#I was barely an acquaintance of sleep. What sleep I could grasp was flooded with ideas and flashes of maddening brilliance as my mind chased

[puppy-wife]

sometimes I think DID is also waking up in the headspace of a main character in a Lovecraft-esque novel and I must shout about the horrors and the madness I have seen and witnessed and been part of, but when anyone looks I'm not yelling about Elder Gods, it's just. women

[bangtanloverboys]

baked // myg

summary - it should be known that whenever you smoke, you tend to get a little extra needy for yoongi

pairing - stoner boyfriend!yoongi x girlfriend!reader

genre - smut, fluff; stoner au, established relationship au, good bad choices au

word count - 1.6k

warning - drug usage/smoking weed, shot gunning, lots of kisses, making out, oral sex, semi-public-sex (it’s at a party), sex while high, a singular bite, rip seokjin tho

author’s note - happy 420 my dudes! this is connected to my smau good bad choices it’s not relevant that you read it to understand the couple/dynamic. but if you’re interested in them, feel free to check it out. yes i accidentally posted this last week 

The date was April 20th, meaning it was Seokjin’s annual 420 party. Apparently every year, he’d host a party at his place for him and his friends to just hang out, smoke weed, and chill out. Curled up next to your boyfriend on the couch, you watched as a joint was passed around, which was currently being handed off to Yoongi. You stared as he placed the filter between his lips, breathing in the smoke. As he pulled the joint away from him, Yoongi made eye contact with you and patted his lap. You scrunched your eyebrows, not quite understanding what he meant. 

“He wants to shotgun it to you!” Seokjin called from the other end of the circle.

Your face began to burn, you looked back to Yoongi who had since breathed out his first toke. Biting your lip, you swung a leg over his lap. A smile grew on his face as you settled onto his thighs, straddling him now. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” His voice was low as he clarified with you. 

“I want to.” You responded.

Not breaking eye contact, he brought the joint back to his lips, inhaling deeply. When he pulled it away again, you moved to have your mouth hover over his. You closed your eyes as he exhaled, breathing in the smoke. His free hand sneaked it’s way up to the back of your neck, holding you still. Holding it for a few seconds, you breathed it back out. Immediately, Yoongi crashed his lips against yours, pulling you into a breathtaking kiss. There was a mix of groans and whoops as you kissed your boyfriend. Not wanting to give them too much of a show, you broke the kiss. With one last peck to his cheek, you flopped off his lap and let him pass the joint to the next person. 

It wasn’t long until you began to feel the effects, your brain slowly melting as you cuddled closer to your boyfriend. The party continued on, Seokjin brought out food from the kitchen and turned on a movie. With an arm wrapped around you, Yoongi began to lean back further into the couch, taking you down with him. Now laying flush against him, you trained your eyes forward to watch the movie.

Unfortunately for you though, the movie did little to keep your attention. Instead, all you could focus on was the light drag of Yoongi’s hand as he gently rubbed your back. The touch, however innocent, sent chills down your spine. It should come as no surprise to you that when you got high, you ended up being more touchy feely with Yoongi (the few times you had smoked with him usually ended up with sloppy make out sessions and lazy touching). You turned your head up to look at Yoongi, who’s eyes were glued to the TV screen. Feeling you shift, he turned to meet your gaze. 

“You alright, angel?” He questioned softly. 

“Mmhmm,” you responded as you leaned closer to his face. Yoongi stiffened, but made no effort to stop you. You kissed his cheek, then his jaw, slowly peppering him with soft kisses. 

His grip on you tightened. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you whispered as your mouth found its way to his earlobe, giving it a slight tug between your teeth. Seemingly, that was all it took to wind Yoongi up as you felt his growing erection pressed against your thigh. Pulling away from him, despite the darkness of the room, you were still able to see a familiar dark look in his eyes as you looked into them. 

“Go down the hall and to the left.” His voice was low, trying not to alert your friends that still surrounded you, watching the movie. Nodding, you peeled yourself from Yoongi’s body. Muttering a quick excuse about using the bathroom, you maneuvered your way around the people as you exited the living room. Following Yoongi’s instructions, you were met with a door. Just as you were opening it, you felt warmth behind you. A set of arms snaked around your waist. “You got needy, baby?”

Turning around in his hold, you faced him. Only answering him by pressing a kiss to his lips. He seemed to be satisfied with your answer, feeling him smile. One of his hands left your side, opening the door. The two of you stumbled into the room, never breaking the kiss. Kicking the door close behind him, he walked you backwards across the room until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. 

You both tumbled down onto the bed, finally breaking the kiss to laugh. Gently, Yoongi scooted you up until your head rested on the pillows, the heavy scent of weed and incense filled your senses. Now hovering over you, Yoongi met your eyes, feeling all his overwhelming love and adoration. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, to which he kissed the side of your palm in return. A small gesture you’ve become acquainted with him, his own little way of telling you that he loved you. 

Lowing his head, he captured your lips in another kiss. Your hand slipping from his cheek to the back of his head, you quickly threaded your fingers into his dark hair. Yoongi’s kisses always left you dizzy and you couldn’t get enough of it. Your world consisted of Yoongi and the feeling of his lips on you. Heat started pooling in your stomach, your body wanted more. 

“Yoongi,” you whined, “more!”

“Hmm? What do you want more of?” He asked, his lips traveling down your neck, finding your sweet spot with no problem. 

“You. Mouth. More.” You pouted. The weed in your system made your brain feel all fuzzy, the only thing you knew was clear was your want for Yoongi. 

“You want me to go down on you, baby?” His breath was hot against your ear. The mere suggestion had you clenching around nothing. You nodded profusefly, but Yoongi tutted at you. “Remember, use your words.”

“Yes please. I want it.” The words flooded past your lips without any hesitation. 

The next thing you know, Yoongi was pressing fleeting kisses over your clothed torso. On your collar bones, the swell of your breast, over your nipple, down your stomach. Once he reached your lower half, he slowly tugged down your leggings and your underwear. Tossing them away, Yoongi lowered his head to your fully exposed pussy, licking a fat stripe across your folds, his tongue flicking over your clit. 

“Fuck!” You hissed, hands instantly flying to Yoongi’s hair. He chuckled against your folds before diving into you again. Your fingers knotted into his dark lots as he practically made out with your pussy. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he alternated from fucking you with his tongue to sucking on your clit. The sensation had your head spinning, driving you insane. It was too much. “You’re eating me!” The words fell past your lips without any thought, as you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from you. 

His lips were coated with your juices as he smirked at you. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point, babe.” His comment had the tips of your ears growing hot, he merely chuckled at your light embarrassment. “May I continue?”

“Y-yeah.”

With a wink, he began again, going a bit slower with his ministrations. You let out small moans and whines as he continued, occasionally bucking your hips up into his mouth. A coil in your gut began to tighten, you knew it was gonna snap soon. 

“Fuck, I’m-I’m gonna cum.” Your hips bucked up, but a large hand splayed over your stomach, ceasing any further movement from you. “Yoongi, please! Fuck!” Waves of pleasure washed over your body as the coil snapped, throwing you over the edge. Yoongi kept going, not stopping until your legs were twitching, unable to take anymore. 

Pulling away from you, he rested his head against your thigh, licking his lips clean of you. “Feel better?” 

With heavy eyelids, you hummed in response, too tired to speak. Which only prompted him to bite into the flesh of your inner thigh. “Hey!” You frowned as Yoongi crawled back up over you. 

“I give you an orgasm, and you only give me a ‘hmm’ in response? I’m hurt, angel.” He teased as he nuzzled into your cheek with his nose. 

“Yes, I feel better.” You muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. “Tired.”

“You wanna sleep, baby?” He asked, although he really didn’t need to, seeing as you were already halfway in dreamland. 

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You could feel the vibrations of his light chuckles. The two of you laid there for a while, before he tugged your arms away, freeing himself of your grasp. “Come back.” You pouted, missing his warmth already.

“Just taking off my pants. Get under the covers.” With a yawn, you pawed for the edge of the blanket before pulling it down and climbing in. Only a few moments later did you feel the mattress shift. Flipping on your side, you leaned into Yoongi, cuddling up to his warmth. “Night, angel.”

“G’night, Yoongi. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The following morning, your eyelids felt so heavy; you could barely open them, despite the sunlight bleeding through the open window. Groaning, you turned on your side. Well turned over as much as you could with Yoongi’s arms wrapped around you, keeping you close to him as possible. 

Just as you were about to fall back into sleep, the sound of the door swung open, and Seokjin’s voice called out. “Listen, I don’t mind y’all falling asleep in my room, but next time you fuck in my bed, I’ll kick you out.” With that, the door shut. 

You were quiet for a few moments. “Did you really go down on me in Jin’s bed.” You mumbled, not bothering to open your eyes. 

You could hear the proud smirk on his face. “Yeah, I did.”

[ficsnroses]

Let Me Help - Keanu Reeves x Reader

summary : during quarantine, your husband keanu worries you’ve been working too much and offers to comfort you, by helping you wind down. requested!

warnings : smut. oral sex [female receiving] loads of fluff! a very concerned keanu. x f! reader. 3.3k.

notes : this was requested by a lovely reader. I wrote this near the end of august, and touched it up a little last night for posting. I’m hoping to get back to writing some new stuff real soon, look forward to that! feedback appreciated, hope you enjoy xx :)

In the wake of the day break sun, a fatigued Keanu trudges down the wooden stairs of your shared home; a hand raked through tousled bed head locks, half executed yawn breathed off his lips. The house seems dead silent, the sound of a hissing coffee pot and keyboard clicking fingers apparent far distantly downstairs.

He’d woke up to the spot beside him in the bed vacant, and the figure that had quietly been tucked under the security of his arm all night, absent.

Normally, the morning dew would greet him with the feel of his love curled against his chest, consumed in a warm sea of silky sheet enveloped around them. Mornings like that were his favourite; where you’d hold him close, your drowsy AM gaze would open to the sight of him, his mocha eyes locked to your resting frame, limbs tangled as one.

“Good morning, handsome.” You’d quietly mumble, tinted smile groggily musing with a deeper cuddle into his chest, and he’d quietly chuckle at the way stray locks fall in your eyes, barely peeking his way. ‘Good morning to you too,’ the words would sweetly melt off his lips, peppering small, gentle morning greetings into your hair as he’d draw you closer, smiling.

Smiling at your little, personal piece of heaven you’d built.

Keanu trudges further, slow pace deliberate, swallowing tightly to the known sight he knew he’d perceive as he’d venture to the bottom of the stairs to your kitchen, where you were surely sat. He wasn’t tired, per say, yet his mood tinged a drought of sour.

You’d been working, constantly, through out the entirety of the declared lockdown in your home town. Those once blissful mornings had been rare; stolen, gentle kisses and mindless relishes in each other’s arms non frequent since the quarantine began. Not only did his lovesick heart miss you, his mind also worried. He worried far, he worried frequent-

that the women he loves with his entire heart, hadn’t been taking care of herself. Over the years spent together, Keanu had come to learn all too well. You take immense pride in your work; nevertheless, that strive for excellence often has tendency to override, to conquer each ounce of energy and dedication that courses through your veins.

He admires, loves your dedication. Yet he worries. He fears that you’ll overwhelm, burn out.

Over anything; any hinder, any instance, the sole triumph had always been you. You, your health, your safety. It’s the lone thought that matters to him, the only thing that truly matters.

Through sickness and through health; it’s what you’d both promised.

Approached to the kitchen entrance, Keanu sighs a warm smile, seeing your frame lounged against the granite wall counter, coffee pot in hand as you’d replenished your favourite noir mug. Dressed in a pair of sleeping shorts equipped with his oversize t-shirt, his heart hitches, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you.

Each breath taken around you, capsules in a warm, heavenly kiss. Only you’d ever been able to do that to him. Only you could bring his heart to its knees, each and every day.

Soft, quietly, Keanu lingers behind your smaller figure, humming a gentle morning ease, thin lips placed to the back of your head as his arms circle your waist. “Morning, gorgeous.” he whispers, a gravelly rasp thick to his sleep awoken voice. Tinged to a curled upwards smile, his nose idles in your locks, senses enveloped by the sweet saccharine of coconut shampoo and something that resembles florals, flowers, silk and satin.

All things good, all things beautiful. All things that take his breath away.

You’d told him the day you first met; your fascination with the sun, and her flowers. Her roses, her violets, her world that breathes, only when she lights a glow, revitalising all that live under her, flourish under her.

Smiling faintly, a hand reaches behind, tangling in the dusty strands of his lengthy mane, as your other plants warmly to his arm that holds your body close by the waist. “Good morning.” You smile, turning gentle in his warm embrace, with a delicate kiss pecked to his thin taut lips. “Sleep okay?” You wonder, escaping his hold to return to your impromptu work station, situated at the marble kitchen counter. Stray papers decorate the surface, ball point pens and open laptop screens speckled about. Keanu’s smile fades, and he watches your weak frame shift back to your occupied spot.

“Didn’t like waking up without you there.” He confesses, watching the way you resume lineage to the sheets and workload below. An old, half empty cup of morning dark rests to your table side, cold; long forgotten and forlorn. It had solidified his assumption; you’d more likely than not been up for far longer than he’d originally supposed, slaved, laboured to the never ending, self assigned work load purging at your fingertips.

Thus far, avoidance had been crisp on his lips, the words that threatened to spill had seldom died in his throat before extending any further. His love for you ran farther, deeper than could be explicable. He’d always strived for you to do anything you thought was right, he’d never come in the way of you or your career.

Yet as of late, the boil, the sear of burden inside his veins threatened to leak. Through tired eyes accompanied with dark, tiresome bags, he’d noticed the toll never ending workload had begun to take on your brittle form. He’d sensed the way a part of you faded day by day, succumbing to the drudgery toil. With his toned arms crossing, and an attentive lean to the granite kitchen counter, a worrisome Keanu speaks into the empty, quiet AM air, his voice a certain echo through the gray kitchen corridors. “Baby, do you have to work today?”

You’d barely glanced his way, before continually reverting to your task below. Inhaled deeply, a sip from your mug swelters on your tongue, the bitter taste of a roasty caffeine kick igniting that acquainted burn to your tongue. A burn, something familiar, something that reminds you of there still being discipline, still being normality. “Of course I have to work, Keanu.” You’d dryly returned, tone singed with a far bitter tint than you’d intended. Yet, you’d pledged known thought that he wouldn’t let the issue die so easily. He’d press, he’d push; knowing it was the pull you’d sometimes needed.

“Hey,” Keanu barely speaks, his voice a quiet whisper so calm, so soothing, you’d nearly succumbed into his arms to the mere hint of it. His larger frame falls to its knees, kneeling beside you sat on the kitchen chair. Heavy, gentle, his breath falls dense, weightier hands collecting your softer ones in return to a gentle grasp. His lips are warm; brimmed with special affection; admiration.

Before Keanu, you’d not known the feeling of being completely, hopelessly adored by someone. He did that to you. He did that, for you.

He’d never let you forget the feeling of being adored.

A few measly kisses pepper to your hands from his lips; to your palms, your knuckles, your fingers, and with a hefty sigh, he voices his unease. “I’m just worried.” He begins, eyes connecting to yours in a knowing plead. Keanu is a man of few words; his speech proves selective; he’d never say anything that would interfere with what you truly wanted.

Yet, his heart, and yours, are old friends.

He knows you all too well, knows you’re not where you want to be. “You can understand that, right?” He asks, a gentle nod accompanying. Fixed on yours, his eyes hold your gaze. Warm, cocoa eyes that gleam with that beautiful familiarity. His eyes were something else,

something calming, something that grounds you when you’d need it most. Security.

Only to him, you could express any thoughts, any feelings, anything at all without the fear of what would follow. His heart and yours, are old, old friends. Looking away, you sigh, locking your fingers around his hand that holds your tighter. “I…I know.” You declare. “I get it. I just…” Keanu watches you keenly, his hands never letting go of yours as he listens intent.

“I just feel like…I need to be doing something. I need a routine, I need something prolific, something…productive while we’re stuck at home.” You lament, heart heavy as your deeper fears paint clouds of grey in your chest. “I need something real.” Whispering almost, your eyes fall disheartened, a frown douses your features. “Something that feels like I’m not wasting away.”

“I’m real...” Keanu explains through a quiet undertone, murmuring, eyes desperately trying to hold your fraying gaze that almost feels…ashamed to look at him. Awful feelings flood your mind, the thought of letting him down overwhelming.

“You know what I mean, baby.” You reason, head tilting to a noticeable look of blue on his darker features. With your gentle hand cupping his beard ridden cheek, your eyes sadden. You’d never want him to feel as if he wasn’t enough,

because he was everything. He was all that had truly been keeping you alright, keeping you from slipping into an overwhelming whirlwind of self destruction over this period of uncertain time.

“Hey,” Keanu assures, taking hold of your wrist that holds his cheek. “We’re real. This is real.” He speaks. “You, are the realest thing I know, baby.” And the to sound of his voice, you smile. This man, the man you so gratefully call your own, never fails to cast a smile to your lips. “Let me take care of you.” He speaks, voice thick with reason, as your brows furrow to the proposition. “Just for today. You deserve it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything you need; cook, foot rubs, massages, anything at all.” He appeals, desperately hoping you’d agree, rather than burying yourself under an endless workload for the remainder of the day. “I need you here on earth today,” He smiles, knowingly. “With me.” And to the sight of his glowing orbs, and hopeful gaze, your heart fills with warmth.

Watching his profile with a halted breath, another beat of silence follows, flows before a slight smile ultimately tugs one side of your mouth upwards, heart warming at his determination. Your lover, is something different. Something special inside him grows. Something warm, something,

that you fail to remember when,

had become a necessity.

“God, I’ve missed you so much, baby.” Keanu quietly whispers, your satin skin sprawled upon the silky sheets of your California king, hands tangled to his hair as his lips daub gentle, love soaked kisses along the silk of your body. Through a broken moan, laced with a breathy gasp, your lips barely manage; the feel of his warm mouth marking a delicate, violet bruise into the skin of your breast overwhelming shockwaves, piercing each and every wavelength inside you that longed for him now, craved to feel him closer.

When he’d insisted on taking the day to make you feel ease, you should have known right away, swift, that the first activity on the menu would be a good, much needed, passionate

fuck.

Moving from your lips, Keanu’s kisses trail gently, feverishly across the bare skin of your mid, bulkier hands palming the soft swell of your breasts, soft and tender to his touch. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He assures, between peppered pecks, grazes of his lips across your skin, inching near the throb that ached between your legs. Fiddling with the flimsy material of your underwear, two stocky digits slip into the fabric, gently peeling the textile off, discarded mindlessly to the carpeted floor below.

“Ke…” You breathe, heavy, restrained. His face hovers just above your bare, exposed centre, and his arms move to plant under your thighs, urging your pussy closer to his lustful lips that begged for a taste. Back arching, your nails tangle, scratched to his scalp when his mouth delves lower, trailing a few sauntered kisses to the insides of your thighs, two sturdy fingers slicked between your moist arousal, rubbing a swell to your clit as it thrived for more stimulation; ached for his mouth to make art along your womanhood. To decorate your warm, wet haven with a symphony of his want. “Relax for me, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your pulsing clit, licking a gentle stride to the slit of your fold. With one of his hands moving to hold yours on the rippled bedsheets, his other pumps sinful fingers inside your cunt, adding stimulation. Merely a lewd moan flees your lips, eyes clasped shut as the feel of his sinfully warm tongue lapping your nectar overtakes, and you practically cry a whimper when the feeling of sheer, burning bliss coils, bubbles in your mid. Keanu has always been a giver, his skill, his expertise, his attention to detail never fail to make you feel as if a painting; a mural he paints with vibrant hues, vibrant tones; music he makes spill out your body each and every time he works you this way.

Each time he shows you the stars alike; each time he shows you just how fucking much he loves you.

The sounds of your wetness slicking his lips fill the room, laced with the searing sound of your gasping moans, yelping groans at the way his hold on your hand tightens, tongue flattening with alternating flicks between fast and slow, delicate sucks and kisses to your ached clit. Keanu works a symphony of pace, spreading your folds as needed, skilfully conjuring an orgasm to build inside you that you knew would channel you into absolute oblivion, at a mere 10:00AM in the morning.

“Please…” You beg, pleading, gazing down at the sight of your love between your legs, devouring you whole. “Please don’t stop, babe.” You drip, toes curling, spare hand clenched to the bedsheets. “I’m so close.” Hips bucking, disjointed moans squirm under his touch, his suave voice pushing your need for release further to the end.

“You sound so sexy, angel.” He encourages, circular motions firm, stubbled beard burning against your core. And to the sound of his lust thick tone, your climax washes over you with the force of a strong ocean current; one that rummages over the ocean shore, spilling strong, warm relief over each inch of your body.

As the nirvana dies, and your eyes barely open again, his chocolate gaze watches you with a smile; clearly pleased with how deliciously he’d given you the orgasm of your dreams. Glossy on his beard, your release coats in a glaze to his chin, and you bite your pink stained lips, sighing at the way he still looks into you,

as if viewing his favourite picture; his favourite dream. As if the light of every star in the universe’s dire sky had been embedded inside you.

