day of work

Sirius wants to smoke and since you’re hard on him to not do it out a window you bring him outside

James wants to pick flowers, look at the scenery and plan pranks out of hearing distance from potential victims

Dinners are wild

Remus will climb on top of the table to gain some attention to explain his newest ideas to take over the world

And Sirius will tug on his pantleg so they almost tip the whole table over telling him to ”sit down you baby!”

James is a very picky eater and is grumpy the whole dinner whenever Remus uses a new recipe

Putting Sirius’ hair up when it’s in his way or it’s too hot, and keeps saying that he can’t do it himself

Jamie is the sleepiest boy

He can almost always be found on the couch or in the giant bed snoozing away or blinking heavily whilst desperately trying to listen to Remus reading

REMUS LOVES TO READ TO YOU

Even though he just wants to read on his own he adores when you, Si and Jamie lay down around him and a silence spreads except Remmy baritone voice and the occasional flip of a page

Before a date two dark-haired boys are cramming into the mirror in the bathroom trying to style their hair to the nines as you and Rem sits and waits out in the living room

Introducing them to movies and they decide that you’ll have a movie night once a week

Showing them all your favorites and atleast one movie from each genre

Cigarettes after sex, the only time you let them do it inside cause you are all too tired to move and the sight of these goregous men smoking is too good to be true

Sirius handed James, who sat to his left, the cigarette before the bespectacled boy took a long drag. He leaned his head back as he blew out the smoke before reaching over Sirius to give it to Remus. Soft lips wrapped around the filter and he sighed as he felt the nicotine enter him and the engery that he had lost from prevoius actions started to come back. Rem ashed into the ashtray before looking over to you with hooded eyes.

Kisses are a constant

Being the attention whore that he is Sirius always wanted one for every single one that was shared where he was excluded

I’ve said this before but: James is a sub

Sirius is a switch

Remus is a dom

James is also a himbo

He’s really fascinated by muggle things but his excitement is sometimes ruined by the other boys making up stuff and him strutting over to ask you about it

Gently telling him that that wasn’t true but making it up by telling him a true fact

Singing songs from the top of yojr lungs as Sirius or James olays guitar

Only one who gets to touch Sirius’ hair is Remu (brushing, styling, cutting)

All of the boys have their own set of insecurities and can be caught comparing themselves to each other

Remus wants Si’s clean and whole skin, without cuts and scars, and jeslous of James rippling muscles

Sirius wants Remus height, being the shortest of them will leave you to the bad end of some petty jokes

James desires their intelligence, especially during their time at Hogwarts cause he felt like he is slowing their academical achievements down

Painting Pads nails black to try and make him stop biting them

Jamie making up songs on the spot and singing them loud eneough to be heard from every room

”Prongs I swear to FUCK if you don’t stop singing I’ll put your mouth to better use!

Discussing sharing a last name

Siri does not want you to be Blacks since only pain and sadness follows that name

Rem does not want it to be Lupin since it reminds him of what he is everyday

So you settle on becoming Potters

James is so, so excited and lays you down and just stared at the three of you with awe

”You’re mine, you all are so beautiful and you are all mine”

Sirius sobs when he finally legally is a Potter

And he’s no longer a Black

Full moons are hard but you soothe Rem best you can

The night he comes back and is hurting you always make him a cup coco since his jaw is too sore to chew regulat chocolate

He adapts this and everytime he sees one of you down he goes and makes some coco

Wearing each others clothes to bed

Your closets are just a mess and you take whatever it gives you

[kojinnie]

Quitting You | Zeke Yeager

Pairing: Zeke Yeager/Jaeger x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After yet another big fight, Zeke catches you smoking.

Word Count: 1K+

Warning & Tags: Implication of abusive relationship, toxic relationship, angst, smoking, Zeke is basically a complete asshole | SFW

A/N: Based on the request from an anon. Thanks for requesting! (More A/N at the end of the fic)

.::My Masterlist::.