Something special grows inside him; something so sincere, something that thrives off of nothing, but loving you so well, so good.

“Thank you.” Is all you’d managed, sighing, cupping his dark tined cheek when he comes up, offering a soft kiss to your lips as his hand still holds yours, tenderly. You hadn’t realized how desperate you’d needed relief, how frantic you needed escape from the world around.

And with a simpered smirk and wet kiss daubed to your neck, Keanu kisses your forehead, one hand still held to yours as his other strokes his meaty shaft, fully erect from the pornographic sight of you moaning, whimpering, embellished in utter ecstasy as you’d cum for him. “Oh baby,” He kisses the corner of your lips, sloppy palm tugging a few measly strokes to his dangerously thick, glorious cock; felt strongly aroused, stabbing against the soft skin of your stomach. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

The day had complied, had been spent with just you, and him. Together, through each waking minute, lost together, relishing together.

After drawing you a steamy, heavenly eased bubble bath, in which he’d joined you tenderly after your AM rumble, your dream of a man had helped wash you, massaged a gentle cleanse to your hair through soft kisses, and intimate grazes of each other’s skin.

“I love you, so much.” He’d whispered into your ear, flushy pink chest pressed firm to your back as you’d lounged against him in the soapy water; fragrant aroma of roses and lavender kissed to each sense. Bubble bath’s shared with Keanu had always been your favourite; you’d forgotten how dire you’d needed simplicity. How great you’d needed to share simple, carefree, intimate moments with him during the chaotic shambles the world held, upon these uncertain times.

You’d forgotten that your remedy, the only antidote you’d ever needed, had been resting at your finger tips. He’d been holding you tenderly each night, kissing you awake every morning. He’d been checking in on you, gently brushing strokes to your hair and offering you kind hugs when you’d needed them most.

He’d been silently, quietly forgetting to care for himself as he watched you, trying everything in his power to make sure that you’d be alright. So much, that he’d broken down in his own, unique way today, for you.

What you saw in his eyes this morning, as he begged, pleaded for you to allow him to take care of you; was something different. It was fear, it was surrender.

He’d surrendered a part of himself to you. A part you’d always hold, always keep. This morning, he’d begged you to remember it. To remember, that a part of him, lives within you, part of him resides within you.

He’d begged you to take care of that part of him today. To allow yourself to remember that you need to flourish, need to slow down, before that part of you breaks.

A piece of him belongs to you, and he’d begged you to care for it. To care for yourself; because you and him, that us that resides within you, is truly,

something else.

Something so powerful, so real.

You and him, against the world.

       It’s what you’d promised.

“Baby?” You barely whisper, snuggled into his warm embrace on the snug living room sofa. With your head on his chest, both his arms wrap around your body, holding you close as you’d both gazed the blue TV screen; reruns of your favourite 90’s sitcom portrayed to the motion picture. Against your ear, his heartbeat had been calm, collected. Serene, to the feel of your skin against his, knowing you were safe; at ease, resting.

“Yeah?” He quietly wonders, a stray kiss softened to the top of your head. The sun had set, and a gentle evening glow dims in the room, moonlighted silver threatening to spill in soon. As the world outside darkens, and all living things bid goodnight; the world prepares to flourish again. To revenue a moment of calm over the silvery night, to replenish, to prosper tomorrow,

When tomorrow shall come.

“Thank you for holding me.” You whisper, calmly, sweetly, drowsily into his chest. And with a deep chuckle, Keanu’s hands smooth over your back, deep baritone of his chest sending that familiar wave of warm, complete and utter,

gratitude, soaring, flowing inside you. “I’ll always hold you.” He returns, quietly, another kiss into your maven locks, arms tightening around you further as if in fear, that you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold firm enough. And to the sound of his heartfelt confession, you sink further into the feel of him

holding you,

with every last breath. And you remember, that him, this dream, this symphony you fear might just be a dream, is the embodiment, of a thousand feelings, complied all into one. Roses are beautiful, flowers are gorgeous, the sun and her blossoms are wonderful too. But all you really need, is him. This man, that reminds you, that you too,

need to breathe.

You too, need to flourish.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[joshuas]

that’s not even ramen

♫ pairing: yang jeongin x gender neutral reader

♫ genre: college/university student!au, slice-of-life, crack, fluff

♫ word count: 3.5k

♫ warnings: nil of note!

♫ summary: a bunch of chaotic misunderstandings, trot singing new years concerts that lead to lots of fluff at the end ^^

♫ tagging: @fluffyskzclub​

♫ a/n: happy april fools! my joke is... that i can’t do anything on time and post things that were supposed to be posted in january in april, so without further ado, i present the eighth addition to my seasonal drabbles! 

♫ skz seasonal drabbles: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

“I swear, this is the tenth time I’ve heard him sing tonight! If he’s going to continue to do this, he should at least sing a different song.” You sighed, exasperated as you tried to put your three-year-old sister to sleep. Her sleep, of course, being interrupted by your new next-door neighbour, Yang Jeongin. He had taken up trot singing over the last couple of weeks and decided only to practice his singing at 11 pm at night. Which, coincidentally, woke your baby sister up every time. And as if it wasn’t hard enough having sole custody over a sibling let alone having a teaching degree to attend to during the day. Your professors had been understanding of your... predicament after your parents moved out of the picture, but there was only so much patience they could hold. Of course, you couldn’t confront Jeongin about it — you were only acquaintances... barely even friends as you had only known each other through university... and now the thin wall that separated your living quarters. Well, it’d also be too awkward if you did (ugh, social confrontation), which is why you put up with it... Relief flooded through you when you heard the singing cease, sighing as your sister stopped fussing and fell back asleep. It’s not as though Jeongin was a bad singer. In fact, he was quite brilliant. But his singing was not appreciated at ungodly hours. The walls started to pulse as folk music blasted at a deafening volume, snapping you out of your reverie and forcing you to focus back on your crying sibling. You held back a scream, mentally cursing at Jeongin, I swear to God, the next time I see this boy—

“Mina put on your coat, it’s ridiculously cold out! It’s January, remember? And what season is it in Jan—“ You paused, observing the idiot that exited his apartment alongside you, “Oh! Hello, Jeongin—“ He walked away without a word, rushing down the stairs. Rude! First the singing and now he’s ignoring me? Does he have any human decency?

“Hello! Welcome — make sure you sign in your children before you leave!” Your eyes settled on Jeongin, who was beaming at the little kids that entered the daycare, holding out the sign-in sheet, Great and now he works at the only affordable day care. How... pleasant. Wiggling her hand out of your grasp, your sister waddle-ran over to Jeongin, giving him the biggest hug, for him to pick her up and spin her around. Ignoring the skip of your heart, you cooly approached the two of them, silently taking the sign in sheet and signing your name. “You must be Mina’s parent— I’m Jeongin, one of the part-timers here.” He held out his hand, Mina, still in his arms, blocking his view. You shook it, “Not her—“ You broke off as another kid ran to Jeongin, crying as he dragged him inside the daycare. Without turning around, Jeongin waved at you in dismissal. You scoffed, He won’t even acknowledge me at home but now that we’re in public and he’s literally being paid to be a decent human being, he’ll put on a face and pretend to be friendly? No thank you.

You rubbed at your temples, mentally snapping at yourself to focus. Tutorial time was probably the only time you had to yourself to study and get things done. But you know what? That wasn’t happening today. Why? Because of Yang Jeongin infiltrating your thoughts every five seconds. You grumbled to yourself, almost ready to pack up and leave, He should pay rent for how long he’s been living in my head. “Oh wait! Y/N, you’re leaving already?” A voice called out from behind a tower of books in their hands, not long before plonking them down on the table in front of you. You looked up, your gaze meeting Jeongin’s hopeful one. Why is he being so friendly? Especially since he flat out ignored me this morning... “Um... I was planning to. Not that it’s any of your business.” You said coldly, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion at his sudden friendliness. Really, Y/N? You’re being like this just because he snubbed you this morning? Okay, wait that’s pretty valid. Ignoring the little “no it’s not” in your head, you maintained your cold demeanour.  “Oh. Um. Sorry. I was just asking because I was hoping to study with you.” Jeongin rubbed his neck awkwardly. You looked at him doubtfully, ignoring the hopeful fluttering in your stomach, “Why would you want to hang out with me of all people?” “Well, you’re the top of the class—“ You scoffed disdainfully and he broke off, looking at you wide-eyed. Of course he only wanted to use me for personal gain. Whatever, Y/N. Just avoid him. Do not interact! “I’m definitely heading off now. Bye.” You grabbed your books, leaving the library and a slightly confused and shocked Jeongin behind. He’s not worth it, Y/N.

You buckled Mina in her little seat in the trolley, lightly humming as you pushed her along. After realising that you were out of ramen (a staple study food, fight me if you disagree), you had scrambled to pick up Mina from daycare before rushing over to the local grocery store, keen to get at least some ramen to fuel your study session after putting Mina to bed. That is if she’s able to sleep. Hopefully Jeongin won’t— You reached for the last pack of your favourite ramen, a hand brushing over yours to grab it with you. You whipped your head around, gaze meeting— yet again— Mr Yang Jeongin. How many times do I have to see him today??? This feels like a cruel joke. It’s not funny! You coughed, pointedly looking between Jeongin and his grip on the ramen you had so obviously grabbed before him. He sighed, pushing his specs up the bridge of his nose, pushing his hair back with the other hand, hand still fixated on the ramen packet, “Please, Y/N. I need this to study.” You inhaled sharply, trying not to be bothered by the impeccable College Boyfriend vibe he was exhibiting, dressed simply in a sweatshirt and track pants, “So. Do. I. In fact, I need it a lot more than you since your singing keeps up the whole neighbourhood. And no! I’m not calling you a bad singer, because on the contrary, you’re quite brilliant and I honestly don’t know why you didn’t decide to become a singer instead of a teacher. I mean, do you really want to waste your life away working at a daycare?” You rambled. Jeongin looked at you, stunned, loosening his grip on the ramen, and handing it to you, his cheeks lightly dusted with pink, “...You know what? You can have it. I’ll just buy... this one! Yep. This one.” He scurried away, leaving you stunned, “But that’s not even ramen!”You called out after him. “Doesn’t matter!”

“Mina, please. Isn’t your crying at least making you tired?” You rocked your sister, exhausted as you looked at the clock— thirty minutes she’s been crying. Jeongin had decided not to sing tonight for some reason. But your sister still had difficulty sleeping. Perhaps he is actually a decent human being... although, I can’t say that I don’t miss his singing... what? Yes, you can, Y/N. The guy literally kept you up til three because of his singing. Mina just felt so inspired by his vocals that she had to try herself... by crying. Ugh.  The walls started to vibrate as you sighed, Complimented him too soon. His melodic tone carrying through to the nursery, your sister’s not so melodic cries mixing in even louder than his singing. You steeled yourself, done with this nonsense. Putting on a coat, you stomped out of your apartment, knocking insistently on Jeongin’s door. The door opened to reveal a bewildered Jeongin as you thrusted your screaming sister into his arms, “You started this. You fix it.”

Jeongin held the door to his apartment with one hand, the other arm supporting your screaming sister. Allowing you into the apartment, you observed how spotless it was, giving it an appraising look. “Seungmin’s my roommate. Hence, why it’s so clean. It’s all he does when he gets home from the hospital.” Jeongin explained whilst trying to rock Mina to sleep. “I’m surprised he puts up with your singing.” You noted. “He works nights.” Jeongin deadpanned. You opened your mouth, closing it when you saw his attention turn towards Mina. Cooing at her, he slowly sunk himself into the cushions of the couch, lowly humming a melody familiar to the ones you had heard through the wall. However, it was more of a ballad version. A soft smile crept onto your face as you observed the two, your heart aching at the adorable sight. Mina slowly fluttered her eyes, slowly closing them as Jeongin hummed further, his chest vibrating comfortingly from his singing, the movement lulling her... to sleep! You looked amazingly at Jeongin, his triumphant gaze finding yours. You tried to take Mina off him as she fussed in her sleep, cuddling further into his chest, you sighed, putting your hands up in defeat — afraid to wake her. “So... care to explain why I had to do this?” Jeongin whispered, looking pointedly at you. “Well...you’ve been keeping her up with your trot singing that she’s been eventually falling asleep at almost 11 pm. The thing that I’m weirded out the most by is that she cried at the lack of your singing and when you sang a softer version of that folk song, she fell asleep straight away.” You explained. “Babies are weird like that. But why did you have to give her to me to calm down?” Jeongin asked, confused. “Well one, you’re studying teaching and working at a daycare. And two, you started this!” You numbered. “We’re in the same class and she’s your sister!” Jeongin pointed out, eyes wide. “Look. The main reason really is your singing. Why do you have to sing so late, anyways? It’s not like you’re preparing for any assignment... we don’t have to create a song for our assignment... right?” You asked, tone slightly laced with concern. “No, no.” He dismissed your concerns, sighing, “The real reason why I’m singing so late at night is actually because I’m preparing for something. I don’t really have time otherwise to prepare for it since I have uni and work.” “What are you preparing for?” You scrunched your eyebrows quizzically. “You have to promise not to laugh.” He looked at you pointedly. “I can’t promise that.” You scoffed. “Well then I can’t tell you.” He lifted his head, looking elsewhere. “Fine. Fine!” You whispered harshly. “Okay, well I’m doing this competition that’s basically a talent show for unusual talents. And mine is... trot singing. The whole point of this talent show, though, is to actually achieve your New Year goals and resolutions.” “And yours is... to win with your trot singing?” You looked at him bewilderingly. “No.” He lightly slapped his forehead, disappointed at your lack of piecing together what little information he provided you with. “My resolution is to perform on stage. However, my only formal singing training is in trot singing.” “Ah, I see.” “Yeah... you should come! Only if you can. Obviously. No pressure.” He asked quickly. “Oh! I’m surprised you want me there after everything that happened.” You said sheepishly. “What happened?” He widened his eyes in confusion. “Well— you were kind of a jerk to me all of today.” You noted. “I was? Oh—“ “You ignored me this morning, put on a face when I dropped Mina off at daycare, purely because you were at work and tried to talk to me in tutorial after that. Then you nearly stole my ramen!” You interrupted. “Oh wow, I really did all of that today? Anyway, let me explain. In the morning, yes I saw you and I could’ve yelled a hello, I admit it. But I was very stressed since Seungmin is normally the one to wake me up when he comes back from the hospital but I think he must’ve gone home with his partner or something because he didn’t come home last night, and I had no way to contact him because Jisung threw his phone in the bin.” He explained. “He what?” You recoiled in bewilderment at the last part. “Long story. Anyway, I actually just go straight to autopilot whenever I have to converse with the parents. And since it’s my first week, I wasn’t expecting to see someone I know, let alone you, so I just went straight to my Customer Service Polite Conversation Autopilot Mode... customer service is so hard. As for the tutorial thing, I wanted to study with you! Believe it or not, I actually do appreciate your company.” He said pointedly. You blushed, clearing your throat, “That doesn’t explain the ramen thing, though.” He sighed, “Ramen is my study food too, you know. But I figured you needed it a lot more than me... also your compliment caught me off guard.” He muttered the last part, you smirked slightly as you heard it. “Anyway, I would really appreciate it if you could come because... well, you- you’re one of my good friends.” He rubbed his neck tentatively. Your chest ached slightly, feelings of disappointment infiltrating your head, only to be met with confusion... and sudden realisation. Oh. No.

[00:37] (Jeongin) hey! you left all of a sudden, but I’ve emailed you the details to the comp. hope you can come :) [10:55] (Jeongin)...Y/N? Are you still alive? Actually, I know you are. But why are you avoiding me? It had been a couple of days since you realised your feelings for Jeongin. Trying to avoid him at any costs, you changed up your schedule — only taking morning tutorials, making sure you didn’t run into him wherever you went. It didn’t help that your lives were so intertwined. Mina had gotten particularly attached to him — you watched her from outside the daycare, her little legs wrapped around his, clinging onto him like a koala and reluctant to let him go when she saw you at the gate. That certainly did not help. But what could you do? In order to avoid hardship, you have to cut the relationship in the bud. Especially since he only sees you as a friend. You snapped your attention to the door, as a knock resounded through your apartment, redirecting your attention from your phone to... a very unkempt Seungmin, waiting behind the door. “Hey, Y/N! I was wondering if you could do me a favour?” He asked, words rushed. “That depends on what it is.” You crossed your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “I need you to go to Jeongin’s talent show for me.” He said. You shut the door immediately on him, “Y/N’s not here.” “I— what? Y/N, please. I need to go to the hospital today and he really wants you to go!” Seungmin pleaded from behind the door. “Why can’t you get any of his hyungs to attend? He has like six other ones.” You proposed. “He really wants you to come. He really likes you, Y/N.” Seungmin sighed. You opened the door slightly, peaking out from around the door, “Yeah. As a friend.” “What gave you that impression?” Seungmin looked at you confusedly. “He said it to my face?” You said, equally as confused. “Oh my god. He like likes you, okay? He didn’t tell anyone except us two about the contest. He told me because we live together but he told you because he has feelings for you!” Seungmin inhaled sharply, trying ridiculously hard not to roll his eyes in annoyance. “You’re not just telling me this so I would go?” You raised an eyebrow sceptically. “No. I have nothing to gain out of that because if you found out I was lying, I know you’ll hold a grudge against me forever, and as neighbours that really would not work out.” He said a matter of factly. “...alright. Fine. I’ll go. And you do realise we’re also friends? Friends generally shouldn’t lie to each other.” You looked at him pointedly. “Right. That.” He said shortly. “Anyway, you should hurry since you only have... twenty minutes til it starts.” He checked his watch. You gasped, “And you only thought to tell me now?” “Some of us have more important things to do than helping your love story progress. For example, saving lives. So, goodbye!” He waved, ushering you to close the door before sprinting down the hall. Time to sort this out... I guess.

You rushed to the venue after purchasing flowers and chocolate and organising for Jisung and his partner to come babysit... although you weren’t exactly trusting of them after hearing of their lawsuit rendezvous at the shopping centre. That was irrelevant right now, though. After sitting through more than fifteen of the most unusual acts at the talent show, you questioned how Jeongin even found out about it. It wasn’t until he entered on stage, lights dimming around him as he sang a slow, but emotive trot song— eyes searching over the crowd, only to lock onto yours as he belted his last note, the audience standing in applause as he stood back, catching his breath, eyes never leaving yours. “And there you have it folks! First of all, a big congratulations to all of you— you’ve successfully achieved at least one of your New Years resolutions!” The MC walked on stage, passing Jeongin on his way out, “But now, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for— the winner of this new year’s resolution talent contest is... Yang Jeongin!” A hearty applause echoed throughout the room, loud cheers erupting as Jeongin entered the stage again, you stood up, giving him an encouraging smile whilst cheering, “Okay, well first of all, thank you for the opportunity to do this. I don’t think I would’ve ever performed if it weren’t for making it a New Years resolution.” Low laughter hummed from the audience, “I guess— another person to thank is... well... someone that I really like and have for a while- Y/N. Even though our whole relationship basically consisted of a bunch of misunderstandings, you still came to this competition for me. At least, I hope it was for me. It’d be awkward if it wasn’t, since this is a sort of confession thing. Actually— do you think you could join me on stage?” The audience turned to you as you stared at him in shock. Shaking out of your reverie, you slowly stood up, making your way to the stage as he held out a hand, helping you up the stairs. You gave him a nervous but small smile, “Congratulations on your win!” You handed him the flowers, as he pulled you in for a quick hug. “Y/N, you’re probably the coolest person I’ve ever befriended. You’re incredibly driven, caring, and probably the person I respect most in my life. The way you’re achieving all your goals whilst managing the stress and struggles of raising your younger sibling astounds me, and honestly, that’s probably the feature that I find most admirable about you.” Jeongin spoke into his mic, gaze deepening into yours, the audience “aww”ing in response to him. “So, I guess where I’m trying to get at is— will you go out with me?” He asked as the audience cheered you on. You took the mic off him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I’d love to.” He pulled you into a tight embrace as the audience cheered loudly, whistling as well. As you exited the auditorium, entering the foyer, you intertwined your hands with Jeongin’s, “Where should we go for our first date?” You asked, quickly putting on your coat and a beanie, wearily eying the snowfall outside, “I don’t know, I was thinking karaoke?” Jeongin suggested. You scoffed, “No.” “Why not?” He asked, genuinely confused. “Because you’d absolutely crush me. That’s why. Also, I know you’re only saying that because they gave you yearly access to the karaoke club as your prize.” You rolled your eyes. “You wound me with your words, Y/N. Do you think I’d cheapskate on our date?” He placed his hand to his chest, faking a gasp. “Never.” You mimicked his gesture as you exited the foyer. “Yah! Y/N!” “I’m joking, I’m joking! Ahh— don’t tickle me-“ You gasped as his fingers found your sides, giggles unwillingly being emitted. “Only if you give me another kiss.” He tapped his lips, you sighed, leaning over to give him another kiss, as he lightly drew your neck closer to him, deepening the kiss. You pulled back, eyes sparkling with joy, “Well...Even though I know you’ll trash me at it...Race you to the karaoke club?” You proposed, stretching your muscles. “Really? We just had the most epic kiss and now all you’re concerned about is karaoke?!” He raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Last one to the karaoke place gets no kisses for the rest of the day!” “Oh, you’re on.”

Thank you for reading! Would you like to read more?

[tarithenurse]

Nightingale - 37

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Time lapse, fluff, angst, sweetness, smuttiness/smut, feels, awkward situation. It’s a bit random this time. A/N: As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag! HUUUGE thanks to all who are reblogging already <3

Ch. 37

A few weeks have passed, and Uguïsu’s bandages have come off – at first leaving the hands raw and red but soon improving and keen to pull Kakashi close whenever there is a chance. It isn’t as often as he would like because the snow doesn’t put a stop to the missions, it merely changes the theme of them a bit as now roads have to be cleared for officials or merchants to get from one place to another. And of course the genin teams available double as guards – even highwaymen are forced to take what they can get as traffic has slowed to a near stop.

A new trend is rising this winter: randomly, spread throughout Konoha, lanterns made of perfectly shaped snowballs appear during wind-still nights, the light from the tea candles shining out between the gaps onto the crisp snow wherever they are placed. Toddlers are quick to pick up on the idea, the lumpy creations less stable than those made by the girls a few years older who carefully insert little sprigs of fir for decoration, making their creations stand out from the original maker’s.

...

Coming back from a mission, Kakashi is surprised to find both apartments empty. Uguïsu hasn’t been cleared for duty yet and despite the increasing number of acquaintances, she’s still a bit of a loner.

His blue nightingale returns in the late afternoon. Wordlessly slipping in through his window (a habit she otherwise had abandoned a few months ago), she curls up next to him on the bed where he’s reading and burrows with the head against his hip.

“What’s wrong?”

An incomprehensible grunt is the only answer. Putting the book aside, Kakashi repositions them so he can wrap his arms around her. She’s tense in his embrace, breath baited as frustration dances under her skin. After knowing her for this long, the white-haired jōnin is smarter than to keep insisting on an explanation – that has never been the way to get her to open up.

“Morino had a task for me,” the woman begins after a while.

Since she passed the exams, they had both known it might happen eventually as it’s a part of the agreement she has accepted to become a shinobi of Konohagakure. Kakashi...well, he had hoped to have been informed first even if he doesn’t have a say in it.

“They found a missing-nin in the snow as well.” The woman shudders at the thought of the season’s first storm. “All I got him to tell was the same as they already had figured out.”

A test. “Hm.” The distant sound of a dog barking can be heard. “That’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”

She shakes her head further away. “No.” There’s a pause in which the walls take on a rosy colour from the evening light. “The man was trying to spy on the genin-teams...wanted an idea of the so-called competition.”

When Uguïsu had prepared for her exams, hoping to become accepted as a shinobi on chunin level, she had been informed that once or twice a year, depending on the number of viable candidates, the hopeful genins would have to pass through three stages of the exam, competing as teams against teams, and later individually

“The exams are also a means for each country to show their strength without inciting conflict, not just a show for potential clients,” Kakashi explains.

There’s a muffled hrumph preceding the reappearance of a cute, disgruntled face. “Mhm. So apparently the exams are held for all nations’ candidates. Together. In one place.”

“Which is why we couldn’t have you partake in the official exams.” He brushes stray locks out of her face, earning a wriggle of her nose as it tickles. “I’m sure you’d beat them all, though, if you could have joined.”

Looking at him, Uguïsu arches an eyebrow. “...are you trying to distract me with a compliment?”

“Depends.” Absolutely. “Is it working?”

There’s mischief in her eyes when she reaches up to pull his mask away and softly trace his lips with a finger. “Worth a try,” she smirks.

Kakashi doesn’t have to think hard before continuing, sometimes earning an eye roll (like when he mentions the way she snores in her sleep if her nose is runny) but mostly coaxing smiles from her. By the time he’s slid further down into the bed, he considers the personal mission accomplished and revels in the sensation of the lazy kisses and her fingers dancing over the skin of his chest underneath his clothes.

If only I could...

During the months together, Uguïsu has grown more comfortable with physical closeness as long as it’s in the shape of cuddling, hand-holding, and other displays that are almost identical to platonic signs of affection. These are, the jōnin presumes, huge steps for her, and because of that he doesn’t dare move too quick even if he yearns to splay a hand over her bare belly or rest it on the thigh when they’re sitting side by side. Just the thought of getting to explore more of the woman sends his mind off in a different direction than intended.

“Hm,” her voice doesn’t quite bring Kakashi back to the present, “there you go again...”

The palm cupping his half-hard cock through the pants does, though, although he’s incapable of thinking coherently for a second or two.

“You don’t ha-” he begins.

“I know...but...can I?” Dark eyes are gazing at him through the lashes. “Please?”

It’s impossible to answer by other means than a nod even after trying to swallow the dryness in his throat away.

The caresses are hesitant, barely palpable through the fabric, and maybe that’s why Kakashi’s body responds rapidly. He lets out a sigh of relief when she pops the button and slides the zipper down to create more space, then a hiss as only the boxer briefs are in between the warm exploration and his skin.

“Wait,” he grinds out, reaching underneath the elastic to reposition the cock flat against his abdomen.

Slipping his hand out, he takes care to cover what he can out of an uncertain worry for Uguïsu’s limits – limits that are being rewritten right now and he’d be damned if he was the cause for any discomfort.

Even with the restraining layer, her hand feels perfect the way the fingers curve to fit his shaft and her thumb massages his sac testingly.

“Hnng,” the white-haired jōnin bites back a moan.

The question in her gaze as she looks up is obvious and answered by a short nod before she continues stroking the length and sending throbbing waves of delight coursing through his body. Kakashi’s mind has short-circuited but he wouldn’t have denied the advances anyways when the woman tugs at the clothes and frees his cock – he can only look in awe at the sight of her ministrations before letting his head fall back, knocking it harshly into the headboard without any of them really noticing.

“Wow,” Uguïsu breathes as his erection bobs of its own accord, powered by the rush.

My thoughts.

“How do -” she stills -”what feels good for you?”

She’s a quick learner and pleased to continue the movements on her own after he has wetted her hand with a slobbering kiss and adjusted the grip by engulfing her hand in his for a couple of strokes. A delighted giggle escapes the blue nightingale’s lips when he groans as she adds a twist when reaching the crown.

Damn. It’s perfect. Admittedly, part of the ecstasy might be fuelled by the (seemingly) endless time since anyone last touched him like this, but Kakashi can’t deny how right it feels that it’s Uguïsu rather than some one else. Lust clouds his mind and he barely has the wherewithal to prevent from thrusting into her fist as his muscles clench and balls tighten and suddenly it all becomes overwhelming just as her thumb spreads the beads of pre-cum over the tip.

“Wait! Sh-ugh!”

Despite scrambling, clasping her hand in his around the cockhead, Kakashi’s too late to stop his orgasm to barrel through his defences and concerns. Seeing white and feeling the tightening throbs, he cums with a deep groan before slumping back onto the bed.

It takes a moment before he manages to release the tight grasp, carefully prying away Uguïsu’s fingers that are coated in stickiness.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” her whisper is broken.

No. No don’t. “Please don’t be.” He kneels before her, capturing her gaze. “You did nothing wrong. I should be the one to apologize for -”cutting off, he looks at the mess of their hands -”just...wait a second and I’ll get something to clean it off.”

Somehow, despite wobbly knees, he manages to rush to the bathroom where he washes his hands haphazardly before finding a washcloth and lathering it with soapy water.

Uguïsu is sitting exactly as he’d left her, staring with huge eyes at her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi whispers as he sets to cleaning the mess away gently, “I should have thought further. Don’t feel bad, please...it’s my fault ‘cause I should’ve known it’d be too good and it was and then -”

“You...” she interrupts meekly, “it was good?”

Huh? “Well...yes, that’s why...”

A shy smile begins to spread across her face, making the jōnin's heart begin to race all over again. “Wow...I did...I made you...”

That’s when it clicks. Bittersweet understanding floods his brain as her words echo for him only. This is her having a glimmer of control over anything sexual...for the first time. And he knows deep down that if ever he gets to stand face to face with Orochimaru then he won’t hold back, he’ll make the monster suffer for all the wrongs committed against this girl.

“Yeah, and I liked it. Okay?”

Uguïsu’s smile is broad and almost swallows her eyes. “Cool. Can I try again?”

Huh?! “If you want to, yeah. But only if you like it ‘cause you should only do these sort of things if it feels right to you.”

Well, he knows that she likes kissing, so he has no complains when their lips crash together and she pushes him back against the pillow. He does have to stop her hand as she begins to caress his semi-limp cock, though, and explain that at least a bit of a recovery period might be necessary for him.

[blossomoranges]

Crossmarch and Mirai's Search For The Silver Fox

hi everyone! this was part of the @ikesennw‘s secret santa, written for @mitsushide from me. the fic focuses on her character, Mirai, facing her first Christmas in Azuchi posing as a princess of the Nakamura clan. in truth, she’s an undercover agent for the Crimson Lotus, an organisation of women looking to bring down the feudal warlords, and an all-around badass. also, local himbo Yukimura makes a cameo.

read her fabulous series beneath a night sky, vast & wide  for more context!

word count: 1550

pairing: hints of mirai/mitsuhide

Winter had come to Azuchi on swift wings, bringing a chill to the air and a coating of frost on the ground. But this year, the season was different. The Oda’s support of the Western traders had brought a new influx of foreigners to the gates of the town, and with them came stories of strange cultures and traditions. ‘Christmas’, as it came to be known, was a winter festival celebrated by many of these people - a time of feasting and gift giving and togetherness. Nobunaga Oda, with his endless fascination for anything new, had announced a holiday for the citizens of his provinces.

Mirai wasn’t sure what to think of all this. A day off for all the hard-working people of Azuchi was a step in the right direction, but it could just be one of Nobunaga’s passing fancies. There was no guarantee that this festival would become a tradition. Plus, she could barely pronounce the name. Christ-moss? Clip-mass? Whatever.

And just how was she meant to look for openings to rid the land of these warlords when the castle was flooded with people preparing for a banquet? 

Ever since she’d arrived in Owari under the Nakamura banner and the guise of a sickly princess, she’d made sure to document the routines of the six key warlords, but they’d seemingly scattered to the winds. Mirai had caught a glimpse of Masamune Date cooking up a storm in the kitchens, the door to Ieyasu Tokugawa’s office had been barred from the inside, and Mitsuhide Akechi… was nowhere to be found. According to Honoka, he’d last been seen heading out to the town centre. She can’t say that trying to track him down is a wise thing to do - princesses don’t usually go around tailing people. But the sheer volume of people stocking up on winter goods and preparing for this strange festival provided safety in numbers and a golden opportunity to see what the kitsune was getting up to.

So here she is, standing at the edge of a crowded marketplace, attempting to track a man who’d perfected his disappearing act and to blend in all the while. 

If she wasn’t so experienced, she would never be able to find him.  She cleared her mind and focused on the smells, sounds, and sights of the market, and kept pushing forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Mirai sees a swirl of teal and ivory. The chase is on.

He’s a worthy opponent. Mitsuhide ducks, dodges, and weaves through the town with the grace of a heron, while Mirai follows in his tread, slinking just out of sight. She can’t survey him from the rooftops (damn these unwieldy kimono skirts), so she darts into one of the many alleyways to stay out of sight. Their pattern of fox and mouse holds, right until the kitsune stops in his tracks at the very edges of the market, turning to examine a stall surrounded by trinkets and charms. Mirai is a tad surprised - he didn’t seem the type to enjoy frivolity, or anything uninvolved with torture for that matter.

His exchange with the shopkeeper lasts mere moments before he’s off again, out of sight and drifting away like a spirit with questionable taste in clothes. Thus comes an end to her fruitless chase. She needs to head back to the castle soon, anyway. After he had overcome his initial animosity, Hideyoshi seemed convinced that Mirai might drop dead from a cold as soon as the sun sank below the horizon. There was a slim chance he’d be too busy to notice her disappearance, preparing for the banquet and worshipping the ground Nobunaga walked upon, but it wouldn’t do to be questioned. 

The road back to the castle gates was so much more boring without a target to prey upon. The crowds had dissipated a bit as it neared sundown, though some citizens milled about, browsing and discussing the coming winter. The winds were even more chilly, but she kept a measured pace.

There was something glinting in the last rays of the day. Mirai inclined her head towards the source, a blanket laid out with accessories much like the ones that had caught Mitsuhide’s attention. She was in no rush to return to the castle - regardless of the festivities, it was just another night of endless posturing and waiting for openings to strike. Looking at pretty things might suit her disguise. 

She crouched to examine the wares, her eyes drifting over the kanzashi, hairpins, and obi charms. Aha! There was the culprit. A group of silver animals hung upon cords were caught in the light and a tiny fox curled up against its tail rocked gently at the forefront.

“You gonna buy anything? I’m about to close up,” came a rough, unrefined voice. 

Mirai barely spared a glance for the man before responding in a cool tone. 

“I am just admiring your wares, sir.” 

“Well, admire them quicker! I’ve been busy all day with this… Crossmarch nonsense the Oda are putting on. I swear, all you girls are like this.”

He must have been blessed by the gods, because if Mirai didn’t want to blow her cover, she’d have attacked by now. Her newfound acquaintance was dressed head-to-toe in scarlet and his head, clearly empty, was crowned by a mop of brown hair. He also seemed to be the world’s worst spy - six golden coins were emblazoned on his chest, marking him as one of the Sanada. She grasped for the little fox she’d been examining, tucked it into her pouch, and chucked a few coins onto the blanket. Not the best use of Rui’s funds, but needs must when playing a princess.

“Good night, merchant. You may want to use those funds to buy a new kimono. One that’s less conspicuous.”

She glided away from the blanket, taking careful steps, only half-listening to the spluttered retorts of the merchant-warrior. 

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

The moon peeks out from behind the heavy clouds to cast her light over the courtyard, lighting it up in splendour, and Azuchi’s newest princess watches in turn. She had broken out in shivers from the frigid air long ago, but the stillness provided a balm for her mind. The banquet had been so loud. The further away she was from crowds of rowdy men, the better - at least Mirai can be herself here under the moon’s watchful gaze. 

The day wasn’t entirely a loss: she’d learnt the layout of the town, confirmed the presence of enemy forces, and managed to find a fox - just not the one she’d set out to catch. Her charm was threaded onto her obi cord, but Mitsuhide was still shrouded in mystery. 

With his wit, guile, and access to information, Japan could be his. So what was his motivation for following a distasteful man like Nobunaga?

The moon slips away at the same moment she feels that something, or someone, lurking in the dark behind her. She’ll have to feign surprise if the presence behind her decides to declare itself, but her thoughts race - everyone has the same primal response to shapeless beings in the dark. Kaede’s words echo across time in her thoughts.

‘You are a warrior, but don’t forget the frightened girl that you were. Your past exists within you, dear Mirai. Use that fear to spur on the strength that will always rest in you.’

The words bring a pang to her heart, but she cannot say whether it is fear or pain or grief. She forces herself to breathe.

“Hello, little mouse.”

She casts an upward glance at the voice’s source. With his white robes shrouded in the pale moonlight, the man could pass for a ghost.

“Good evening, Lord Akechi.”

“Oh, do call me Mitsuhide.” His crescent moon smile is wickedly sharp.

“Mitsuhide, then.”

They remain in silence for a few moments.

“Why is our darling princess out here? You’re missing all the festivities.”

“I prefer quieter company. Everyone in the banquet hall is awfully loud for my tastes.”

“I see. You must be tired from your excursion into town, as well. Such a busy day,” he tuts.

Had he spotted her trailing after him? No matter. There was a challenge in his voice and she would not rise to it. 

“I haven’t had much chance to explore. I had missed seeing new places and people, after being ill for so long.” 

“No need to defend yourself, little mouse. I merely noticed your fetching new charm.” He gestured to the sleeping fox in the centre of her obi.

The kitsune brought something out of his robes and set it beside her, as his other hand rested upon her head. It was a battle for Mirai to resist raising her hackles at him.

“A Christmas present for you. I heard you like this particular bird. Good night, little princess.”

Then Mitsuhide was gone, disappearing down the corridor and leaving silence in his wake. 

The only trace he had left was a bronze statue that fit neatly in her palm. A little quail. Was this a trick or some bizarre act of kindness, or did he really just like seeing her puzzled expression? The mystery surrounding him had grown. Mirai hoped she would get her answers soon, but they would not come on Christmas night.

[acelucky]

Doubt - ESS - SFW

Happy Holidays (again) my fellow Escaflowne fans! It’s that special time of year again where we post our ESS entries @esca-ss​  

This year my ESS gift(s) are for the lovely @drkstars-art This is the sfw entry. 

Word Count - 1,295. Characters - Jajuka & Celena. Summary - Slight canon divergence in that Jajuka survives. This is just a little thought I had about how Jajuka & Celena might interact in the early days of her transformation, had Jajuka survived. It’s a little bit sad. It actually ended in a different way but I thought this year has been awful, so I decided to give it a more hopeful ending which reflects how I feel. 

Jajuka looks at the sun on the horizon, dusk is fast approaching and he knows how Allen likes to have Celena in before dark. 

“Celena, come, it’s time to go home.” 

“Home….” Celena repeats as she looks up at him. 

Home, it’s a word so common, a word that is familiar to her and yet it doesn’t seem to register. It isn’t a word with which she has had much acquaintance and so it meant next to nothing to her. 

The look of curiosity which Celena gave him, pierced Jajuka’s heart, as one who was her guardian he felt he had failed in nearly every aspect but here he had a chance to redeem himself, to make things right.

Her mind was as curious as it had been when she was younger, her fingers danced in the air as she grasped at petals falling from nearby trees and followed birds in flight. She’s still living in a dream Jajuka thought. 

She seemed so small back then, but even now he worried about how her story would continue. At how she would hold herself or whether she would always be this kind, this naive, unaware…so much like a doll. 

It felt now as if there was a void between them, larger than it was than when Dilandau was in Celena’s place. It felt like a liminal space and Jajuka didn’t know how to fill it with life once again. 

“Come,” he said again and held out his hand.

“Home?” Celena said again.

Jajuka nodded, “Home, Allen will be waiting for us.”

Celena took Jajuka’s hand but the expression she wore was one of concentration and pain as she stared up at the sky. Her mouth was moving though it remained closed, her lips miming letters, trying to recall something that must have been on the tip of her tongue. A memory from a long time ago. 

As she looked up at the few clouds which remained in the sky, tinted pink by the dying of the day, her lips stopped moving as she forgot what they were just saying. With her free arm she pointed up towards the sky at the birds which circled above the fields, “Crows.” The way she spoke was so dreamy and soft.

Her expression changed suddenly, a violent reflex and flash of red in her eyes, “Allen Schezar….” Dilandau’s voice broke through and the look of confusion on Celena’s face cut Jajuka to the core.

He pulled her in quickly, holding her to his chest and hummed softly. She fell still in his arms and when he heard her yawn he took this as a sign that it was safe to let her go again.

“Jajuka, I am so tired, take me home.”

He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay and that all she needed was a good night’s sleep. While both of these things were technically true, there was so much more he wanted to say to her. He wanted to explain everything that happened and reassure her that in time as long as they continued to take baby steps she would feel more like herself again. But even the process of beginning to explain such things to her was something that made Jajuka feel afraid.

He felt responsible for her and that included not only her safety, but her happiness also.

When Celena was around Allen she remembered more of who she was before. Glimpses of her past, her parents, her days playing in the summer sun would come flooding back to her. But there were moments when those memories came back too fast and she would feel overwhelmed by them. Confused between what was real and what wasn’t.

Jajuka had purchased her a diary which she wrote in most days, it helped to keep track of her memories and where she was in her recovery. Though Allen doubted if she would ever truly recover or that Dilandau would be completely removed from her mind, they did what they could to keep the peace and to keep her safe. 

Van kept his distance for that precise reason, afraid that too much contact with her would bring Dilandau back. 

“Jajuka?” Celena said looking across at him.

Her voice stirred him from his thoughts and he offered her a reassuring smile.

“Where is Chesta? And Gatti, Miguel…” she paused for a moment knowing there were other names too but they were proving more difficult to recall.”

These were names which made Jajuka feel nervous, a nauseous wave which caused bile to rise. It wasn’t because he was afraid that remembering the names of the Dragonslayers would bring Dilandau back or cause Celena’s recovery to slow. It was more from guilt that he felt that way, a terrible sadness that no amount of time could ever vanquish. 

They were the memories that would never be, the years that Celena would never get back or the better life he could have had if he hadn’t been made to serve Zaibach.

Celena tugged on his arm, “Are they coming for tea?”

Jajuka furrowed his brows, forgetting for a moment what she’d said, “Chesta and the others are they coming for tea tonight? I do so miss them.”

That guilt, that sadness was a small price to pay he thought, in order that he may see that bright young girl happy again. 

As she waited for Jajuka to answer she knitted her brows together and nervously ran her hand through her hair, “Wait…Chesta, Gatti….they’re not here anymore are they?” She asked, her eyes lowered towards the grass.

Jajuka placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, “No Celena, they’re not…I’m so sorry.”