[ON-GOING REQUEST EVENT]: Kojinnie's 200 Followers Celebration - 24/7 Writing Event

The shatters of the glass scattered all over the marble floor; they gleamed underneath the dim lights reflected by the fireplace. Soft and delicate but unforgiving as they pierce against your skin; you were staring at how they glimmered, as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

Maybe that was how you coped – by fabricating fascination towards the stupidest things around you – be it the puddles on the pavement, the crack on the walls, or whatever that could take your mind off of the consequences of altercation. Slowly, you could feel the overwhelming rage subsided, your breath came to heal from its previously erratic rhythm.

You fetched the broom and stood over the shatters. Looking at yet another token from yet another fight with Zeke. At times, it had gotten so common that you no longer flinched nor surprised whenever his big, strong hand strikes against his own belonging - just to make a point in every argument. As long as not my body he hurts, you thought. A pathetic justification that had gotten stale.

What was this all about, again? You wondered, could not even place the reason for such mess to begin with. Maybe it was the way Reiner talked to you at the party, too intent, too handsy to Zeke’s taste. Or maybe it was actually the endless congratulatory praises you received for your achievements tonight that had made Zeke felt overshadowed by his own lover. Ever so fragile, that ego.

You started to sweep the shatters, but each pull felt so heavy and you realized that the trembling in your hands remained. You closed your eyes, desperately seeking refuge from the abyss of fear and the feeling of helplessness that Zeke had caused. As nausea loomed inside your gut, you ran out to the apartment patio and you inhaled the fresh air as much as you could.

But when the tremble persisted, you couldn’t take it any longer. You scrambled back inside to ransack the credenza to find the old tin box you had kept hidden for so long. You immediately brought it back outside and took out the slender roll as you leaned your back to the wooden chair.

With your trembling hands you lit your cigarette and inhaled as deeply as you can. The fire burned the tobacco to ashes quickly. As the toxin invaded the airway, you let out a deep, troubled puff. In the hazy vicinity of the white smoke, you sobbed soundlessly letting the streaks of black mascara ran down your face, without realizing that the cause for your tears was now standing underneath the doorframe, staring at you.

Zeke looked awful. His trousers were stained with wine drops, he had discarded his shirt and was only wrapped by the black bathrobe untied, displaying his defined abs and bare chest. All the colors were rid from his face and his beard was damp. In desperate attempt to atone for his rage and come back to his sense, he had washed his face. It looked genuine at first but after years of doing the same thing, you had come to realize that the habit was not an honest attempt to straighten himself out, it was all performative.

“Is that your vice now?” his deep, raspy voice was no longer startling for you. You just dragged your gaze towards him, displaying to Zeke the mess that he had created on your face. Your eyes were swollen, your make-up was smudged all over your face. It was no longer your shame; you wore it with pride like a battle scar. And also, because you knew how much he hated to see what his rage had caused, you knew it pained him inside and it pleased you.

You nodded, puffing out another wisp of smoke, but this time, at his direction.

There was no longer trace of anger on the tall, muscular man. What remained was only the shell of the menace that he was some moments ago. Both of you were tired of fighting already.

He sat next to you and took the cigarette from your fingers for his own. His chest heaved as he inhaled the toxin deep, “Urgh,” he groaned condescendingly, “Menthol.”

Yet despite his pretentious disapproval he took another taste, “Starting again?” Like a payback, he blew the smoke at your face, compelling you to close your eyes and look away.

“Why? Feeling sad?” He asked again, this time the mocking jeer was too palpable. You rolled your eyes, and tried to grabbed your cigarette back from his finger, but he was quick to move his hand away, “You don’t smoke in my house.”

“You smoke yourself,” you said, with the following word muttered under your breath, “fucker.”

“I make the rules, baby,” he grinned, a very sickening one as he stroked another inhale until it burned the cigarette to the butt-end, “tastes like shit.” Then stubbing out the cigarette on the wooden chair.

“You’re too pretty for this darn thing, anyway,” Zeke said, as he carried on his theatrical assholery by grabbing the tin can, and made a disapproving gesture upon seeing the menthol rolls, before he threw the contents over to the patio railing and down to the public roads below.