When she looked up there were tears in her eyes though she could barely remember the people whose names she just spoke or why it elicited such sadness in her. She jumped up onto a small rock that was next to them and kissed Jajuka’s cheek, “But I still have you?”

Warmth spread throughout Jajuka, “Yes little lady, you still have me.”

It was then that he heard what he considered to be the greatest sound in existence. Celena was laughing and as she jumped down from the rock she pulled away from him. She looked at him for a second and on turning started running down the hill, “Come on Jajuka!” She shouted back at him.

He let out a low chuckle and a growl as he chased her, “I’ll race you to dinner!”

“You’ll never beat me!” She shouted back, her dress and hair blowing in the wind as she ran towards the castle. 

Jajuka realised for the first time that she was less of a girl now and becoming a woman. It suited her and the darkness which seemed to follow her around was subsiding somewhat.

Perhaps most of the fear surrounding her and her future came from Jajuka himself, he was spending too much time thinking about a painful past and worrying about the future that he was barely living in the moment. 

He re-lived these awful moments in his mind instead of looking at the girl in front of him, the girl he’d helped save and the good life, the better life he had secured for himself.

There was happiness in the future, of this he was certain and no amount of nightmares from the past could take that from any of them. Yes would be blips, there would come moments of unbearable pain when glimpses of Dilandau would appear, when nightmares would savage Celena’s dreams and she would be inconsolable for those moments in time.

But he would be there by her side to comfort her in those moments of darkness and help her to see the light ahead. 

[chaosincurlss]

In another world, I’m camped at my best friend’s bedside, reminding her of all the ways I’m going to help her heal, of all the ways I am grateful she survived, of all the ways I love her. She wears a sleepy smile that I’ve seen nothing short of a million times, and a hospital gown that does nothing to hide away the deep purple of the harm the world has done to her. One person should never have known so much pain, and she never should have had to be the one reaching to swipe away the tears that cascaded along my cheeks. Of course, she wouldn’t be the girl I’d grown alongside if she wasn’t the one trying to piece me back together, even when she was the one falling apart. That would be the place where I know myself, where I know the person before me, where I’ve memorized the features of the face my eyes can’t leave.

In this world, I’m looking down at a person I’ve been told is my best friend, but the girl in the coffin looks nothing like her. Everyone comments on how she looks as if she’s sleeping, but those are just the lies they need to tell themselves, because the truth is that this corpse looks like nothing more than some mangled version of Elena Gilbert. As if some twisted person had been given a canvas and asked to paint an idea of her, a broken and warped idea of her that no restorative makeup was going to fix. Some depraved creature had been let loose with the idea of Elena Gilbert and they’d left her this distorted thing. Her cheeks sunken from where her bones had been crushed and they hadn’t cared quite enough to conceal it, the line of her hair disrupted by the loss from when she’d been pulled across the gravel, the perfect button shape of her nose that should be scrunched by laughter now forever scuffed by the injuries she would never have the chance to recover from. From the slumber she would never have the chance to awaken from. I don’t know why people say they look like they’re sleeping, now more than ever, I don’t understand why they say it. At best, they look dead. At worst, they look like someone you’ve never met, but are expected to mourn anyway.

In this stranger’s stray strands of chocolate hair, I was expected to find memories of the times we’d spent playing dress up before we had any idea of what the world would be. Of when we would take turns in whichever princess dress happened to be the favorite that week, though the plastic pearl clips were the constant that stayed with us through it all, and I wished I had them now — I wished I could tuck her hair away just as we did when we were nothing but a twirling vision of trouble in tiaras, and I wished for the magic they held for us then, the type of magic that could undo the very worst of days.

When I took this stranger’s icy cold hand in mine, it should have reminded me of the very first time she’d slipped her fingers between my own, when her skin against mine spoke of something more than it ever had before, of the night that had felt like finally coming home. When we’d held our breaths, and let the silence lay heavy in the darkness of a childhood bedroom, words too much of a threat to such a flighty thing, if we’d even had words for what we were at all.

There was a sickening connection that I didn’t care to recognise in the midst of all of this — one I didn’t care to recognise, which meant that it was the only thing my mind could latch itself on to. I wanted no link between this nauseating period in my life, and any kind of happy moment that I’d been lucky enough to share with Elena, but it was there. This sense of blur that only came along with an emotion so intense that the human body didn’t know what to do with it. There was no part in our mind well enough equipped for the way that our feelings can simply overpower every other function we have, so comes the blur. Either end of the spectrum, the body doesn’t care to differentiate, it all hits the nervous system in the same way, the edges of it lost to the intensity of it all.

The moments of undiluted ecstasy. The moments of debilitating grief. A blur.

How we went from friends to more, the stretch of time it took and the ways it wove its way into my days and into the very fabric of my being, much like the days since the accident and the flurry of planning for the wake and the way that it chipped away at the very fabric of my being. A blur.

The moments when our hands ventured further than they ever had before, the way she said my name as if it were a question, as if it was everything to her, the moment they said the word ‘dead’ and there wasn’t an inkling of a question to it, as if they weren’t taking everything from me. A blur.

The way her lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my stomach and demanded that every hair I had stand in salute to her and the ways she could make me feel, the way my screen lit up with her smile every time there was a call to make and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to feel again. A blur.

Promises of forever made through tears as we braved her empty home for the first time since her parents went over the bridge and how I couldn’t leave her side, how I wouldn’t let her drown in her despair and waste what they would have wanted for her, how I stand alone without her arms around me and there’s nothing to keep me from going under. A blur.

As I try to find my memories’ home in this shell of a person I don’t recognise, without the comfort of the warm chestnut hues that housed every up and down of this rollercoaster that we had called us, the want of warmth soon boils over into a burn. A burning rage for the emptiness of it all, for the finality we would never have, for the clarity she would never be able to grant, for the moments that should have come with the time that we always assumed was guaranteed. Each moment ahead became blurred — first by the silent and pure anger that bubbled for a life that would remain unlived, buried six feet under with every possibility that went with it — second by the tears that came alongside the accompanying agony of such a realization.

From my parents, to my teachers, to my friends, to passersby on the street — I had always been this little gust of Chaos, the ever-twirling bundle of blonde curls, whose path you didn’t dare enter. Not without a taste for Chaos, or a strong enough armor to combat it.

And, oh, how the Chaos swirled below the surface, nothing in my path but this future of shattered bones and scattered dreams, and all that I knew was that I needed to reach for something real, and the scrap of this imposter that I’d been given was nothing close to enough. So much was left buried beneath the surface, beyond this face that I didn’t know, there had to be a piece of the girl I loved somewhere below the chunky wool of the turtleneck the undertakers had insisted upon. A freckle that sat just where her shoulder met her neck, perhaps they’d tucked away her mothers necklace to keep it safe, there had to be a piece of her somewhere, something to tie me to this desolation.

So, my fingers curled at the material, and pulled in search of a prayer that any God who watched over this abomination knew wouldn’t be answered. They would sit in their almightiness and laugh at the girl whose heart broke too easily, the girl who filled herself to the brim with more hope than any one person should be able to carry, the girl whose mouth would fall agape as her eyes fell upon the jagged markings that should be the dip of Elena Gilbert’s collar bones, the exact place where sweet kisses would pool in exchange for the sweeter sounds of her laughter. Not only was this not the body of someone I knew, it was barely a body at all, something sewn together and strategically layered with thick clothing to fool those who dared to gather here in this place that had no hope of salvation.

At once, my hand dropped away, and the material sprung back into place, returning back to its post to guard the secrets that lay below. I expected that the horror had found its way out from within, that the discovery couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but when my gaze shot upward — the same busy conversations were carrying on. The same stories being swapped of the loveliness of the girl we had all known, and the tragedy of such an accident, an accident that had somehow lost its details between the asphalt and this room. Silence and I weren’t well acquainted with one another, though my mind swam with the images that were now seared upon my brain, and they were something as unfathomable to me as the fact that I apparently hadn’t made a sound. Then I can feel that edge approaching, the one where the blur takes over, the one where your mind decides that your fragile little self has had too much of the emotion that it has given to you, and floats you out to sea until you can be trusted to be returned to calmer waters. There was no comfort to be found within the confines of the casket, lesser comfort to be found in the walls that surrounded me, and yet I couldn’t help but search — as if she might round the corner at any moment, and this might have been nothing more than the worst corners of my mind grasping at my dreams. Solace was all that I asked, among all of the unknown, just a moment of relief.

In a sea of unfamiliarity, there stood a startling reminder of what unfamiliar truly was, a face in the flood of bodies that swirled in this whirlpool that threatened to pull me under — an expression of complete stillness amid this Chaos, tucked away at the very edges of the crowd, where another may have let him remain nothing but alien. Not me, not the ever dutiful hostess whose role was snapping back into place at the sight of a guest left unwelcomed, one who was also uninvited as far as I was concerned. This skin of someone who planned, who preened, who tended to the details and the finer details of events — it was the familiar ground I’d needed to find my footing once again. It wasn’t the hand I’d wished to hold, it wasn’t the beauty mark I’d sworn to worship for the rest of my days, but it pulled me far enough away from the depths to satisfy the ever watchful guardian within my mind that was determined to protect me from myself. If I never said it aloud, the Gods that spent their days laughing away at my misfortune would know and wonder at the miracle of my gratitude for the rudeness of a man who showed up to a funeral without invitation. For they would know that if it weren’t for that moment, if my eyes hadn’t caught on his, if I wasn’t compelled to leave Elena’s side and ever so politely quiz him on his funeral attending etiquette — the waves would have crashed over me, and I never would have seen shore again.

[youarejesting]

Hope in the Sheets.2

[Masterlist]

Beta: @LunarLxve Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Implied sex, Implied impreg, Penetrative sex, big dick Jhope (bigger than average not like monstrous).

You had drifted back to sleep, glad that it was a Saturday. The weather had been getting warmer, and it made the air slightly stale in the apartment. You had forgotten everything from the night before, in lieu of pleasant dreams. You don’t remember exactly what happened, but you were happy. A few key details you did happen to remember all included Hoseok smiling by your side.

He was smiling, holding your hand, the honey tones in his skin glowing in the sunset. His hickory brown colored eyes turning to meet yours. The thick love bands under his eyes were endearing; he said something, but you couldn’t hear him. His rosy lips made a heart shape when he smiled. 

His laugh was faint, or perhaps you just imagined that you could hear it, the corner of his perfect almond-shaped eyes turning up slightly. The scent of leather, cashmere cinnamon, liquor and peach, and freesia. It was a blend of Hoseok and your perfumes mixed together. You felt safe.

Knock knock.

Startled awake from the sharp sound, your eyes flicking open as if you had closed them for only a second. Blinking confused at the ceiling, long enough to question whether someone was really at your door. Perhaps no one was there, and you had just dreamt it. You closed your eyes, rolling over and burying your face in Hoseok’s shirt that you stole.

Knock Knock.

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs off the bed and trudging to the door. You weren’t an aggressive person, but you were pretty sure you could commit several crimes to the person on the other side of the door. Throwing the door open, you were met with a freshly showered Jhope, standing in his baggy street fashion and dark shades, though they were probably for his hangover you thought they were particularly flattering. Sudden memories of the night previous flooded back, taking your breath away. 

Hoseok was touching your waist, slowly massaging your hips with his larger hands. You were feeling the two extra shots that you knew you shouldn’t have had. You were feeling good; finally, his attention was on you. There was no one else keeping him away from you, no ex-girlfriends, no booty calls, no friends with benefits. It felt nice to be the one he was looking as, to have his undivided attention.

This moment was like opening the floodgates, and suddenly you were chasing more. His affection was something you didn’t know you needed, but when he kissed you, it was all you could think about. It just felt like so much more. 

“Y/n?” Hoseok grasped, your shoulder confused, “Are you okay?”

“What?” Shaking your head physically as if to clear it only to regret it instantly when your nausea kicked in. Tequila wasn’t something you wanted to experience again so soon after last night. Honestly, you weren’t sure it would look as desirable on the way up as it did on the way down, and you weren’t ready to find out.

“I said I brought breakfast if you are interested” He held up a bag and a cardboard drink holder with two coffees, one Iced Americano and one Frappuccino. You took one of the two beverages and gestured for him to come inside, he laughed watching you walk away, leaving him in the doorway of your apartment. 

You sat as he unpacked the brown paper bag, presenting you with a mix of breakfast foods. It wasn’t exactly awkward, there seemed to be no difference between the two of you, but you were thinking about it, and more specifically, how to casually bring it up in conversation. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, placing his hand on your knee.

“Um, I’m okay a little sore, but that is to be expected I guess,” you hummed. 

“I don’t remember past kissing some random girl at the club, but I guess she liked me cause she came home with me, I don’t remember much of anything at all except she was good. Real good.”

Like the weight off your shoulders had fallen straight onto your chest. It was almost strange how you could feel relieved and yet so disappointed. You could liken it to a friend cancelling plans —When your happy cause you weren’t feeling up to going out and doing things, but you also feel a little disappointed because you sort of wanted to see your friends—. 

So you were happy he didn’t know it was you, so your relationship wasn’t ruined, but at the same time you were sad because a part of you wanted him to know that you were the one he was with that night. 

Brushing it off and pushing the feelings into a little ball in your chest, hoping that soon the feeling would shrink until it was gone. 

“She sounds amazing.”

“I don’t know what it was, but I just felt really good physically and emotionally, I wish she didn’t leave.”

“I guess that’s life,” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but laugh and snuggle against you. The two of you relaxing and falling asleep on the couch binge watching reruns of old Drama’s. You don’t know how you convinced him to watch Boys over flowers start to finish. But that's how you spent the rest of your weekend. 

“Lil’ Darling, we have work tomorrow, let’s go to bed” He smiled, and you looked at him a little alarmed.

“Hobi, I don’t feel okay,” You said “I can’t explain it, I am not sick, I just don’t want to be left alone” You whined lightly. “I feel slightly off, wrong.”

“Is my lil’ darling anxious, I would offer you to stay, but I haven’t changed the sheets,” He said gently holding your cheek “What do you need me to do?”

“Please stay,” You clutched his shirt in a tight fist, “I want you to stay.”

“Only for you lil’ darling,” Scooping you up into his arms, he carried to your room. Stopping in the doorway, he chuckled. “You still have that old single bed.”

“Yeah you know I hate the idea of a guy staying the night, I don’t want them to catch feelings.”

“Well don’t worry about me darling, I won’t catch any feelings” He paused for a moment you watched him stare at your bed before taking a deep breath and looking down at you and grinning.

He placed you down on your bed and watched you quickly snuggle under your blankets and get comfortable. “It is going to be a tight squeeze lil darling” He laughed, turning the small lamp on beside the bed. He ducked off to the bathroom, and his absence left you feeling a little sad, you were never clingy; there was a reason you had a single bed.

You learnt from a young age that people would always let you down, so you never wanted to get into a serious relationship or rely on anyone ever. Even Hoseok had done so once or twice, but you could never hate him because out of everyone, he was the one who was always there. That’s why the two of you were sharing a single bed because of your commitment issues.

Hoseok returned, looking relieved when he saw you holding the small stuffed animal he had got you back when you were in the third grade. It was an apology for missing your birthday party, one of the three times he let you down. The second time had been when he told you he would take you to prom because you didn’t want to go if one of you were left out so you would go as friends, but then he revealed he was going with some other girl and you had to find someone last minute.

The third and final time he had betrayed you was when you had asked Hoseok to walk you home from the club, but he left home early, and someone had slipped something into your drink. Thankfully that was the night you became well acquainted with Jin and Jimin both who looked after you throughout the night. Jimin rubbed your back as you vomited into a bucket and cried for Hoseok while Jin tried to call Hoseok repeatedly. You had ended up in the hospital getting your stomach pumped, and he had apologized profusely. 

The stuffed horse you had affectionately named Mang, had long ears with a silk lining which you would rub your thumbs along each ear while overthinking things or generally feeling anxious. Hoseok smiled at the habit he had watched develop over the years, and he sat on the bed, taking the toy gently from you and smiled fondly at it.

“You still keep this old thing?” He looked at the stuffed toy that you had worn the ears on, and the mismatched eyes where you had to sew a replacement on as one was lost over time. You saw this face every time he looked at the horse toy whenever it popped up in your lives. You wondered if it was nostalgic for him to see. It was strange to think about how long it had been.

You watched Hoseok lay backhanding you the doll, it was awkward at first. Shoulders pressed together, you were pressed to the wall, and Hoseok was hanging half of the bed. “We used to fit a lot better when we were younger,” He laughed, making you crack a smile. “Lay on your side.”

You turned to face the wall, and Hoseok laid behind you, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you close. “Look now we fit” His words sparked another memory.

“Hobi, I don’t think you will fit” The sight of his exposed member was honestly amazing. He had the perfect dick, it was bigger than average and an average girth, the head a perfect rosy color. He kept everything well groomed, and you wanted to taste him, feel the weight of him on your tongue.

You squirmed feeling the slippery sensation between your thighs, he asked you if this was what you wanted and reassured you not only that you could say no but also that he would be gentle. Even in his drunken state, he was still a gentleman. But there was not a thought in your head that wanted to stop this, so you agreed, voice husky. 

He opened your legs, holding himself up with one hand the other holding the shaft of his penis. Nudging your legs open a little more, he pressed slowly into you looking up to make sure you were not in pain, but his eyes continued to drift back down, not wanting to miss the way you looked being stretched around him slowly.

Once the head of his cock was within the warmth of your pussy, he placed his hand on the other side of your body, pressing his hips forward and rolling them slightly upward so that he could follow the natural curve of your body and bury deeper inside you. There was a moment where he thought he would pass out, his thoughts felt cloudy from the alcohol but also the feeling of your smooth walls concealing him.

You can’t remember how your position changed or how many rounds it had been, but you had ended up on your hands and knees. Hips tilted forward, presenting yourself to Hoseok and allowing him to slide in easily. Well lubricated by a mix of slick and cum, he entered with a quick thrust making you moan and grip the bed sheets. This angle felt so amazing inside of you, he was able to rub more against the front wall of your dripping cunt.  

He began thrusting, his hands grasped your hips, which he used to drive you back against him. The noises that left your mouth were a mix of moans of pleasure and forced exhales by the sheer strength off his thrusts, your arms gave out and your chest was pressed to the bed, your face against the pillow as your legs shook in pleasure. 

Your orgasm was building, and you came; the tight waves of pleasure between your legs made Hoseok stutter his hips thrusting forward. Managing to catch the headboard before he fell dick first on top of you. Cum pooling deep inside you as your cervix was contracting, kissing against it to let the seed filter into the depths of your womb.

You laid there thinking over that night, and just before you fell asleep a realization hit, Hoseok wasn’t wearing a condom, and you didn't take the pill because you are an irresponsible woman in her mid-twenties. 

In your defense you rarely find yourself in situations to need to be on birth control. Then there are the side effects the pill causes your body to go through, things like weight gain, acne, heavy periods. It all just became too many cons to one pro that you didn’t need.

You quickly grabbed your phone from under the pillow, Hoseok’s soft snoring keeping time behind you, opening your app, you looked at your period tracker and saw your ovulation day had passed, everything was perfectly safe. What would be the odds that anything would come out of one night? You could move on without any worries, no need to waste your time and money on the morning after pill either.

Hoseok’s alarms went off first, and he quickly snoozed it, you both laid there still, desperately clutching to the last few minutes of sleep. Part of you wondered if Hoseok also thought about calling in sick just to have an extra day to laze around, but you knew he wasn’t like that. He was fairly hardworking, and in turn, the two of you had never missed a day off work unless you were violently ill.

But today wasn’t one of those days you were in perfect condition, which meant when your alarm went off, Hoseok was ready to get up. This would have been fine, but he pestered you until you were up and awake as well. 

“Come on, let’s get ready for work, and I will make breakfast” You rolled over giving him the stink eye. Raising his hands defensively, he walked out of the room with a five-minute warning. You begrudgingly got out of bed. Spending more time than necessary in the shower. When you left, Hoseok was a note on the bench with a plate of toast and beans. You must be getting low on groceries.

Dear Lil’ Darling, You have no food in the house. Let’s go shopping after work. Speaking of, I left early because I was called in by Taeil. Love you, Your hope and sunshine.

Opening the fridge and indeed your suspicions, and Hoseok’s letter was confirmed, it was particularly bare. There was an ancient jar of jam towards the back and alcoholic beverages here and there. You ate quickly and headed off to work, feeling bored with the lack of your best friend for the journey.

When you arrived at work, Taeil was there, as usual, chewing gum and searching his clipboard. “Hey y/n, you have a new partner as of today” You looked up at him, horrified. The only way you were able to stomach this job day after day was because of Hoseok.

“What do you mean, new partner?”

“Hoseok is training some of the newbies with Taeyong, and you are going to be paired with Winwin,” the disbelief must have been evident on your face as he gave you a pat on the shoulder. “It’s not forever.”

Your day went from bad to worse, when your lunch break didn't line up with Hoseok’s. On top of that, on your way out of the bathroom, a woman asked if you could watch her child while she went to the toilet. 

The child stared at you the whole time, his tiny fist gripping your necklace and trying to eat it. As time passed, you started talking to the baby, and eventually, you found yourself wondering. You were getting older, and some of your classmates had all started to have children. You had never really felt maternal, and you loved your mid-twenties dearly the freedom to go anywhere, do anything, no one waiting at home, no children to take care of.

But at the same time, you were scared. Things with Hoseok wouldn’t last; just like today, he will go in his own direction, find a woman, get married. The question was; Where would you be?

Hoseok met up with you outside the park, and the two of you took the bus, stopping at the shopping center. Hoseok grabbed the cart while you pulled out your list. This was one thing your mother always taught you to budget and plan things accordingly.

You walked down each aisle carefully, calculating prices and value for money. Hoseok laughed when he had first encountered you on a shopping trip, but now he was leaning down to the bottom shelf, reading the different prices of UHT milk. 

“This one is the cheapest,” he turned, smiling. 

“That’s so cute,” an old woman smiled “remember when we started shopping together when we were first married?”

“Oh, we are not—” you were cut off by Hoseok’s hand, which was sneaking around the small of your back and grasping your waist. He pulled you closer with a cheeky grin, his long thin fingers wiggling against your side, making you squirm and giggle.

His nose was buried in your hair, eyeing the older couple, “don’t spoil their fun, they are reminiscing their youth” Hoseok decided to help the older couple shop talking about helping them reach things off the top and bottom shelf and lifting anything particularly heavy. The whole time Hoseok was telling them how you were best friends through school, and you worked together.

“How sweet you have been together for so long, your home must be filled with so many sweet memories” the woman smiled happily.

“Of course, our home is small but cozy we can’t keep away from each other” Hoseok smiled winking at you he described a false home you definitely didn’t own. 

“We live on the outskirts of town, so we have a little more room and a little back yard. The sun comes in through the window in the afternoon, and the breeze blows the cream lace curtains gently. We sometimes have tea on the back porch when we have time.”

You couldn’t let Hoseok have all the fun, so you joined in, telling them about how Hoseok, on the weekends, would dance around the living room while cleaning, and you would tend to the gardens.

“Every morning, he makes breakfast and coffee and gets me out of bed, and every night I make his favourite dinners, and if he has been working hard, I make his favourite dessert.” 

After what seemed like the longest, but  very enjoyable shopping experience you had in a while, you headed out to the parking lot, waving goodbye to the old couple.

You decided to take a taxi home as there were too many groceries to carry on the bus.

“That old couple was so cute, they really thought we were a married couple” Hoseok laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but join in with his wholesome fun. “I think we would be a cute couple if we did get married.” 

You wiped your tears of amusement from your eyes, turning to see him watching the first few droplets of rain hit the window as the city passed by.

“If you were my husband, you would have to learn to take the trash out at night?” You hummed, “I can’t keep doing it for you.”

“Hey it is scary going out the side of the apartment at night, and it smells funny,” he laughed, acting sheepish about his fears, but you understood, you had your own fears that felt irrational sometimes. 

“If you were, my wife would have to know how to turn me on” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and he tickled his fingers up your arm making you slap it away, dismissing his comment as solely playful what if’s with no underlying meaning.

“You don’t think I could, that’s harsh Hoseok” Arms crossed in a mock upset, “why do guys stay with me then?”

“They don’t,” he laughed, normally you would laugh too, not one to get offended at a self-deprecating joke, but it kind of hurt as well. You got out, grabbing your groceries from the boot, the light sprinkle of rain turning into a heavy shower.

Your work uniform was a frilly dress that matched the cartoon funhouse you worked in, you honestly loved working the adult rides or the safari bus where you could wear pants or shorts and a polo top. 

It almost felt refreshing to be in the summer rain, you spun around a collection of shopping bags in each hand. The rain promised a fresh start, but you thought it felt more like a cold ending to something you cherished.

Clothes weighing you down almost as heavy of the doubt in your chest. You wanted nothing but to let this moment last forever. This perfect plateau, an in-between where nothing was happening, you didn’t want to grow up anymore. If you could go back, you would appreciate those days just sitting in the same room as Hoseok after school, watching TV together, and learning the choreographies in music videos.

Talking about your dreams, you would always say you didn’t know what you wanted; for Hoseok, he always said he would be a dancer. But, given a chance to go back, you would tell him, the only thing you want to be is with him forever. The idea of parting ways never seemed like an option, but you knew one day it had to come. Something about your drunken one night stand together made this whole twenty-something year relationship seem so fragile. 

“You are going to get sick, come inside,” Hoseok called, standing under the cover of your apartment building. When had you started crying? The odd mix of hot tears and ice-cold raindrops, reflecting how indecisive you felt.

“Hoseok, if I asked you to, would you stay by my side forever?” He was a smart guy and very perceptive he knew the difference between the rain and your tears.

He placed the groceries down under the cover and stepped out into the rain, taking you in his arms. You dropped the bags at your feet and wrapped your arms around him. “I am scared you are going to leave.”

“Hey, I could never leave you, you are my best friend, right?” He laughed, holding your cheeks softly, and you watched him searching your eyes for something, “You remember this?” 

He unbuttoned his uniform shirt and revealed his bare chest, you had seen his smooth, strong chest on many occasions but he drew your attention to a tiny tattoo just slightly off center in the middle of his chest. You often forgot it was there so used to it just being there. “What does this say?”

“Baseline,” you sighed, knowing exactly what he was going to say. 

“You are the baseline in my life and I will be there” He moved your shirt to show your collar bone where you had a matching tattoo delicately written on the clavicle. “We got them as a promise, remember?”

“Why are we here?” You asked Hoseok as he walked you into the tattoo parlor, you looked around looking curious but confused.

“Because I stuffed up, and I need to prove to you that I won’t leave you like that again,” Hoseok said, determined.

“It’s fine, that's what people do. It’s not something you can control; people are just born to let others down.” You sighed.

“Not me. Not your best friend Hoseok” He grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him. Eyes pleading for you to realize how important this was to him. “I will stain this onto my skin, so I never forget.”

“What if you get married one day, and your wife doesn’t like the tattoo?” You asked him curiously as to what he was going to get, and where was it going to be big?

“That’s if I get married,” he laughed “when we turn forty if we aren’t married, let’s just get married, deal?”

“Thirty, and that's the baseline I won’t go any higher, or I will be too old to get married.”

“Deal! Thirty is our baseline” He linked pinkies with you as a heavily tattooed young man approached the counter.

“Sorry about the wait, how can I help you?”

“I would like a tattoo sir on my chest right here,” Hoseok said, his eyes never leaving yours, the artist asked him what he was thinking. “I would like ‘Baseline’ written right here.”

It was a spare of the moment decision that made you get the same tattoo, but instead of over your heart, you go it above your heart.

Heartfelt moment over, and you were left with damp clothes and a few soggy groceries. Hoseok went home to shower, telling you to call if you needed anything. It truly was the closing of a chapter, the thin wall between you and Hoseok seemed like the furthest you had ever been apart.

That night you dreamt about him, in the fake house he had spoken about earlier that day with the cream lace curtains blowing gently in the breeze, letting the afternoon sun in through the glass door that lead to the back porch. You crossed the light wooden floors and stepped onto the back veranda to see Hoseok swinging in a hammock, his sun-kissed skin glowing gold under the warmth of the summer sky.

His hair gently tousled every now and again by the breeze, and his lips parted with a short sigh. You wondered what he was dreaming about while looking so at peace, his eyes slowly blinked open and you could see the love they held as they met your own. It was like getting winded you woke up from the sheer panic that coursed through you, sitting up your cheeks were damp and you realized.

You were in love with your best friend, Jung Hoseok.

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[scapegrace74-blog]

Combat Baby

A/N  If I’m going to post a Jamie POV chapter, it’s only fair that I post a Claire POV chapter as well, right?  This is a pre-quel to the Metric Universe, set shortly before The Beginning.  All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

The emotional whiplash made her ears buzz with static.  This morning, she had been Claire Beauchamp, A&E nurse and girlfriend of Frank Randall.  Tonight, she was Claire Beauchamp, unemployed homewrecker.

More than the violent fracture that sundered her relationship into two (or was it three?) crippled pieces, more than the indignity of having her personal drama exposed to the hospital administrators, even more than finding herself suddenly homeless with a cheque for four weeks’ severance lying wrinkled in the pocket of her purse, the cut that stung the most was her utter lack of judgment.  How could she have been so blindly misled?

She’d met Frank at work.  He was a gifted surgeon at University College Hospital, urbane and grounded in a way that promised to anchor her in an adulthood that still fit like a borrowed shoe.  His pursuit felt like a badge of merit and an easy detour around the chaotic dating scene her fellow twenty-somethings frequented.  Within three weeks they were sleeping together, and only two months later she was moving the three boxes and two suitcases that represented the entirety of her worldly possessions into his Fitzrovia flat.  It had been easy.  It had been comfortable.  It had been an utter sham.

Sleeping off a series of night shifts in the skim milk light flooding their king-sized bed, she’d woken to the sound of a key in the door.  Frank was away, attending one of the medical symposiums at which he was frequently asked to present.  She barely had time to sit up in the luxurious linens before a small, dark-haired woman flew into the room.

“Where is he?” the intruder yelled.

“I beg your pardon?” Claire replied, pulling the duvet towards her neck defensively.  “I don’t... get out of my flat!  At once!”

“Your flat?”  The woman cackled like this was the best joke she’d ever heard, all while opening the doors to the closet, peering into the ensuite bathroom.  “Your flat?!  This flat than doesn’t belong to you any more than that bastard does.  You’ve got a nerve, you fucking whore!”

“I... there’s been some mistake.  You need to leave.  I don’t know who you think I am, but I can assure you this is my home.  I live here with my boyfriend...”

“Frank Randall,” the woman interrupted with a cruel twist of her lips. “You selfish, stupid girl, you have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Claire could feel her body start to shake, an earthquake of realization spreading from her limbs to her brain.  She’d never met this woman before, but she had one thing right: she was a very selfish, stupid girl.

The story that emerged had the sordid intricacy of a soap opera.  The woman, Amelia Randall, had been married to Frank for nearly ten years.  They’d met at Oxford.  When his job took him to London, she’d stayed behind in Oxfordshire, where Frank visited as often as his brilliant career allowed.   Amelia had known he was unfaithful, of course, and had chosen to remain married to him, dishonourable man that he was.  But when word reached her that he was actually living with one of his young mistresses, an invisible line had been crossed.  

“I don’t care for my own sake.  He can fuck whoever he wants.  But I have children to think of, and I’ll be damned if you get your claws on their inheritance...”

Children.  Frank had children.  Small people who looked forward to his visits, briefcase stuffed with toys or special treats.  Little rosebud lips that called him Daddy.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked into the duvet, now twisted tightly in her fists as she rocked senseless back and forth.  “I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry.”

***

She had no recollection of how she came to be at the hospital.  There was a swirling black fog that threatened to pull her down into a hellscape that lived in the corners of her memory.  It sucked the air from her throat and replaced it with burning acid, the taste of bile painting the back of her tongue.

She had one coherent thought - she wasn’t going quietly.  If the perfect world she had assembled turned out to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors, then she was laying waste to it with her own hands.

Frank’s car, a vintage burgundy Aston Martin, was parked in his reserved space in the doctor’s lot.  Popping open the boot, she grabbed the tyre iron, and then she began to swing.  She didn’t stop until two security guards dragged her away, her feet scuffing and kicking the floor and every vulgar word in her extensive vocabulary echoing off the concrete ceiling of the car-park.

***

It took the head nurse less than thirty minutes to obtain and print her letter of severance.  In that same time Claire slowly drifted back into herself.  She was appalled at her actions, but the damage was done.  There was a small kernel of satisfaction in imagining Frank’s face when he caught sight of his beloved car.

Leaving the hospital, she wandered aimlessly amidst the bright bustle of London in springtime.  She found herself at the London Zoo.  Sitting on a bench watching the lions pace relentlessly in their fabricated environment, she finally broke down.  She sobbed bitterly until her brow felt like iron and her guts like sand.  

Eventually, she opened her phone and scrolled through her contacts.  She had a small circle of acquaintance in London, but they all knew Frank.  Her family was all dead.  Childhood friends were scattered about the globe.  She hesitated over one name: Geillis Duncan.  They had been good friends in nursing school, but hadn’t kept in touch over the past two years.  Geillis had never met Frank.  She was a feisty and outspoken Scot with a personality as large as her carefully disguised generous heart.  Claire closed her eyes and dialed.

***

“Ye ken ye can stay as long as ye need, Claire.  The spare room is yers.”

She’d returned to Frank’s flat only long enough to stuff her clothes and a few precious objects into her suitcases, then taken the Tube to Spittalfields, a gritty neighbourhood as far from Fitzrovia as the moon.  Geillis had welcomed her with open arms and a full bottle of whisky, which they were steadily emptying as Claire spilled her story all over the well-worn pine floors.

“Thanks, Geil, but it’s just for a few days.  Just until I figure out what to do with myself.”  She was already slurring her words, the combination of lack of sleep, no food and strong liquor hitting her square between her golden eyes.

“Nae rush.  I cannae believe ye took an iron tae that bawbag’s car, ye wee fierce thing.  I wouldna want tae fight you.”

They lapsed into silence.  Claire’s mind was a rushing torrent, with images and thoughts slipping from view before she could grasp onto them.  She kept hearing Amelia Randall’s voice, laced with pity.  You selfish, stupid girl.  She’d been so certain she knew who she was, but now everything was tainted with doubt.  It would take time and distance to find herself again; to excavate down to her bones, where everything was true.  She would throw her youthful self on the pyre of redemption, and stand by while it burned.  It was what she deserved.

“I know what I’m going to do,” she announced out loud, half-forgetting Geillis sat nearby.

“Wha’s that, hen?” her friend asked.

“I’m going to volunteer.  As a combat nurse.  In Afghanistan.”

[cyphertrip]

pairing: yoongixreader genre: multi-chapter romance, chapter two word count: 2,809 warnings: foreplay and teenage-like shenanigans note: this is a reuploaded story from my original blog. I will continue to reupload the chapters every day or two to avoid flooding the tags. if you remember this story and would like others of mine reuploaded let me know.

…

His restraint had always been easier to grasp when your intimacy wholly accounted words. Your perfumed skin was not a quantifiable temptation as it were now, filling his head with the sweet fragrance you favoured, your hair never previously so accessible. Your mouth had wrapped around words rather than his. Your skin had been a pristine altar, a sanctuary of purity that Yoongi had forbid himself to touch with waning conviction. Everything was different though he could see to you that it felt much the same. Despite feeble restraint his patience was an unwavering presence that you were growing to resent.

You of course never tired of kissing him though each press of his lips spoke of new limits, boundaries that you had only scarcely pushed as the time bore on. This was his own fault, you reasoned. He made you want. And you wanted so badly that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. You wanted so badly that you imagined his hands in place of your own and found shallow relief after spending too many and yet not enough hours kissing him. Your lips seemed to your own touch constantly bruised, heavy with the memory of his own against them. To Yoongi they were a source of dark thoughts, prompting depraved qualities that he couldn’t afford to allow supreme reign. He insisted, both for your own in the long run, and his peace of mind to take things slow despite finding it difficult as the days passed to remember why. Your continued presence had surpassed the point of surprise and entered a quaint undertone of expected. It seemed to be love, undeniably for himself, and endearingly, earnestly, for you though neither of your tongues had so specifically sounded out the words. For him it had been far too long for them to seem enough to accurately portray anything. In his mind ‘I love you,’ had begun to sound feeble, only a faint echo of the entirely consuming feelings he had long ago accepted. I love you seemed scientific, a matter of fact that lacked any real impact. He attempted instead to sear the sentiment into your skin, allowing himself the simple pleasure of touch that he had denied so long. Perhaps it was selfish to spend hours touching, kissing, all because now he could, perhaps it had been selfish to stave off to begin with. Yoongi believed that his reasons were valid, still believed that your certainty was everything and a little anticipation never hurt.    - Not much at least. There was a sordid pleasure in the slow burning desire that had entered Yoongi’s every touch. He penned longing into the nape of your neck with a brush of his fingers, affection across your cheekbones and much to your delight desire in a startling shade of purple against your collarbone. Every moment more that his mouth melded to yours you felt yourself pulled deeper into it, sinking in a warmth which you’d happily drown. You had become by now fairly good at holding your breath, always so intent on touching him for a few minutes more. It were as if you worried his generosity would dissipate, leaving you back where you had started. But for how far he had fallen himself there was no turning back. His body knew too much to happily return to safer avenues with his hands, for his mouth to only shape words near your skin but never on it. Helping himself was a feeble exercise, one he only exercised in maintaining clothes, the barest shreds of decency despite a lewd tongue that could croon the most salacious things to you if he didn’t occupy it with your taste. If you had entertained more between the barely slept in sheets of your bed then Yoongi had entertained far worse amongst the lingering traces of you. Even with you next to him, more, and worse still that he could have whatever he imagined if he only endeavoured beyond the imploring kiss he lay upon your pliant mouth. You were scarcely awake, stirred from sleep by idle fingers against your thigh and his voice softly pressing your name into the strands of your hair. Sleep had been almost within your grasp, tantalizingly so. Now it was Yoongi you reached for, not at all dismayed to set aside sleep conjured delusions of him to have him beneath your fingertips instead. In a way that had become only too natural you shifted to accommodate him, hands against the thin cloth covering his shoulders, your mouth finding his in the dark. He settled only part on top of you, your chests half pressed together and his hand sliding along your hip to settle at your waist. You could feel, faintly so, the fingertips he had drawn patterns against the inside of your thigh with echoing in the back of your mind as if a ghostly presence that remained. He hadn’t upon your recollection ever touched you that way before, in a way that left so much intent and possibility open. Even now, with a hand innocently curved at your waist his fingers stroked idly, reaching above the inches of skin he had mapped to explore ground which he hadn’t. You were softer an inch beneath your breast, silk that his fingers slid across smoothly, daring to reach further. He could feel his resolve, what little of it was left, tapering away into nothingness when you sighed against his mouth. It was a forlorn sound, one emitted in anticipation of the barrier he always seemed to put up when he felt he had ventured too far and you waited, even as you kissed him in promising need, to stop.