“You’re littering. What an asshole.” There was a vivid look of disgust on your face. Maybe you hated Zeke with all of your heart, maybe you longed to the day where this man finally paid the price of being the biggest cunt you have ever met, but maybe the reason why you haven’t left all along was because being with Zeke was an intoxication you would always cave in for. He was the replacement to your cigarettes and you couldn’t quit him.

“Where’s your cigarette? I need them.” You got up from your seat and headed inside for his clove cigarettes, the ones he had bought at trade auction. Imported straight from Southeast Asia, he rolled them himself. Pretentious twat, you cursed him.

But Zeke was quick to dismiss your attitude, even before you passed the doorframe, he pulled your arms and cornered you against the glass railing, the only thing that separate you from the absolute death below. He pinned your body against his bare chest as he smiled, a repugnant one that you had grown to loathe and long for at the same time, “No smoking for you, okay?” He wiped the leftover tears and the streak of smudgy mascara on your face when the skin suddenly stung underneath his thumbs. You whimpered.

Like an animal, he licked his thumb and wiped clean the black goo on the spot where it hurt on your face. He finally saw a cut wound. Not too deep to leave a scar, but visible enough to remind him of his own rage. The glass that Zeke broken had pierced through your cheek, “Does it hurt?” There was a genuine worry in his question.

You nodded, and Zeke sighed. He caressed your messy cheek with the knuckles of his finger, soft and delicate, a stark contrast to what he was just moments ago. “Don’t smoke, okay?” He kissed the wound he caused. It stung with the warmth of his lips but it did not hurt, “Anyway, the plan was for you to watch me die, not the opposite. So, don’t start again, alright? They’re bad.”

You hummed. The insanity of being with Zeke finally caught up with you.

“As bad as being with you,” you said, softened underneath his touch, “two things I wish I could quit.

A/N: Dear anon, I have a feeling that this was not what you had in mind when requesting, but I couldn’t help it~ This is the gist that I got from listening to Cigarette Duet hahaha 😭 I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless! 

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - eight

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: jealously, angst, smoking, talk about STD’s, cursing, bad coping mechanisms, 18+ smut, grinding, brief oral, fingering, vaginal sex, Javi’s dirty talk, biting, choking, two idiots.

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: hi. i hope you like this chapter. it was.... kinda hard to write, so I hope you like it!! as always, thank you to @mcngata​ for aiding me with the whole spanish thing. I love u boo!

previous chapter · series masterlist

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“¿Y qué tenemos aquí?”

You don’t know how to react to the woman standing in front of you. She’s just a little shorter than you, her tan skin slightly glistening from the heat outside. The swells of her breasts are bared, and her stomach is visible where her top doesn’t meet her short skirt. 

You pull your cardigan tighter around your body as she shoots daggers into you with her eyes. You gulp, holding the door as closed as you can to shield yourself from her prying eyes.

“Um… Excuse me?” You manage to croak out, and she lets out a laugh before she’s raising an eyebrow at you. You did understand some from the telenovelas you watched at home, but it was sparse and limited. She’s chewing on a piece of gum, and you watch as her red lips part slightly with every chew.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” She nods at you, and you chew on your lip, finally getting a hang on what she’s saying as she slows down. You tell her your name, and she lets out a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “¿Y dónde ha recogido Javi a alguien como tú?”

You don’t know how to answer her, or if you even want to answer her, so you don’t. You shrug your shoulders, and you just know she’s enjoying your obliviousness. To protect yourself a little more you close the door a little further, shielding more of you from her. “Can I take a message?” You offer, and you watch as she laughs, her laugh full of viciousness and venom.

“Puedes decirle a Javi… ¿Que cuando deje de jugar con mojigatas, sabra donde encontrar una mujer de verdad?” You know exactly what she’s saying, but you also know that it probably isn’t the best idea to say anything at that moment, so you play dumb. She can see the confusion on your face, and she laughs at your expression. You didn’t like this woman one bit. You still wondered what she could possibly want with Javi.

“You tell Javi,” her voice is also overly sensual in English, her thick Spanish accent lingering in the words, making your heart pick up the pace. “That Helena is looking for him. I need to talk to him. He has my number,” she grins, popping a small bubble with the gum in her mouth before she turns on her heel with a wink, leaving you dumbfounded in the entryway of Javi’s apartment.

You spend the next few hours wondering who this Helena woman was, and how she knew Javi. You knew it probably wasn’t any of your business, yet you couldn’t help yourself. She was beautiful, a pretty little thing and you were sure everything was sitting right on her. Just looking at her for those short minutes, and with the confidence she carried, you were sure they had slept together. And more than once.

You stuff a full, cold enchilada into your mouth, not caring about the way you’re eating since you’re alone. You’re savoring the juicy chicken, holding the back of your hand against your mouth as you chew. You don’t know what’s come over you as you swallow everything down.

You had no idea why you felt this way about an encounter you’d had with this woman. Maybe you were just feeling possessive over Javi, which you had no reason for. It wasn’t like you were dating. You sigh and rub your hands over your face, resisting the urge to sob and cry out.

Glancing up at the clock you realize it’s nearing dinner time, and even though Javi hadn’t asked you to make dinner and even though you’re somewhat mad at him, you make your way to the kitchen to pull out a few pots and pans to make something for when he returns from the office.

You had no idea how long it took to file a report, but you figured it could easily be a drawn-out affair. You decided to leave at 8 if he weren’t home by then, to save you the trouble of coming face to face with him, after your flurry of thoughts and the internal struggle you’d had for the past hours.

You cast a look to into one of the cabinets from where you’ve seen Javi pick out a pack of cigarettes, and you give into the temptation of smoking one. You feel like the whole situation with Helena has made your heart pick up the pace so erratically, you need something to calm yourself down with, even though nicotine probably wasn’t the best antidote. With shaky hands you pull out one of the cigarettes before placing it between your lips, shortly after coming up with a lighter, holding the flame to the tip of it.

You know the first inhale is the worst, so you settle on just a short puff, drawing the smoke into your mouth and inhaling just the slightest of the fumes. With an exhale you realize it isn’t the worst taste or feeling in the world, so you bring the cigarette back to your lips, drawing in a bigger intake of the smoke. You feel it this time, and you cough just a bit at the burn in your lungs.

The taste isn’t the same as when you’ve tasted it on Javi’s tongue. It’s much stronger and harsh in your own mouth, especially since the filter is doing nothing for the tobacco. You look through his fridge and drawers, coming up with enough ingredients to make some chicken with veggies. The cigarette between your lips is disappearing quicker than you would’ve liked, but you figure you just must live with it.

With a sigh you stub out the butt into the ashtray, before you start making dinner. The chicken in browning on the pan, and you’re chopping up some carrots when you hear the door being pushed open, and you sigh in relief when you hear the heavy puff of air leaving Javi as he steps into the threshold. Casting a look at the clock, you find the time to be 7:43pm. Saved by the bell…

“Hey,” you say over your shoulder as you hear him put away his keys and jacket before he’s kicking off his shoes by the door. Then you hear his belt buckle coming undone before he discards it against the floor as well. You feel his arms come around your middle and you feel him tense up – and you know he can smell the nicotine on you, even though he smokes himself.

You decide on not mentioning it if he doesn’t initiate the conversation. “Could get used to this.” he breathes into your neck before he leaves a kiss on your shoulder, letting go of you to set the table. “It isn’t every day I eat a home cooked meal.”

“Was it alright at the office?” you decide to try and make small talk, Helena still nagging at the back of your mind. You weren’t going to bombard him with questions at the first given moment, mainly because you were hungry, but you figured it might be a sensitive topic to him. And on top of that, you didn’t even know what the two of you were, and ultimately, it wasn’t your business.

“It was… like it usually was. Boring and the director was yelling my ear off for the documents being incorrectly filed…” He sighs as he recalls the way he pushed the files off the table to ravage you on his desk like a horny teenage boy. “I managed to sort it all and file the report, though.”