Only he didn’t. His tongue curled against the bow of your upper lip and Yoongi conceded to what seemed an innocuous baser desire compared to the thoughts that had kept him constant company of late, allowing himself to settle a hand over your breast. At first it were as simple and as thrilling as that. The initial shock of it stilled you, a beat passing in which your lips, perfectly fitted against his, did not move, where your fingers paused with nails lightly pressed against his neck. For a moment Yoongi thought he had scared you, his hand prepared to be snatched away and apologies on the tip of his tongue. Whilst unrealized to you your muscles had locked they soon melted back into languid content, a small insistent press of your lips extinguishing his concern before it could be fully realized. His fingers fell back into place, barely retracted to begin with and he swept his thumb against the curve of you, asking, “Is this okay?” His mouth was against the hinge of your jaw, close enough to hear the way you swallowed thickly. You gave a nod of your head that he felt more than saw, not trusting your voice to sound anything other than overeager. He knew what you wanted. You had tried and failed a half dozen times to coerce him into more with inexperience marring your actions. You had pressed hard kisses to his mouth, crooned his name against his ear in a tone none too airy that had made him press you against the mattress promisingly, his hips driving into yours. He’d looked at you with dark eyes and a smile twisting his lips. His tongue clicked softly and he tapped a finger against your lips, warning, “Be careful, darling.” You remembered thinking that you didn’t need to be careful. Yoongi was careful enough for the both of you. Even now his touch was measured, a careful treading of fingers that acquainted to the shape of your breast, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his palm. He had barely touched you at all and yet you responded so readily. Yoongi smiled lazily against your skin, a satisfied sigh cascading down your neck. This was what he had wanted. In making you wait so long he had ensured to some degree that every new experience would be a significant moment of its own rather than a haze of hurried foreplay that encapsulated a single occasion. Despite your impatience he was insistent, desperate for you to finally understand why. He wanted to pull you in as far as he had fallen, leave you dizzy with the burning pleasure of it all. His cautious touches would eventually pave way into frenzy and there would be no turning back. Everything he touched for the first time Yoongi was determined to make as remarkable an experience as possible because there was the pleasure of giving in when you wanted, but oh when you needed, it was another thing entirely. Even if he’d taught that particular lesson already it applied now in different measures. A kiss was a kiss, a precursor to more, a tease. The experimental way he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger was direct, an action that incited a soft gasp, flooded you with a warmth that settled low in your belly. It was a different kind of pleasure; the kind that could elicit more than any kiss could. And it would be so easy he thought, to drive you to the brink of insanity when you were so sweetly untouched. Your inexperience left you vulnerable to his better knowing, hypersensitive after months of only imagining. Yoongi wanted to make you fall to pieces a million different ways and this was only the first. His fingers danced across your skin with the trappings of idle fascination. In the now adjusted darkness of his room he could see however faintly every flicker of thought and emotion across your face, hear the shift in your breaths when he dared be more direct. Where once there was an offhanded laziness to his touch Yoongi surpassed gentle and went straight to rough, pinching sharply. You felt your head spin, the touch unexpected, both in execution and your own reaction to it. The hiss of pain shot down your spine hotly, all but dragging a moan from your lips that pierced the silence wonderfully. Yoongi responded in kind, a deep purr against your lips before he licked his way inside and kissed you deeply, easing off with light pecks to your lips that lingered less and less as he shifted. He was on his knees succinctly, moving down your neck and over your collarbones. His mouth paid particular attention to the fading bruise against them as his hand grazed over your stomach, down the inside of your hip and you were absolutely buzzing with anticipation. When he implored a part in your thighs you acquiesced without question, your breaths growing permissibly shallow, eyes clenching shut while your lips parted. His name tripped from the tip of your tongue in a lusty breath that would ring in his ears for days, keeping him company, tearing him apart and piecing him back together. Yoongi arched pleased brows upward in response, a soft hum sounding out as his leg slipped between yours, just pressing against the apex of your thighs. The hand he laid once more at your waist guided your hips in a demonstrative roll. The gesture gave you a slither of pleasure, a delicious friction that made you breathe out audibly and test the action again, fingers digging into his shoulders. This time Yoongi met the roll of your hips with a more prominent press of his thigh, encouraging you to use his body to provide yourself with the relief you had been so desperately in need of. He wasn’t going to touch you there just yet. His focus in particular returned to your breasts, his head dropping to mouth at you through your thin singlet. The warmth of his mouth caught you by surprise, erupting from you in a burst of sound that lifted Yoongi’s head, his mouth a Cheshire smile and the air feeling cool against the damp fabric of your shirt. “You don’t like that?” he queried, though he didn’t sound at all serious and in the bleak light you could see his face was quietly amused even as he dipped down to try a different course of action. His teeth grazed over the small peak of your breast, lips catching in order to suck. You whimpered, clutching uselessly at him and shifting your hips. The pressure he applied to your centre wasn’t enough, making you whine in a way caught between bliss and frustration. His mouth had continued without prompt, drawing across your chest to pay attention to your other breast though he could sense your need building as you grew restless. Your hips rocked in small circles, grinding uselessly against him but beginning to find little relief in it. You throbbed with need and Yoongi was sympathetic, his own arousal evident, straining against his underwear. Watching as you dissolved into soft moans and pants was almost more than he could take. It had been so long since he had known anything other than his own hand that Yoongi only scarcely thought twice before readjusting your position slightly. He settled between you more completely in a moment’s weakness, setting your leg over the curve of his hip. The new position perchanced a dangerous proximity, tempting more than just the thrust of his hips that he gave you. Even through the layers of clothes that separated you you could feel his hardness, thick and twitching when it slid against your core. Where his thigh had failed to satisfy the careful and precise angle of Yoongi’s hips, his erection against you, provided exactly the kind of stimulation you needed. His fingers sunk into the soft flesh of your hip as he lost himself in the rhythm of it, feeling like a teenager, fumbling and single minded as he rutted against you. His mouth had gone lax, breaths coming out in hot pants against you that floated over your too warm skin as his lips sought yours. Eventually finding them after placing a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth Yoongi kissed you with more than a hint of teeth, dragging your lip between to tug harshly. His tongue soothed over the sting of his bite, feeling the groan you released get lost amongst the shallow breaths you each exhaled. You could barely think, barely wrap your mind around the pressure building in your body, let alone spare a thought for the harsh bite of your nails, slunk beneath the fabric of his shirt to scratch though they were perfectly still now, a sharp presence that lingered in the back of Yoongi’s mind. He was sure you were going to leave a mark. Through the haze that had shrouded his mind Yoongi was faintly aware of you calling his name, pulling him back into focus. Your voice was breathless, drawing the syllables of his name out, once, twice, though your voice cracked before you could muster anything more and, and Oh. Realization dawned upon him in a sudden wave, warmth gliding through his body and dousing him heavily in anticipation. He moved his hips into a more purposeful roll against your own, seeking out your pleasure with little mind spared for his. Your own hips moved in languorous and torturously gorgeous circles that Yoongi admired from above you. He braced himself with one arm in order to return a hand to your body, aiding your own orgasm with a stroke of fingers low against your stomach that made your hips jerk as Yoongi pressed into you. He pushed your hips back into the mattress with a strong hand, driving against you until the pressure you felt suddenly uncoiled, giving way to your orgasm. The sensation arched your back, teeth biting into your lip as you muffled your breaths, your eyes squeezed tightly shut though your hips still attempted to rock against his. Yoongi let his hand slip away enough that you could shift without restraint, the faint pressure of him coaxing echoes of pleasure to roll through your body, a listless smile spreading across your lips. A sated sigh fell from your lips once freed from your teeth and you blinked your eyes open to find Yoongi’s watchful gaze on you. A light smile played against his mouth, fingers reaching to brush through your hair, to trace the underside of your jaw. He dropped a kiss to your temple, his voice low and gravelly when he smugly intoned, “better?” You hummed, your eyes closing, lips stretching broadly across your face in delight. “Much.” Yoongi settled into your side just as you stole a sideways glance at him. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he was still stiff, pressed against your hip as you tucked into his side. Attempting to sound nonchalant though your heart hammered in your chest you told him, “Next time I get to take care of you.”

[flywolfwriting]

The Legends Are Wrong

Writing Prompt: Write about the character who happens to be an ancient magical creature, though they don't look the part. This character has lived for so long that they actually used to be acquainted with the people who later went on to become legends. Explore the point of view of this character as they overhear the retelling of a particular legend, and realize that they got it all wrong.

 

 

Sometimes I can pretend to forget them, the people I once called my friends. Sometimes I can lock the memory away so deeply I can get some sleep at night. It’s always a lie; there will always be something that brings them back, crashing through my barriers and locks and chains just like they used to do – like I used to do with them. Everything floods back as if I was reliving it, though it was so very long ago.

 

I like to walk alone in the woods, along the same paths I have haunted for hundreds of years. It calms my mind and helps me pretend. I never fear for my safety; it’s been a long time since I’ve feared anything beyond my own past. The creatures of the forest know and respect me. Some I even call friend, though their lives are fleeting. It is good not to be alone.

 

“…at that moment she knew things would never be the same…”

 

The young voice floated through the still night air, accompanied by the crackle of a campfire and the smell of roasting sugar. The crunch of s’mores was hard to mistake. Campers. I was nonplussed; they weren’t a rare occurrence here, and I generally let them be.

 

“What did Alira do?” Another voice, even younger, asked with awe.

 

This made me pause, the memories straining against their bonds. I knew the name of course. Alira, hero of Numeria, and the best friend of my youth. I creep closer to listen, standing in the shadows beyond their fire to listen. It was a group of six children, huddled around a small fire with their camping snacks. What appeared to be the oldest of the group held the others enraptured in her tale.

 

“She needed to prepare,” she continued, growing confident in the attention of her audience. “Alira gathered the people she knew she could trust and set out to find the Stone of Yadeer before the king.”

 

The gates slammed open and the events that ensued consumed my mind. Once again I was living through my past, this time narrated by a child. The journey, the battles, discovering the gem… yet as the story progressed, her telling of it began to diverge from my own recollection.

 

“Alira was strong and brave. She was the life of her team, the glue that kept them together when the doubted. She never lost faith.”

 

I remembered a girl who was ridden with anxiety and doubt. She was afraid and lacked confidence in her ability. It took all of us to keep her going. Not one of us could be labeled the ‘glue’, but if I had to pick one it would have been Katile, small but fierce.

 

“She was unbeatable on the battle field, charging in first and cutting down any who stood in her way without looking back.”

 

Alira cried for weeks after she took a life for the first time and had nightmares almost every night for the rest of her life. She’d nearly died many times in the avoidance of killing.

 

“A model for all, the Noble Alira was the perfect leader for her crew of honorable questers.”

 

We played dirty. We would gang up on smaller groups, steal food and other resources, sneak in through the back to take out the head before a proper fight started, and set traps and ambushes. When it’s five against the world, you had to break the rules to survive.

 

“Though the evil Kusit tried again and again to tempt her, Alira was never swayed to leave her course.”

 

“That’s not what happened,” I whispered, though it was barely a breath between my lips. Kusit was never evil, just naïve. He was trying his best with what he had, and he needed to protect his own. He begged us to stay out of the way, to let him save his brother. Just because he was too young to know the consequences did not mean the young ruler was evil.

 

There was a pause in the narrative as the children surrounding the fire eyed the dark trees around them. Their storyteller soon resumed, voice hushed as she approached the climax. “When they finally found the Stone of Yadeer, Alira entrusted her closest friend, Zali, with its protection.”

 

I could remember the warmth of the apple-sized gem cradled in my palms. It was smooth, round, and a translucent violet. Some kind of energy seemed to skitter across its surface in the wake of a finger stroke and tingled where I touched it. I could feel its odd sensation dancing across my skin.

 

“Victory was finally in sight, but before they could celebrate Kusit appeared and captured Alira!” The exclamation was met with gasps and the girl was clearly pleased with the aghast expressions of her friends. This part was only somewhat true; Kusit asked to merely talk to Alira and hoping to avoid bloodshed she went… and never really came back.

 

“Her friends came to rescue her, and everything came crashing down.”

 

I closed my eyes. I could see it happening before me, as if I was a third-party witness again and again and again. Alira called us in, and like fools we went without question. It was a trap. She had turned against us, convinced that there was a way to save the young prince and protect the people from the Stone. We tried talking sense into her, tried to warn Kusit.

 

They took the Stone from me anyway, and the king’s men restrained us. Alira kept apologizing, telling us this was for the best, that we would all be able to go home soon.

 

Katile struggled. She’d sacrificed too much to prevent this moment. It wasn’t that we hated the king and his little brother… we just feared what we knew would come from using the Stone of Yadeer. It was a curse we were trying to save them from. Katile broke free from her captors and sprinted towards Kusit…

 

“During the struggle, the evil king gained the Stone and used it to kill one of Alira’s friends.”

 

Violet light blinded us, and everything grew scorching hot for only a few moments. Katile lay on the ground, grey and unmoving. Alira dove for her, but the moment her fingers touched our friend, she dissolved into ash.

 

The room erupted into screaming as we all fought to escape. Alira turned slowly to Kusit, who was staring in horror at the smudge that once was our friend. Though the ruler of many, the boy looked even more the child he was as he went pale, eyes never leaving the empty space. He was unaware of the danger he now was in.

 

“Noble Alira launched into battle to avenge the fallen hero!” The girl’s voice began to crescendo.

 

“Alira no!” I’d screamed as she’d surged towards Kusit. His eyes flicked up and he flinched, and I saw the stone start to glow again. I broke free and ran to protect not only my best friend but also the child she was attacking.

 

I darted between them, wrapping my body around Kusit. I was aware of two things: the heat spreading across my back, and Kusit’s piercing shriek in my ear.

 

The narrator’s voice continued to echo back through the years, tone hushed again. “The evil king pulled Zali in front of him at the last moment. Alira had no chance, no time to turn aside, and her best friend fell dead to the floor.”

 

I shivered. I could remember how at first there was no pain when I slid to the tent floor, unable to make my limbs work. It was hard to breathe. As soon as I realized what had happened, pain slashed across my back and I gasped. Alira’s horrified face swam above me, and I could hear Kusit crying at my side.

 

“In that moment,” the girl whispered, “Kusit knew he couldn’t escape his crimes and smashed the Stone of Yadeer.”

 

I looked down at my hands to make sure they were still there and saw them peppered with the shards of a broken gemstone.

 

“’What have you done?’ Alira gasped.” The storyteller continued in her quiet tone.

 

But she had said that to me, not Kusit. I had shattered the Stone, not him. “I didn’t mean to,” I’d choked out, still struggling for breath. My heart raced as ice began to creep through me.

 

“Alira, now having two friends to avenge, would show the villain no mercy.”

 

My friend had snatched the king, holding him by the throat and snarling. All traces of the girl I had grown up with, tender and kind with nightmares about killing, was now lifting an ten-year-old boy off the floor and strangling him.

 

“No! He’s just a kid, he’s just a kid…” I tried to protect him, dragging myself around her feet and grasping at her clothes, begging her through my pain to spare him.

 

That’s when the true pain began. It started with burning in my fingers, little pieces of hellfire spotting my body where the shards of the Stone of Yadeer hand landed. I cried out and convulsed as my body naturally tried to curl into a ball. The burning spread quickly, and I tried to get my flaming clothes off me – only to find there was no fire. It was in my skin, bubbling and searing; my own body cooking me alive.

 

“The pieces of the Stone began to glow, igniting. Alira pinned the king down and screamed for her friends to run!” The air around the campfire was thick with tension. “They didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted, and they finally fled.”

 

The pain faded to a mere throb, pulsing with my heart. The blood soaking my shirt was gone, and my formerly rubbery limbs now felt stronger than ever.

 

I sat up, black powder falling from my shoulders as I lifted my hands to gape at the purple lights dancing down my arm. They looked like tiny lightning bolts leaving a faint lavender mist in their wake. My skin prickled, not unlike the charge in the air before a thunderstorm.

 

I was alone, surrounded by charred tent poles and ash. “Alira? Kusit?” I’d said meekly, still trying to ignore the throbbing in my body.

 

Then I saw the arm, and when I scrambled to pull Alira from the blackened remains of the tent she dissolved, just like Katile. A wail was building in my throat, but before I could release it quiet sobbing drew my attention. Kusit was not far from me, buried beneath the burned earth. He had miraculously survived what could only have been an explosion.

“It’s okay,” I had whispered, tenderly extracting him. The same light hovered over his body, though as it moved it almost took on an indigo hue. I cradled him, whispering comfort into his ear while he cried. “We need to be dead,” I’d finally said, still fighting the panic rising within me. I couldn’t fully wrap my head around what was happening… it had all been so fast. This morning we were happily starting the last leg of our journey. In the afternoon we found the Stone. An hour ago Kusit had asked Alira to talk, and fifteen minutes ago the rest of us walked into the tent. Now Alira and Katile were dead, as well as the king’s guard. I didn’t know where the rest of my friends were, but I knew they would be back soon and I had to protect the child in my arms.

 

My mind focused on getting us out of here alive and I calmed. I was able to get him to his feet and guide him away, still sniffling.

 

I had gotten lost in the memory and was only snapped out of it by the narrator’s somber voice. “They managed to escape the explosion, but when they returned it was too late. Alira was gone. She had sacrificed herself to save her friends and her country. The evil king Kusit died with her, and she can rest in peace knowing she succeeded. The Stone of Yadeer’s power was spent, lost to the cosmos and can never hurt anyone again. The three surviving friends went home, where they became powerful allies to the new ruler and brought peace to the land.”

 

I blinked. I couldn’t begrudge Alira a little honor; it had all started our innocently. I wished poor Kusit didn’t have to take the brunt of their rage and the blame for their deaths. I was the one who really killed them, after all. The best thing I did in this whole thing was take Kusit away from them.

 

As the children began to settle and the younger ones asked questions, I looked down at my hands. Faint purple bolts dashed across my exposed skin. I’d had many years to learn to control the powers the Stone had imbued me with, though I hardly used them. I could still feel the throbbing pain throughout my being. I’d long since grown used to it and only really noticed when I thought about it.

 

A hush had fallen, and I realized the children were all staring into the trees. Staring at me. I froze, the flickering lights vanishing. It was too late; they’d already seen me and were now shining a light at my face. “Who are you?” The storyteller asked in a quivering voice.

 

I smiled. “Once I was someone, but now I’m merely a part of a legend told around the fire.” I let the energy momentarily swirl around my person, careful not to let it reach them, and faded back into the night to continue my walk. I could hear them still speaking in now-hushed tones, trying to figure out who I am and if I was lying. I felt an odd sense of contentment as I left them behind. It was nice to be remembered all these generations later, even if the story was inaccurate. I would have to tell Kusit next time I visited the arctic.

[heechulhamster]

What Love Is - Park Chanyeol

Park Chanyeol x Reader

Fluff, Slice of Life

One would think that knowing love is intrinsic to everyone. But love isn’t something you learn from other people’s definition of it. To fully grasp it’s reality, it was one you need to experience yourself. 

2528 words

Love - one would think that it’s the most innate feeling amongst us humans. Too natural that one is said to experience it way even before your flesh first felt the air of this infinite world. The first heartbeat said to be a result of such feelings put into fruition by your parents, with you as its living and breathing form. Probably the most recurring theme in all forms of art - perhaps even its root and purpose. The lovers as they kiss in the serene moonlit garden depicted on the elaborate painting well rested on a museum’s wall. The tragic yet tumultuous affair immortalized in the names of Romeo and Juliet. The driving force that compelled The Platters into harmony with Only You. Most would think that love is something that we just know, as inborn as the heart beating in your chest. 

Yet you found out that what you know about love is merely the textbook definition, the summary of other people’s sentiments that you tried so hard to understand. But all that love was to you was another person’s story, happiness, grief - love was anything but yours to experience. That was until he taught you what love is - and it was a lesson learned slowly. 

A previously bodiless idea only showed a glimpse of its materiality in your way the moment he walked in your favorite cafe on a rainy Thursday afternoon. The cafe has always been a stranger to the crowd, only a few people knew the treasure it was. It’s handful patrons were people that you got acquainted with for frequenting the place. Yet that fateful afternoon, as the loud raindrops orchestrated a white noise against the glass windows, an unfamiliar face walked in. Juvenile in its softness, almost unfitting on the body it belonged to. The sound of the noise was persistent, but his smile overpowered everything else. Drowning whatever your other senses tried to perceive, instead focusing on the tall, princely man that was now in front of you. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked as he settled down the free chair opposite of yours on the circular coffee table. 

“Well, you’re already sitting.” You spoke nonchalantly, trying to hide the growing butterflies that now reside in your tummy.

“Oh, my bad.” He chuckled, low and baritone as it reverberated through your ear and in your mind. Each vibration carving his voice in your memory, in case this shall be the first and last time you see him. “I’m Chanyeol.” 

You reach out your hand to meet his that he offered for a handshake, aptly responding your name in reciprocation. Now that your attention is far away from the Danielle Steel book at hand, you decided to look around the small and warm coffee shop, a handful of seats and tables still bare. 

“There’s more unoccupied tables.” You said as-a-matter-of-fact. 

“Yeah, I can see that. I just thought that you might need company.” He answered as he smiled rather charmingly. 

“Me or you?” You asked, a faint smile now forming your pursed lips.

“Me.” He replied with a chuckle, as his long and slender fingers shake as he raises his cup of warm coffee to his lips. 

It was then you discovered that unlike the movies or novels, love wasn’t a sudden feeling. Neither was it an abyss that you just fall into while cautiously living your daily life. Not a warningless storm that just sweeps your quiet mind in an instant. Love was a set of deliberate choices, conscious and knowing of all possible events that will follow. Love was something you choose to let into your life because, not only did you open the door, you have paved the way for this person to walk on. Regardless of the inevitability of being hurt, the uncertainty of what is left unknown - you’ve let him into your life. 

It was your choice not to shoo him away from your table. To let him know why you prefer the rustic and unassumingly personal cafe downtown over the trendy and bustling Starbucks near your apartment. Your decision to let him smile and tell jokes as if you were already an old friend, a sense of familiarity flooding in the both of you. And it was your choice to not let things there - to give him your number even if you could’ve said no as he reached for his phone. You’ve given him permission to be a part of your life, to be more than a stranger that you meet on a rainy Thursday in your favorite cafe. And you’ve broken all chains holding you back from feeling anything from him. 

You’re well aware of his intentions when he asked you out on a Saturday night. He looked too put together to be meeting a mere acquaintance, smelled too good to just be with a friend, and his hands were too jittery for this to be platonic. Chanyeol’s nervous little chuckles as his shaky hand fails to insert the car keys to start the engine on the first try. 

“This is a date, right?” You asked, not wanting to misread whatever his signals are. 

“Uh.. yeah. But only if you want it to be.” Chanyeol answered, his big doe eyes looking to you with hope. 

“Why are you putting the decision on me? You’re the one who asked me out.” You laughed lightheartedly. 

“Well, I don’t want to pressure you into things.” He explained, as the engine of his yellow vintage Chevrolet finally roars into life.

“But is this a date or not?” You reiterated your question. 

“Yes, I’m taking you out on a date.” 

You smiled, small and shy in a form of relief. Because you know that you wanted it to be a date, a start of something that’s beyond platonic. The way you started preparing at 2 in the afternoon for something that’s still set for seven in the evening. How you took your time cleaning yourself in the bath, trying to look your best. It took you five, six outfits in front of the mirror before finding something that will suit your mood. Your white knee-length free flowing dress that was in your closet for the longest time, finding the right time to be worn. 

The concept of love you grew with, observing as it unfolded and presented itself to your siblings and friends was a far reach from the actuality of it. The theory of being in love - one that you experienced as you read different novels and watch romantic films was no match to love in actual practice. Love wasn’t something to be learned but something to be experienced, first hand and in the front lines. 

You thought you knew what being loved felt like. Manifested in the warmth of the soup you eat at dinner, passionately prepared by your mother or the hugs and giggles your friends give you. Chanyeol’s indication was something else, one that you could never get enough of despite the act being more than enough in itself. 

“No, I’m not going anywhere away from you.” He insisted as he wringed the damp cloth over the basin.

“But you have work.” You tried and reasoned out in between your unforgiving coughs. 

“They’ll find another jockey to take my slot. I’ll earn the money some other day. There’s nothing that would hold me back from taking care of you, okay?” Chanyeol assured you once more as he put the cloth over the heat of your forehead.

“Sorry to bother.” You replied sadly. 

“You’re not a bother, you’ll never be a bother. I’m here because I want to. I’m here because I want to be the one with you, understand that?” His long and slender thumb caressed the back of your hand as his other hand tucks you in beneath the thick blankets. 

“I love you.” He said as you started to doze off, probably unaware that you were still conscious. And it was his first proclamation of his devotion, his feelings now solid and alive. Taking form in his lips as it was relayed in your ears. You didn’t have to guess anymore as it already came from Chanyeol itself - he loves you. 

You should be far from sleeping soundly, you should be shocked, discomforted due to sheer excitement. Yet that night, despite your clogged airways and high fever, you slept better than ever. Trapped in his embrace that showed no signs of letting go, his breathing steady and harmonious as he lays beside you. You felt assured, in place, and loved like never before. 

You, on the other hand, was dealing with all the stages of falling in love along with the stages of knowing him. 

First, you knew his name. The mere abstract of his existence that first made its way into your life in a cafe. He’s Chanyeol, a disc jockey that worked in the local town club. Tall, and unforgivingly handsome, with a killer sense of style. He always wears these large hoodies with his ripped jeans, looking effortlessly divine. He drives a yellow Chevrolet that mirrored the cheerfulness of his personality, always bubbly and radiating this permanent shine of light. 

Next, you knew him as a matter - a being in this world beyond the shallow descriptions. You took time in memorizing each valley formed by the lines on the palm of his hands. Each mole on his body that wouldn’t be seen by mere bystanders. How he moves, nearly lanky due to his size, yet still attractive in your eyes. His biceps that was hard in your grip, strong enough to lift you in his will. Chanyeol’s voice was one of his distinct qualities, it’s low bass that just rings right in your ears. His smile, precious and warm and endearing, one that just causes you to flash one back too. 

Then you took hold of Chanyeol as a human. A person with flaws and downsides yet one who strives hard to make up for it. He’ll usually forget the fact that you need silence while working and start blasting his speakers out loud - but he’ll quickly apologize once you remind him to. A person with habits, some quirky and eccentric but adorable in itself. He stirs his coffee with a fork, saying that it’s like using four small stirrers at once. His drink will always have three ice cubes in it, regardless of where and when he’ll chug it down. Chanyeol’s not-so-little pinky finger will always be the one he reaches out first, before engulfing your hand that his way smaller than his. 

Finally, you knew Chanyeol as someone absolute to the universe. An imminent persona, a force to be reckoned with. An existence filled with wonderful thoughts and emotions. His artistry translated into his music that he shares with other people. The fact that he first wanted to be a recording artist, but dealing with the harsh truths of life ended up turning discs at a sweaty local club. But he didn’t see that as anything less, as all he wants is to communicate his vision and emotions through music. A universal language that just translates into anyone listening, one that he’s undeniably proficient at. He’ll always put people that he views as important over than any job or material thing - and that includes you. 

And by that time, you knew there was no other explanation to this other than love. This depth of knowing that only two intertwined souls will reach. 

“Let me just get your favorite strawberry yogurt.” He asked you as he reached out on the upper shelves of the market fridge, pertaining to the selection of dairy that lie cold and colorful. 

“I love you.” You just blurted out, eyes looking straight and intently into his. 

“What?” He clarified, eyes widening at your sudden revelation. Anyway, who wouldn’t be shocked? The first time that you’ll tell him you love him after four months of dating is while you’re both clad in sweatpants, shopping for food in a small grocery. 

“I love you, Chanyeol.” You reiterated, saying it a little bit louder than the first time. 

His wide eyes now retreated back into its normal size, then smaller. As his cheekbones puffed up while he smiled, bright and beaming of undeniable happiness. His hand was now on yours, leaving the rows of yogurt forgotten. 

“I love you too.” Chanyeol said, not giving you any sense to doubt the sincerity of his words. 

It was sudden, how you just professed a long growing feeling inside of you while in a grocery. But its urgency was brought by the importance of what you felt while pushing a shopping cart along the alleys of chips. It was the comfort, the undeniable sense of familiarity you have with Chanyeol, that you’d let him join you in something you used to enjoy doing on your own. How he just knows what flavor of yogurt you’d get without even asking you, only because he takes note of what you like. And the fact that you feel at home, in the middle of a grocery aisle, all because you’re with Chanyeol. Only to prove that a home isn’t just defined by four concrete walls, but also the presence of someone dear - of someone you love. 

Long gone were the days where you envied the movie characters for their picturesque kiss under the rain. How you imagined it would happen to you when your friends are talking about it in high school, that didn’t come into fruition as your prom night was as plain as a piece of paper. You didn’t have to write what you think love is, because you finally experienced it, said it out loud and heard it back.

With Chanyeol, you’ve debunked all the myths you thought you knew about love. 

Finding love didn’t need to be a breathtaking moment out of the movies. It could be as simple as a rainy Thursday afternoon while you sip on your cup of mocha at a small vintage cafe.

That indications of love doesn’t need a dozen long stemmed roses nor a box of chocolates. Sometimes you’ll feel love when he lets you choose the playlist on a car ride. Or when he lets you sleep on his arm, even if it would feel numb an hour later. Maybe it’s how you let him hug your precious pillow because you want to smell like him. 

Love wasn’t a formless concept, a feeling that just swims in your mind. It was something concrete and alive. It had colors - it was red as the heart he drew on your notebook one lazy Sunday afternoon. Sometimes it was as yellow as his ochre hoodie that looks oversized on you. Maybe it’s even brown for the tub of chocolate ice cream he gets you. Love can be known by temperature - warm for when you’re in his arms and cold when he leaves for work. Love had different shapes - a heart, a hickey, a rose, all these infinite possibilities. 

Most importantly, love is true. You have your own proof, breathing, living, and one to be seen and told stories about - and it was with Chanyeol. 

[heavens-light-and-hells-ice]

Namedays

  Six-and-fifty winters is he, when his daughter is born into her very first. 

No one recalls. Even he had not recalled, not till now, long after the nurse carried her up the stairs, wrapped her up tenderly and lay her down in the quiet of the nursery for a few bells' sleep. Not till now -- when, having hauled himself up after them and crept in through the door, he looks down at her pink and tiny, impossibly tiny face -- does he realize that all of Heavensturn's come and gone, and that the sun that now rises over Abalathia is the second of Halone's moon.

"You must get some rest, milord," says Nurse Berthoise from the couch, herself groggy. "You've been up more than twenty bells." 

"I will," he lies, and he stands there, his knuckles white on the cot's railing. 

The babe, though, sleeps; eventually, so too does the nurse. He at last sits in the chair beside, to relieve his lightheadedness -- but he continues to watch. For one bell, two bells, he watches, almost without blinking, hand tight on his cane, till she just begins to rouse. At her first murmur, he stands straight up, startling the nurse awake -- and so she is swiftly borne away, back downstairs, before she even gives her first cry for milk. 

Rosaire is left behind. 

He looks after them long after they've departed, then sits down again, slowly, in the chair. 

Fifty Namedays ago, he was playing by the pond at the country estate with his two siblings nearest in age. His own nurse and a footman had meant to keep an eye on them, but their eyes proved too full of each other, and soon he and the girls had ventured, against instruction, onto the ice.

He does not remember the moment he went in -- nor, truthfully, does he remember much of what happened after, save being bathed and made to give thanks to Halone (though not to the lowborn who rescued him) that the water was shallow -- but he remembers the feeling: the shock of cold, the flood of overwhelming fear, his head emptied of everything else. Time became immensely slow, seconds stretched out into years and years -- and yet in all that luxury of time there was nothing he could think of, nothing he could do but sink down, down into the numbness, down into himself, powerless. 

It is the same feeling he has now, and has had for these past twenty bells. 

Not at first. At first he was afraid, yes -- but he was also Rosaire Ledigne, the logical, the Staid. He simply had Helenne summon the midwife and bid the maids make ready, set the book-cradle at the bedside and lay in it his codex open to the relevant page, then sat down next to his lady to murmur encouragement and wait. Such was his duty and his role: to be calm and remain calm, to stand out of the way but ready to assist -- to put the nightmare out of his mind, to pray without speaking, and to give no evidence of aught but a placid heart. 

And so he remained, steady and dutiful, keeping his countenance as she suffered and wept. He even flattered himself with the thought that he might be able to feign tranquility and comfort her through her screams -- until, a mere few bells in, the midwife drew him aside. 

"You'd best call the chirurgeon," she murmured. "The local one -- then ring your specialist in Ul'dah and give the linkpearl to me." 

"Is something wrong?" he asked, like a fool. 

She looked at him, weighing an answer, then shook her head. "For now, just call them," and she turned to go back into the room. 

It was then that he began to feel it, and felt himself sink down, down into the cold and dark. 

One chirurgeon became two, when Doctor Tristelle arrived from the south. They timed Gwenneth's pulse, put an ear-trumpet to her chest, inspected the swelling of her feet, then shook their heads and argued in whispers in the corner. For a long time he could not persuade them to enlighten him, but at least the heat of his frustration provided some sort of relief from the numb fear; but he tamped it down and held her hand when he was not gently cooling her face and neck with a cloth. 

When they finally offered her the option of a draught for the pain, she didn't answer; words, if they were words, came from her mouth in a jumble, and she looked at Rosaire only a moment before her eyelids fluttered and her cloudy gaze went back up to the ceiling. 

Some time after that -- minutes, bells, years, he was no longer sure -- he was taken aside again. 

"You'd best call the priest, my lord." 

The words he'd prayed, bargained, and begged not to hear. 

He listened to the Reconciliation and observed the anointing, though he could hardly hear or see. 'He' was there, listening and watching and even taking Mother Judithe aside to grasp her hand and thank her, but he -- he did not quite feel present in his body, as it went through those movements and spoke those words mechanically. He was somewhere else, floating in the ice-cold water, looking down at the scene as it unfolded with painful slowness.

Miolleane, though acquainted with the Ledignes for just one sennight, broke down crying in the hall; Helenne sent her home, then ushered Clavis into his carrying-cage and took him to the Fortemps aery, leaving Berthoise in charge. She brought Rosaire a cup of strong coffee; it rattled so much in his hand he had to drink it at the dining table. 

For lack of elsewhere to look, he fixed his eyes on the Starlight Sentinels, still bright and in good needle: the first, in bluish-green, slim and delicate -- the second, in silver, tall and thick at the middle. And then, between them, the miniature, less than a fulm tall -- the representation of a wish they'd made at last year's Starlight, both her little hands enfolded in his. 

How could I? 

His throat tensed around the slug of cold water he'd breathed in; his eyes stung. But he was stopped from drowning by one of the chirurgeons rushing in. "Well, if you think you're still able to help with the physicking -- 'tis the time now." 

At first he knew her only by her cry -- less a cry, he later thinks, than a hearty and rather indignant exclamation of surprise. Though she was borne away immediately to receive the attention of the priest -- to whom he barely remembered to mumble the name they'd chosen -- she was soon returned, brought before him in the arms of the smiling Berthoise. "She is much improved already, milord -- a strong and healthy daughter." 

He must have looked at her face then, but his eyes were too full of the blood on the sheets to see it. 

"Bring the babe here -- 'twill help stop the bleeding --" 

"This is a task for a conjurer -- pray, stand aside!" 

Someone's hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back to make room for the bustle of healers. He looked at Gwenneth's face -- pale and wet -- a worse sight than the blood -- and feared for a second his knees might buckle. They didn't -- he couldn't let them -- so instead of sinking to the ground, he sank further into himself, down, down. 

When it was not his turn to channel physicks, he stood silently at the side, looking at the statuette of Nymeia they had placed at the bedside just a few suns before. The Weaver, friend of laboring mothers, smiling beatifically -- the promise of health and fortune, threatening to be broken -- and prayed.

He prayed to Her -- cursed Her, in a moment of rage, then prayed again -- to Nymeia, to the Twelve, even to Nophica. And he prayed, desperately, to Halone: Fury, please spare Gwenneth. Fury, please save Gwenneth. O Fury, I will serve you faithfully -- only let her live, so she may serve you far better than I. O Fury, I will do penance -- I will make pilgrimage -- anything, Fury, anything, anything, anything, only give her strength. Let her live. Let her live. I beg you -- let her live. 

The gods were slow to answer. The bleeding did stop, but the chirurgeon's faces remained grave. She had faded to an awful pallor -- he wished, in sick despair, she might begin again to scream in pain, for that sound was easier to bear than the sight of her arm falling limp from one of their hands. But a bell later, they were less solemn. The Ishgardian chirurgeon went home, to sleep a few bells before dawn; Judithe followed, though not before pressing his hand in hers and telling him to have faith, be strong. 

"She's made it through this night," the midwife told him. "If she stays strong through this fortnight, she will be out of danger." Unspoken, the obvious corollary -- that till then, she was not safe. He nodded dumbly, sent her home as well. 

Helenne -- Fury-sent Helenne -- took watch in the bedroom till the chirurgeon returned, bag full of potions from the apothecary. It was then that Berthoise suggested taking the babe up to the nursery, to let her rest a little away from the commotion, and the chirurgeons permitted it -- and soon insisted that Rosaire go up, too, to rest and replenish his energy. 

But he sits in this chair instead. 

Since the date of their marriage two summers ago, they have a few times slept apart -- once due to the pressing business of the Bellworks, a few times when Institute affairs took him to southron Eorzea and Gwenneth was too ill to join. He managed, but hated it; so many years a bachelor snoring away contentedly, yet after holding her only once, gently and chastely, he could not bear to be apart from her -- her warmth, her soft skin, the scent of her hair. 

He cannot bear to think of it now. 

But, when Berthoise returns to lay the babe down and smiles at him compassionately, he looks down into the cot, at the child who lies there -- sleepy features squashed like all newborns', little ears with little points still flat against her head, wisps of honey-brown hair on her head -- and realizes that he must, even if fitfully, in this chair. 

He -- and Helenne, and Berthoise, and Clavis, when he returns -- must watch over her and keep her warm till the fortnight's end, when Gwenneth rises, and the time at last comes to celebrate their Nameday.

[ikonislife]

Shame 2

Junhoe x Reader

Angst, Smut, CEO!Junhoe

Warning: Mature content.

Somewhere in between his haughty smirk and sultry whispers, you let yourself lost in a path of no return with the man who doesn’t love anyone... Or does he?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Final

“I think the whole party heard you by now, love. Didn’t peg you as a screamer.”

His voice echoed across the dark empty room, uneasiness rising within the pit of your stomach but at the sound of the low growl of neediness commanding an answer, you had no mind to care for the curious way the walls seemed to be amplifying every sound.

“Sorry..I can’t help it… Shit…”

But to your disappointment, Junhoe pulled away leaving you feeling empty and cold from the lack of his tongue. You pushed yourself off the table, wondering what he had gotten up to but was met with perhaps the most mesmerizing sight, Junhoe leaning back in his chair, chest heaving heavily and you realized just how immersed he was, how far he let himself get lost in pleasing you. His lips coated in your nectar, nose too was glistening with wetness that made you want to lick it all off of him… And so you did. He sat still, feeling the desperation in your little fingertips gripping at his crisp white shirt, tugging away his loosen tie and simply smirked when he felt your tongue cleaning up every bit of yourself left over on his features. His eyes cold and piercing, staring you down with almost disdain and haughtiness but he did nothing when you settled on his lap, arms locking at the nape of his neck. Your lips needy, moulding and sucking at his lips then trailing up his nose, you lap at his intensely sharp jaws before sucking a wet spot at the base of his neck. It was only now that his hands returned to your body, gripping your waist so harshly you could feel the blooming of bruises already on your once flawless skin. He nipped at your earlobe, dragging his tongue down to your bare collar bone before scrapping his teeth against it, bitting then sucking no doubt leaving his own marking, claiming you as his. Junhoe leans in closer, that dangerous smirk teasing on his lips as he whispered something you’d never in a million year could conjure up even with that gutter mind of yours.

“Did you think you were fucking special?” Suddenly you felt bare, vulnerable and exposed even though Junhoe was no longer intimately making himself acquaintance with your body.

“What?” Hands grasping at your loosely hung straps, desperately to cover yourself with what little fabric he had left you with.

“Did you think you were special?” He growled once more, the sharpness of his eyes, that distasteful curl of the lips whenever he was disappointed, disapproving were all back as those beautiful features slashes at your every inch of skin. “A doll good for passing time suddenly thinks she’s a princess? Give me a break.”

“N-No…”

“No?” He scoffs and never before had you felt so inferior, so degraded and there is no describing the pain coursing through your veins. “Did you think I was going to take you out to a nice fancy dinner? And what, live happily ever after? You must be daff, insane if you think I would just hand over my status and money to some stupid girl that couldn’t keep it in her pants. If all it took me was a few charming smiles and a well-placed white lies for compliment, I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

Your heart sunk to the deepest depth they had ever been to, not even getting a glass of 1900’s exorbitant wine dumped on your head by that rich douchebag at your part time all those years ago couldn’t compare… Because this, this is a personal insult. At the least you know that pompous ass was only putting up a very pretentious front for the woman that was much too beautiful and graceful for the ugly person that he was. It was pointless drama over the wrong wine. 

Without commanding them to, not the tear you’ve been holding back not from pain but from the pleasure derived from the torture but bitter tears. Bitter because you knew you shouldn’t but did, bitter because you thought he cared.

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

The next moment your feet were already hitting the ground sprinting, you ran and ran but no matter how far, that hauntingly chilling sentence wouldn’t let you escape its cold fingers. No matter how much you tried, the contempt spewing from his lips, the dirty looks, you couldn’t escaped them. 

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

You screamed but all that came out was silent, a silent cry for help that only seemed to amplify the scorns and jeers. The hours long you had spent plastering your face with pounds of makeup wasted as the tears streamed down your cheeks. You thought the worst was over, the hurt had been done but what you hadn’t expected was where your feet had carried your dishevel self.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” A kind face, Mark from HR so gentle with that mesmerizing smile. “You look a bit cold, here take this!” 

A warm jacket wrapped around your shivering shoulders as he lead you across the crowded lobby, people smiled and greeted the both of you but non seemed to be shook at your Cinderella-eques self, not the princess at the ball but the one that had lead to her meeting with the fairy godmother. Something in the way his hand so tightly woven around your aching shoulder, the way he’d occasionally gave it a soft squeeze as if reassuring everything will be alright got you in a trance. So you let your eyes fluttered close, letting yourself get lost in the vast ocean that was his addicting mix of whiskey and expensive cologne. 

Mark is your fairy godmother.

“Look everyone, Y/n just came down from a “one on one” with the boss,” A loud cheer erupted along with whistles and catcalls. “We all know what that mean, don’t we?”

You couldn’t believe your ears, that soft voice that had been so caring suddenly raged with all the contempt, all the derisiveness the world could bestowed upon one person. You wanted to disappear, to blink and be back in your warm bed but when they opened, all you could see was sly smiles and gasps of judgment.

“Mark, what are you doing. No, I-“

“Don’t worry, Y/n. We all know what a good little pet you’ve been for the boss.”

No matter how much you pried, what force you gave, Mark’s hands around your waist holding you back for the world to taunt would only grew stronger. You begged but it went unheard as if a lonely leaf floating in the wind, useless and fragile, as if your words carried no meaning. Then at the height of it all joined the arrogant Mr. Koo with all of his scorn and condescending jeer.

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

All you could do was screamed, screamed until your voice hoarse and throat sore. You screamed but their laughters always louder and before you knew it, your consciousness slipped through the crack of time and-

“Y/N. GODDAMN IT, Y/N. WAKE UP!”

Cold sweat breaking, you felt as if the weight of the word had just been lifted off your shoulders, as if you had just stepped away from the edge of a cliff.

“What? Irene? What are you doing here?” throat dries, funny enough you actually felt like you had just been fucked by the world as you stammered your confusion away.

“Well you screamed your ass off, so I came over. God, you’re drenched. Come on, let’s get these clothes off before you get sick.”

No mind nor strength to fight against Irene’s caring hands even if you felt sick to your stomach and wanting nothing more but to melt away into the night, your body limp as she tugs away the wet pieces of clothing and replaces them with fresh one. Only now did you notice the pants heavy in your chest and the shiver still coursing through your pale cold hands. Your mind hazy and has it not for Irene’s constant sweet chatter lulling you toward reality, you couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to distinguish whether this was a dream or the real world.

“I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about it so, drink this and get some sleep. We’ll deal with this tomorrow morning.” As understanding as ever, a mug of warm tea shoved into your hands and with a blink of an eye, Irene disappeared back out the door with one last understanding smile even though she probably has no clue what was going on in your brain. Although judging by the concern clouding those brilliant eyes and the questionable bit of the lip, Irene knows exactly the cause of your horrendous screams.

Somewhere across the city, across all the tax brackets and fortified private community walls, Junhoe finds himself tossing and turning with the guilt of words like knives eating away at his heart. Warm bed and heavenly soft blanket abandoned, he treks in search of the poison that will surely bring him sleep even if the price for a few decent snooze would be the hammering headache by tomorrow morn. As the cool breeze of a peaceful night brushing against his skin, he took a sip and marvels at the disgustingly polluted sky above with a sigh of disapproval. Not even a dot of stars, not even the moon could fight against the cloudiness as it shies away from the world below.