“Oh. That’s good.” You keep it at that, and Javi realizes you’re acting very differently from when he left that very morning. He figured you were acting differently the moment he entered the apartment, since you didn’t come to greet him at the door, like he’d hoped you would have. He’d imagined so many things while at work, and every thought had alighted something inside him.

The first thought had roamed his thoughts as he’d gotten into his car, the way you’d straddled him in the very seat he was now sitting in, and he felt the blood rush to his lower regions. Then he’d somehow heard the sounds you’d let out that very morning when he’d both fucked you and eaten you out right after.

God damn, he wanted to go back into his apartment and take you on every surface, but he knew the odds weren’t in his favor. It was both the world and the director of the DEA that was on and against his ass, even though he was still technically on leave. The problem with the director was, that when she asked you to jump you didn’t say yes or no, but how high.

He even had to excuse himself and act on his arousal a few hours into the paperwork, feeling like a teenage guy yet again as he jerked himself off in the stall to the thought of you. He didn’t know what’d come over him – he just felt the arousal clouding his mind at every moment he was awake, and especially when you were around him.

Yet now it felt off. He didn’t even know why you were acting so differently, since everything seemed to be so comfortable and enthralling when he left. Where he earlier felt like you looked at him like he was the only man in the world, it now felt like the two of you were in the last stage of a relationship, just before parting ways.

Like Javi hadn’t faced a situation like that before. Falling out of love was never easy no matter who it was with and how long it had been. He hadn’t even made his own mind up yet, about the whole situation with you. Everything was moving along so quickly; he had a hard time keeping up. Especially every time he reconsidered your age.

You heard him say your name and you turned off the stove, before turning your head to look at him for the first time since he entered the apartment. “What’s going on?” his voice is full of something you can’t place, and you really do contemplate on either lashing out or doing it in a calm way. You know that no matter what he says, you’re going to overthink it.

“Helena came by.” The moment the words and her name leave your mouth you see his Adams apple bop as he swallows past a sudden lump that has formed in his throat. “She was very intent on you finding a real woman, possibly her, when you were done screwing around with a prude like me.”

You watch as his brows furrow, and you feel your eyes fill with tears. You turn around immediately, not wanting to show him just  how much her words hurt you. You hear him breathe out your name along with a hermosa, and you let out a sob. You really didn’t want to admit how much of an impact her words had had on you.

“Helena?” her name falls from his lips reluctantly, like he can’t believe what you’re telling him. “Helena was here?” You can her the anger in his voice, and you nod while wiping your eyes. You hear him come closer to you, and you flinch when he reaches out to touch you. “Did she say anything else than that?”

“She just asked how I knew you.” You sniff, and you feel his arms come around you again, pulling you into his warm embrace. You know you should probably give in and wrap your arms around him, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. What if he was seeing his Helena woman as well? What if he was having sex with someone else, while he was having sex with you?

You suddenly feel dirty. It dawns on you that you and Javi haven’t used protection at all while you’ve been having sex, and you feel your head going through every emotion all at once. Fear of you contracting something from him. Anger of him leading you on. Disgust with the thought of him having sex with someone else.

Sadness from the mean words Helena has spoken to you. And sadness in the form of you trusting Javi, and him proving that you probably shouldn’t have. You have a hard time focusing on anything at the moment, and you know your body is protecting you from a possible anxiety attack. You know the signs by now, and with the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the blackening before your eyes, you know it’s close.

“I haven’t seen Helena in months, not since…” He trails off, and even though you should probably believe him, you have a hard time doing so. You don’t know what to think at this point. “Come on, I’ll explain it to you.” He takes a hold of your hand and leads you to the couch, where he pushes you down on the soft cushions of the leather couch. He sits down beside you, with a few inches separating you. You appreciate the gesture.

“She’s one of my informants at the embassy,” he starts, and you immediately imagine a hundred things in your mind at once. Informant? Informing him about what? “DEA stands for Drug Enforcement Administration. We’re working towards catching some of the more… hardheaded drug lords in this country.”

It doesn’t catch up to you before now. The bullet wound to his shoulder – your thought about him chasing bad guys… It all clicks right at that moment. The man in front of you chases dangerous criminals for a living. “If you want to know things about them…” He sighs deeply before revealing the next part to you. “I figured you have to hang around the same people they do.” He’s reluctant to add the last part, but when he does you don’t feel much better. “The same women they do.”

“So, she’s a whore?” you hate the word, but you also hate the woman who was at Javi’s door a few hours ago, so you have no problem calling her the profanity. You watch as he nods, his teeth tugging his bottom lip in between them. “Are you…” you have a hard time asking him, but you know you must, considering you haven’t exactly been safe with him. “Clean?”

Javi’s eyebrows furrow at your question, the whole change of subject unsettling him for a second before he catches up. “Yeah.” It’s nothing more than that, so you raise your eyebrows at him. “I usually… use protection with the… informants.” You almost wish he would just say the word, as it if would make you feel better. It kind of feels like he’s sparing himself from the reality of the occupation the women have, and it makes you even sadder.

“Good.” You leave it at that before you rise, walking back over to the stove to reheat the food you were making when he came home. You can’t stop thinking about the information he’s just shared with you, but you also just want to forget she was ever there and that you could just go back to the happy little bubble you and Javi were in that morning.

“You don’t wanna hear the rest of the story? Why she’s coming here, knocking on my door?” Javi speaks to your back, and it really does feel like he’s just talking to a wall. It’s like his words peel off of you, like water on a brick wall. You feel sort of… emotionless about the situation.

“Maybe later.” It’s all you can muster at the moment, not really wanting to sympathize with the whore. Somehow, you just know Javi is and always will be a womanizer. His look, his attitude, the whole way he carries himself. It’s a match made in heaven.

You finish the dinner with your back to Javi, sensing the heavy smell of nicotine lingering in the air from where Javi is still sitting on the couch, puffing at a cigarette. You move the pots and pans to the table before you walk over to where Javi is sitting, his hands rubbing at his forehead while the lit cigarette is resting in the ashtray in front of him.

You lift it to your lips and take the last drag, before stubbing it out right in front of him. “Dinner is ready.” You tell him, your exhale full of smoke before you turn on your heel, grabbing two beers from his fridge. You watch as he rises from the couch, his eyes on you as you open the two beers before sitting down opposite of where he’s still standing.

No words are spoken between the two of you as you eat, and for the first time, the silence between the two of you is deafening. The space between the two of you is filled with uncertainty and unspoken words as you both fill your mouths. Javi rises in the middle of dinner to retrieve two additional beers from the fridge, and you hear the clinking of the bottles as he removes the caps.

He stands beside you as he sets the newly opened beer beside your empty bottle before the hand previously containing the bottle rests against the expanse of your shoulder. You draw both your lips into your mouth and close your eyes as you feel the warmth of his palm seeps into your skin from on top of your clothes.

“Hermosa.” You feel as his hands move, and when you open your eyes, he’s placed himself on the seat beside you. “You need to know.” You turn your body slightly, urging him to try his luck. “Helena…” you the sound of her name spilling from his lips makes your heart pound faster in your chest.

The emotions encapsulated in his brown eyes are unlike anything you’ve ever seen on him before. You can see the internal struggle he’s fighting at the moment, and something tells you it’s not easy for him to… tell you what he’s about to tell you.

“A few weeks ago, Helena was… kidnapped. And what they did to her, the men…” It’s like the whole incident replays before his eyes as he tries to find the right words to phrase anything. “It wasn’t good. I found her there, naked, molested by those men.”

Javi bites the inside of his cheek as he, again, searches for words. “Since… then, she’s been seeking me out frequently. Whereas it was previously me that sought her out, it was like the tables had turned. She got… obsessed with me. I don’t know why.” Your eyes shoot down as you sense movement, and you watch as he reaches for your hand. Reluctantly, you let him.

“Listen, I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. She obviously doesn’t understand a no.” You bite your lip, still not wanting to look at him, just to keep him at an arm’s length. “Hermosa, I swear I…” With everything Javi has just told you, you still don’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, you want to slap him, even though it’s not his fault.

A few minutes pass in silence, where neither of you make the moves to neither move nor speak. You let your tongue clean the outside of your teeth, contemplating on whether to take another sip of your beer or actually talk to Javi. You let out a breath before looking back up at him. His eyes are trained on you, watching you like you were the most important thing in the world at that moment.

“Sounds like you’ve got some serious lady troubles, Javi.” The sound he lets out is something between a snort and a laugh. You can barely contain your own laughter as Javi practically doubles over on top of you in a fit of tears and laughter. All the anger you’d held in for the previous hours had disappeared and had simply been replaced with… or gone back to affection.

When he pulls back, his eyes are full of tears from the laughter he’d just let out. You lick your lips and smile when he finally stops laughing. “Please forgive… whatever that was. Forgive me.” You nod before he leans into your personal space, nudging your chin up with his nose before leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

You pull him closer by the neck, nuzzling your fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you slide your lips over his. It feels good to have your lips back on his. No matter how much you’d wanted to punch him in the face not more than an hour ago, that had all dispersed when he’d actually opened his mouth.

“You’re not…” he sighs. “Mad. Are you?” he breathes against your lips, and you suppress a small smile playing on your lips. You shake your head slightly, before you breathe a soft no against his lips. Without saying anything, his lips find yours again, more eagerly this time.

With a fall of his hands to your hips, he’s swiftly getting on his knees before you, pulling your loose-fitted pants down your legs swiftly, his arms quickly spreading your legs on either side of his hips before pulling you close to him and into his lap. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, drawing a moan from his lips and into your mouth.

You feel every thought you’ve been overthinking during the day go out the window when he grinds himself up into you, letting you feel his hardened cock. Every common sense within you is telling you to stop, telling you to leave while you still can, yet your body isn’t complying at all. That, and your own mind is fighting itself as his lips move down your throat.

You throw your head back to give him more access, whimpering as his mustache and lips grazes against your sensitive pulse point. You feel heat bloom in your core, spreading from your abdomen and throughout your body. Your toes are tingling by the time his lips reach your collarbones, your fingers trembling as you hold onto the back of his neck.

His hands move on their own accord as he pushes your cardigan off your shoulders before he’s detaching his lips from your skin, swiftly pulling off your shirt before reattaching them to the bared skin of the swell of your breast. His fingers are soft as they trail up the expanse of your spine before he snaps the clasp of your bra open before pulling it off your arms.

He grunts against your skin as he ruts his hips up into yours, one hand grasping the back of your neck gently while the other holds your hip tightly. He places a constellation of kisses against your bare breasts, twirling his tongue around the perked bud, drawing a moan from your lips.

“Come, turn around.” His voice is hoarse from arousal as he speaks before he rises on his knees slightly. You get off his lap and turn on your knees, and you lay your chest against the chair you were previously sitting on with a push of his hand to your shoulder.

You brace yourself against the seat of the chair, feeling as the fabric of your panties are slid down your hips. You hold in a breath as you feel his exhale on the globes of your ass, your exhale shaky as your feel his tongue gently slides in between the lips of your pussy.

You have no idea how something so carnal can feel so good, but you’re not going to be the one to complain. You whimper as his warm hands spread your cheeks apart to give him more access to your pussy before he delves further into your folds, burying his tongue within your heat.

“You taste so damn good.” You hear him speak between his tongue flicking at your clit and fucking you with it. You whimper as he pushes a finger into your slick heat, curling it downwards to the front of your cunt. With every thrust of his finger and every moan spilling from your lips, he grins against your skin as he moves his lips to the globe of your butt cheeks.

You feel his teeth sink into your skin before he kisses his way up the back of your ass, all the way up to between your shoulders. His fingers retract themselves from your heat and you feel him shift behind you, you hear his groan from behind you and you assume he’s cleaning his fingers with his mouth all while pushing his pants down.

There’s something about seeing you bent over a chair like this that ignites something inside him. Seeing you so bared and vulnerable and spread out – just for him. His cock twitches at the sight of your clenching pussy in front of his eyes.

“Please…” He grips your hips as you push back against him, urging him to get on with what you’re expecting him to do. You hear his low grunt in your ear as he pushes against your opening, causing you to let out a whimper. You grind your hips back again, whimpering as the head of his cock fills you just the slightest.

Not even a second passes until he’s burying himself to the hilt within you, causing you to let out a throaty whine. His hand comes around to grasp your throat, his fingers tightening just the slightest around the column of your neck.

“More, move please, Javi.” You whimper, his grip cutting off your air supply gently as he starts thrusting his hips into yours rapidly. His pace is unrelenting as he ruts his hips into yours, your whimpers and moans begging him for more.

“Te gusta eso, eh?” his voice is low in your ear mixed with his grunts and the feel of his teeth sink into your shoulder. You whimper at the many feelings coming over you all at once, mixed with the deep voice, full of arousal. “Sí… Sí, lo haces…”

“Javi…” you whimper, your hand coming up to grasp the back of his neck as the other clings to the leg of the chair. You felt as the hand on your hip slid to the front of your body, his fingers sliding through the wetness practically dripping from your core and onto the floor.

Javi coaxed at your nub while still withholding the pace he had set, swiftly pinching your clit to feel you clench around him. The hand on your throat made its way into your hair, fingers tightening in it, turning it into a makeshift ponytail before pulling your head back harshly.

Your back is pulled roughly against his front, his hips still driving in and out of you as his fingers continue their assault on your bundle of nerves. Your slick is just about dripping down the insides of your thighs and your chest is heaving violently at the inability to even put together a sentence.

“Estas tan caliente por mi, goteando por todo mi jodido piso…” his lips are right at your ear as he speaks, and he grunts as you clench around him. His thrusts become erratic as he pushes his fingers against you faster, quicker, almost demanding you to cum with his actions.

You want to cum desperately, you need to cum on his cock, just as much as he needs you to explode around him like you did that very morning. Just the thought of the events of the day brings something out in Javi – something that makes him even more keen on drawing you to the edge.

Maybe it’s anger, or maybe it’s just possessiveness overcoming him as he feels you soak his cock even more. You let out a scream, your walls clutching his cock ever so tightly everything blackens before his eyes. He sinks his teeth deep into your shoulder as he empties himself into your begging heat.

You go slack against him as the aftershocks of your orgasm rolls over you, yet the feel of his arms around you makes the violent trembling in your body seem like the most amazing thing in the world. His chest is warm and sweaty against your back, and his breaths come out as deep puffs against your skin.

You turn slightly and push your lips against his, feeling a drop of sweat from his forehead land against your cheek as he kisses you with relentlessness. “Didn’t…” you breathe, his arms wrapping tighter around your middle. “think of you…” he’s intent in his kisses by now, not wanting to be separated from you at that moment.

“As the possessive type.” You finally manage to breathe, and you feel how he tenses up against you. You let out a short laugh as he pulls out and away from you, huffing as he pulls his pants back up from around his knees. You raise your eyebrow at him as he grunts while standing, his hand resting just above his knee as he stretches his legs.

“I’m not possessive.” He huffs again, licking and biting his lips as he watches you shift on the floor. He can see the mixture of your cum pooling on his floor as you continue sitting on your knees, your legs spread slightly. You let out another laugh before standing, pulling him close by the neck boldly.

“Yeah you are. But you’re also afraid.” You turn and pick all of your discarded clothes off the floor before putting them on. You know he’s watching you, you can almost feel the holes his eyes are burning into your body as he gulps.

“Afraid of what?” he tries softly, and you barely hear it. You turn to him as you pull your cardigan on before crossing your arms over your chest. You watch as he mimics your stance – crossing his arms over his chest as he raises his eyebrow at you.

Ever since he shared the details of… whatever had happened with Helena, you’d known instantly. There was not much to say to it though, because with the knowledge you’d gained from reading your novels… That much you knew. You knew the signs, and they were clearly visible in the man standing right in front of you.

“You’re afraid of love.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

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