Suddenly but perhaps not unexpected, Junhoe’s mind flooding with euphoria as the lackluster sky above only reminded him of the insatiable craving growing deep within his heart to see once more the way your eyes shined so brilliantly as if they possessed the universe within them whenever a sweet smile was gracing his day, making it just a bit brighter. The way his name danced so beautifully even if the only two times he had ever had the pleasure of hearing you called him were either with the utmost respect during work hour and the sinful cries of overtime. Just the simple act of you uttering his name alone leaving his imagination running wild.

He wonders what it would sound like had you met at the age when first love was blooming and the only thing dictating his life was teenage hormone. Although if he must be realistic, you’d still be moaning his name by the end of the night so at least that part remained the same. 

Would it be any sweeter, had you been the first girl he had learned to love. Perhaps the rowdy days of high school is a rather bad example for the way his heart now seems to be singing your name but that feeling within his gut, the churning and fluttering, that is definitely reminiscent of the good old teenage days.

Would it be much more endearing had you met when he realized the love he once experienced as a young lad had done nothing to prepare him for the pain brought upon his young naïve self, mistaking that love can conquer all. Junhoe is certain he’d have been head over heels for your adorable self just as he is now and no doubt in his mind you’d have teach him a lesson or two on love. 

Nowadays, love for him resembles the sun… Not that he thinks of it as sunshine, daisy, and sweet honey but rather the sun to Icarus, the boy who flown too high. He loved and he flew, he was so high and he got hurt. It’s something grand, something magnificent but it’s also something impossible, something unobtainable. Happily ever after is only a fairytale and this cold, harsh life of a young CEO is anything but that as he closed himself off from all possibility of entrusting his heart away.

Your smile carried him to the moon and back but soon the cloud of solemn spread over the precious memories of happier days as those harsh words thrash about his consciousness. It was out of character, so bizarre the way he had behaved especially toward someone so special, the second those grand doors had shut out the fading clicking of your heels, Junhoe had collapsed, a shiver ran deep within his veins at the realization of what he had just done… He had turned into his father, worse, his grandfather. 

In no way was his father anything but the most perfect husband and dad in the world but the man he was at work, that person was in every way shape and form someone Junhoe aspires not to be. It was as if his father had possessed dual personality disorder, a kind loving man turned into a monster the moment the perfectly polished shoes and impeccable suit meticulously cloaked over every last bit of humanity he had. Junhoe despised the way he treated everyone as if they were simply dirt beneath his shoesm the scowl that was permanent upon his lips, how everything and anything could become personal.

Now his grandfather, the legacy, or rather stain as Junhoe and his father liked to remind everyone, the stain he had left behind was something of the unsavory sort, something his father had worked to the bones to rid and Junhoe still doing his best to not falling into the beaten path. He was for lack of better terms, a sleaze and as faithful as the second hand on a clock. Junhoe had been appalled, revolted by the words spreading on the grapevine of his womanizing way even before he had step foot into the company. He didn’t understand the flirty looks and sweet words being thrown his direction regardless of the gender, the disrespects he had thought. It wasn’t until his father had officially handing over the reign that the dirty past got dredged up. Suddenly his father action didn’t seem so harsh, suddenly the preconceived reputation of himself didn’t seemed so farfetched any longer.

It had been a near three years since his dad had left the throne for sunshine and Mai Tais by the beach with the love of his life, near three years since Junhoe ascended into this vicious world. He had been good, he swears on his life that he was much more than his predecessors, and everyone would agree. Yet the moment Junhoe saw the fear flashing in your doe eyes, so scared, so terrified of the monster that had shadowed everything he worked so hard to achieved, he knew he had lost it all to a few moments of irrationality. The way your shoulders shivers and body so small against the cold metal of the elevator instead of his arms… Your tears… Maybe Junhoe isn’t any better, maybe him trying so hard to prove otherwise to a world already fearing a person he isn’t did just the opposite… And this curse, the Koo family curse upon the men is something inevitable, something out of his grasp. All he could hope to do now is to mend the bridge he had so cruelly broken yet for reasons not at all unknown to Junhoe, reality as he suspects much grimmer than the last flicker of pipe dream that you’d still look at him with those stars filled eyes. The bridge, after all might be nothing now but ashes and lingering pain that he will never be able to erase because what woman would willingly give her heart to a man that could offer nothing beyond his dick and unkind words.  

Here’s a collection of Mr. Koo in suits to distract you from the fact that this part was waaaaay shorter than the first (:

[5hfanfiction]

you look happier, you do

Summary: After leaving the group for more than a year, Camila spends the day with the girls and she realizes, moving on isn’t as easy as it seems.

“Promise that I will not take it personal, baby, If you’re moving on with someone new,”

-        Happier, Ed Sheeran

xxx

Camila grips the steering wheel tightly, her palms sweating despite turning up the air conditioning to full blast. The beat of her heart pounds harder in her chest as she drives the car through a narrow driveway lined with palm trees on both sides. She steps on the breaks when she nears a tall wrought-iron gate, giving a minimal view of the not-so-modest two-storey classical villa. The sight of the humongous house already overwhelms her and she hopes it wouldn’t be the case once she meets the girls.

You can do this. You can do this, she chants the mantra mentally, hoping the little technique would ease the anxiety that’s threatening to take over. Her mind, unfortunately, isn’t cooperating so well as it begins to flood negative thoughts that she has been desperately trying evade.

God, what if they still hate me? I mean, sure, they said they didn’t actually hate me but they weren’t exactly ecstatic either with the turn of events. Though we all talked it out right? We’re all good right? Yeah, we are, like why else would they invite me over?

Camila nods at herself, finally finishing her internal debate with a huge huff. She relaxes the muscles of her shoulders, only now realizing how stiff she must have looked while driving. Her entire body has been tense throughout the drive, and that’s a solid forty-five minutes of staying perfectly still with a very uptight expression on her face. Not to mention the numbing sensation on her bottom.

Unsure on how she should make her presence known, she juggles her options fast before security could mistake her for some creepy stalker that’s managed to track Fifth Harmony in this quiet uphill neighborhood in California. She originally decides to climb out of the car, wrangle the gates and yell at some guard on duty or Ally to let her in (because she forgot to charge her phone before leaving the hotel, what else is new?).

But thank God she has saved herself from causing a scene after spotting an intercom, right next to her side of the car, that she could have sworn is a garbage disposal judging from its design. She lowers her window and leans in to press a red button.

“Hey, it’s me.”

There’s a loud gasp at the other end, “Hannah Baker?!”

Camila furrows her brows, utterly confused, “Um, no?”

An even louder and excited gasp comes through the static, “Mr. Pizza Delivery Man?”

“No…It’s Mila,” she answers carefully. Is she at the wrong house? She starts to wonder, choosing to reveal herself as Mila instead of Camila in case she has accidentally followed a different address on her GPS. With her clumsiness and her knack for embarrassing situations, it isn’t an unlikely occurrence.

To her relief, she gets a somewhat toned down response, “Oh. Who’s the baddest bitch in this town?”

 “The…what?” Camila tries to clarify, second guessing herself if she really did hear that question correctly.

“Can’t get in unless you aaansweeer,” the person sing-songs the last bit of her sentence with the intoxication in her voice clear as day.

Camila is slowly grasping the condition the person—a girl who she is more than acquainted with—is in, her lips quirking into a grin. Despite it being only two in the afternoon, the girls must have either raided the liquor cabinet or bought their own stash of alcohol and downed a couple of bottles since they have arrived. She takes her bottom lip with her teeth, deciding to play along their drunken game.

“Hmm, Dinah I’m sure.”

“Ha!”

“Wow, and I trusted you, Camila. This is like the betrayal of the century. Friendship ov—“

Another voice interrupts the two, “Mila! It’s Ally!” There seems to be some struggle as the older girl speaks. Camila can make out an argument between Normani and Dinah in the background, with the former fighting against Camila’s lack of judgement while Dinah mimics Normani’s every word in a childish manner. Ally continues, “Sorry about those two. They sorta went ahead with the party. I’ll tell the security to let you in!”

As soon as the gates open, Camila maneuvers her car onto a parking spot, a rush of excitement replacing the dread she has been feeling moments ago. Simply hearing their voices has given her this sense of reassurance that she is still in fact welcome to their little family, regardless of past events. Locking her car, she walks towards entrance porch to be greeted by Ally, all smiles and sunshine.

“Hey girly! I missed you!” Ally brings Camila into a tight bear hug which Camila happily returns.

“I missed you guys too,” Camila says, breaking their embrace. Ally directs her to the interior of the home that boasts beautiful furniture and a floor-to-ceiling height that’s as tall as three basketball players stacked together vertically (an analogy Camila has come up by herself of course). Her mouth hangs open in awe and Ally takes notice at her reaction.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I think beautiful is an understatement.”

“Dinah would be glad to hear that.”

“This is Dinah’s?!” Camila’s eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets with her voice echoing, probably reaching to every house in California. She wanders around the space, only then she is able to catch a couple of picture frames with the members of Dinah’s family. The size of the place would be more than enough to house everyone and Camila couldn’t be any prouder of her friend. They really have made it quite this far.

“Did someone summon the queen?” Dinah emerges into the living room, her make-up slightly smudged and a makeshift paper towel crown on her head. She trudges slowly to them, teetering sideways like a toddler taking its first steps. It takes Dinah a while for her to register her newly arrived guest, and when she does, she throws herself at Camila who manages to balance both of their weights.

“Chanchoo!”

“Hey, Cheechee,” Camila gives a sideways glance at Ally, signalling for help. Although she more than appreciates Dinah’s lovely warm welcome, she’s close to losing her strength and hell, sometimes she could even barely carry herself. So when Ally sees Camila’s knees buckle, she rushes to her aid and assists in carrying Dinah’s upper half of the body.

“I’m too small for this, Dinah!”

Dinah feigns offense at Ally’s complaint, “How dare you talk to your queen like that Allyso—oof!” the two girls drop her onto the nearest couch. Dinah splays her body all over the couch, arms raised above her head like in mock surrender.

The commotion must have attracted Normani since she staggers into the living room, mirroring Dinah’s arrival just minus the launching-herself-at-Camila. And unlike Dinah, she immediately notices Camila’s form and the way her face lights up guarantees Camila that she’s glad to see her as well. Normani rushes to her in her typical drunken fashion and sweeps Camila into another hug, adding a sticky kiss to her cheek.

Before Camila could say anything, Normani presses a finger to Camila’s mouth, “Shh, nap time.” Then she wedges herself in between the couch and a now sleeping Dinah who is snoring rather loudly. Camila’s not sure how but Normani manages to find some space and settles herself comfortably, succumbing to sleep.

Camila and Ally both look at each other before bursting in laughter.

“God, some things never change,” Camila says, placing her hands on her hips while watching Normani and Dinah sleep peacefully amidst the cramped space. Though there are other couches Normani could crash into but she figures she is much more comfortable there.

Ally shakes her head fondly and then observes how Camila’s eyes would dart to the hallway as if expecting someone or another familiar pair of arms to wrap her in an embrace. Camila may have been out of the group for more than a year now but in the given time that Ally has gotten to know her, she could discern very well the hopeful expression on Camila’s face.

Not wanting to ruin the mood, Ally takes her by the arm, “Dinah’s family won’t be here for two days. Why don’t I show you around?”

xxx

“And who says to leave my lonesome on my couch, alone, sleeping by myself?” Dinah bursts through the double doors of the music room, all heads snapping at her direction and cutting off their conversation. Her blonde locks are in disarray and she swats a few stray strands away from her forehead. Her slightly rumpled shirt has some water stains and the lack of make-up suggest that she must have washed her face before coming up.

“That was redundant,” Normani, who is now completely sober after a wonderful nap, comments.

“Needed to get my point across,” Dinah waves her pointing finger at them, to which Normani ignores and proceeds to bring her attention to Ally, who is seated beside her, scrolling through her phone and also ignoring Dinah’s outburst.

“The nerve,” Dinah dramatically puts a hand to her chest, scowling at her friends.

Camila is the only person to apologize, smiling sheepishly at the taller girl, “Sorry, you were out like a light.” She’s situated a feet away from Normani and Ally, resting on an armchair, just by the glass sliding door that leads to a balcony.

“Sorry not accepted, but maybe I’ll reconsider if given a performance?” Dinah squeezes herself on the chaise lounge, again ignoring other unoccupied chairs present, earning an annoyed glare at Normani whose butt is close to falling from her seat.

“Whatever you want, Cheechee,” Camila beams, ultimately accepting Dinah’s request. It hasn’t occurred to her that she would be able to relive this kind of moment again, without her feeling pressured or getting this sense of dread.

“Ooh! Let’s do a livestream!” Ally speaks up for the first time since Dinah has entered the room. She navigates her phone onto her Facebook page while the other girls agree in excitement, with the exception of Camila who worries that management wouldn’t be pleased with this at all.

“Can we really?”

“Puh-lease.It’s been more than a year and we’ve been seen in public lot of times. Nothing they can do now.” Dinah shrugs.

“Yeah, I agree with Dinah,” Normani nods.

Grabbing the phone from Ally, Dinah instantly begins the livestream without warning or introduction or whatsoever. She simply hits record and aims Ally’s iPhone at Camila who looks like a deer in headlights.

“Here we have Walz with Wonderwall.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Normani joins Dinah onscreen, surprised at the increasing number of viewers with comments ranging from a speculation of a reunion to people wondering why the hell Ally isn’t with them, when in fact, they are streaming through Ally’s Facebook page.

“Y’all don’t have to worry ‘bout Ally, she’s too short to reach the camera,” Normani jokes.

“I’m right here!”

“But they don’t know that ‘cause they can’t see you,” Dinah teases the shorter girl and doesn’t even bother to give her some screen time. Instead, refocuses back to Camila who arched forward, listening intently to the base of the guitar as she plucks at a string while skilfully tuning it.

More comments that make up of a bunch of song requests flash before Dinah.

Omgggg pls play a song

SING FOR US MILAAA

MY BABIEZZZ #OT5ButWhereIsLauren

SHOW US ALLY GODDAMNIT

SHOW US ALLY GODDAMNIT. please

can u play an ed sheeran song?

“Someone’s asking if you could play an Ed Sheeran song,” Dinah reads the latest comment, “Watchu think?”

Camila thinks for a moment, internally recalling the list of Ed Sheeran songs she knew how to play by heart. She stares at the ceiling, deep in thought, while the three girls patiently wait for her to come up with a decision. Seconds tick by and Camila’s head snaps back to its position, facing Ally’s iPhone, “I guess I could do Happier.”

“Ooh! I would like that!” Ally claps excitedly like a child high on candy as Normani gives her a double thumbs up.

“Well, here goes nothing,” And just how she does it before performing on stage, Camila takes a long deep breath then releases it noisily as if she were getting rid of all the nervousness. She puts her fingers into position, the other hand strumming against the strings to the first chord of the song.

“Walking down 29th and park I saw you in another’s arms Only a month we’ve been apart You look happier Saw you walk inside a bar He said something to make you laugh I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours Yeah you look happier, you do Ain’t nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain’t nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal baby If you’re moving on with someone new Cause baby you look happier, you do My friends told me one day I’ll feel it too And until then I’ll smile to hide the truth But I know I was happier with you Sat in the corner of the room Everything’s reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you’re happier Aren’t you? Ain’t nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain’t nobody need you like I do I know that there’s others that deserve you But my darling I am still in love with you.”

Camila stops abruptly and looks up because she’s getting this feeling of being watched by someone else, which she comes to find out is actually true. The astonishment on her face couldn’t be any obvious as she locks gaze with a certain raven-haired girl who is leaning against the doorframe, watching her performance absorbedly with those dazzling green eyes. It’s like she has forgotten how to breathe and speak, her voice hitching in her throat.

“Lauren! Get in here girl! We’re having—oh shoot, Ally your phone’s dead,” Dinah pouts and hands it back to Ally who regrets not charging beforehand. While the other girls whine about how the end of the livestream must have been disappointing to their fans, Camila unconsciously tunes them out with her vision solely focusing on her ex-bandmate and her mind swirls back to the past with memories of their conversations.

She remembers the time when they were having one of their too-many-to-count sleepovers, both of them on their bellies, watching a rom-com in Lauren’s bedroom. Camila is sixteen, with Lauren turning seventeen in a few months.

“Hey, I wanna tell you something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s…um…” Lauren fidgets with her fingers, brows knit together, “you know, it can wait.”

“You sure?” Camila angles her head so she could see Lauren’s face clearly.

“Yeah.”

“If you say so, Lo.”

Lauren doesn’t bring up the topic until a couple of months later, being in a similar situation as the first with both of them being alone, this time in Camila’s bunk.

“Camz.”

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”

“Mhmm.”

“I know it’s like four in the morning—“

“Mhmm.”

“—and I should be asleep but I can’t so I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, as in a lot, and uh, I shouldn’t be hiding this any longer ‘cause I really want you to hear this coming from me and—oh, Jesus never mind, I’ve babbled you into a coma, just forge—“

“Lauren I’m still awake.”

“Oh. I just assumed you—“

“Just tell me, Lauren.”

“I think…I think I…” Lauren sucks in a breath audibly, “I think I’m inlovewithyou.”

The words fell out of her mouth just as fast as she’s shut them. Camila is in disbelief, completely and utterly in disbelief that she isn’t sure on what to do so she tries to laugh at the situation because Lauren couldn’t possibly be serious?

“I’m serious.”

“We should sleep, Lo. Gotta be early tomorrow.”

Although they have never agreed upon the nature of their relationship, they let things escalate when they allow the undeniable tension between them go loose. This, of course, is hidden from the eyes of the public. Camila attempts to clarify things one time.

“What are we?”

“Friends, Camz. I don’t know if friends do some kissing here and there but we are friends.”

“Lauren…”

“Fuck. You know what? We should stop this. Yeah. I’m tired. I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

“Wait. It’s not—“

“Not what? Not like you’re ready? I get the same explanation for nearly three years, Camila, and I do my part and try to be patient but you do absolutely nothing.”

“…so this it?”

Lauren doesn’t answer, but her exit is more than enough to explain that things between them aren’t going to be the same.

It’s not fair! She wants to scream because her feelings are still a mess, Lauren is a mess, she is a mess and everything is a mess. She overlooks the fact that she hasn’t been fair with Lauren too.

Their relationship goes downhill, down the drain, out the window. Nada. Being in a room with both of them present is like waiting for a time bomb to explode. The situation takes a toll on the girls so they create an intervention, eventually the two of them make-up, but then again, things aren’t the same.

“Lauren, you’re late.”

“Sorry, had to pick up Luce on the way here.”

“She dropped you off..?”

“She’s coming with us actually. That’s cool with you, right? I already talked to the girls and—“

“Lauren, it’s fine. It’s cool.”

“Oh. Then, cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

But it was not cool.

“Wooh!” Dinah’s loud voice snaps Camila back to the present, jolting in her seat. The Polynesian has risen from her seat to stretch, “Jesus, I think you just got me sobered up with that performance.”

Camila rolls her eyes fondly, setting the guitar down to its stand, “Was that your version of a compliment?”

“Hey guys, I have your pizza!”

Their attention shifts to the person behind Lauren who has two boxes of pizza in her hands. She plants a soft peck on Lauren’s cheek, receiving an ear-splitting grin from Lauren. Camila feels this stinging sensation burning in her chest, just like how every time she witnesses that, but she doesn’t let it bother her, at least not on the outside. She masks her expression with a friendly face and a friendly greeting, “Hey Lucy.”

“Hi Camila,” Lucy sends her a smile, “Heard you sing from downstairs. Too bad I missed it, but I bet all that singing’s got you hungry,” she gestures the boxes of pizza at her.

Normani and Ally swiftly take one box each out of Lucy’s hold and they both disappear into the hallway, presumably running down to the poolside where Dinah suggests they eat. Dinah yells at them to be careful and not to drop them on one of the carpeted floors because that shit’s a bitch to clean and follows the two girls to keep an eye on them, with Lucy offering to help with the beverages.

Which leaves Lauren and Camila.

“Nice shirt,” Camila refers to Lauren’s The 1975 shirt under her black leather jacket. It’s her weak shot at preventing some awkward silences between them but it’s better than nothing. Though things are going good for them, Camila finds it somewhat a challenge to maintain her composure when she’s got some unresolved feelings for the other girl.

“You still trying to work that line?” Lauren raises an eyebrow playfully, folding her arms over her chest.

A blush creeps to Camila’s cheeks, reminding her of their first encounter, “God, it wasn’t even like that!”

Her defense only earns her a laugh bubbling out from Lauren, “Can you believe that was six years ago?”

“Shit, that long?”

I’m head over heels for that long?

Camila mentally shakes her head from that thought.

When Lauren’s laughter fizzles, there’s the silence that Camila’s dreaded but it isn’t awkward as she’s expected it would be, rather it’s a comfortable one. She wishes she has more to say, how she used to be when they were younger, when she wouldn’t run out of topics with her. Her curiosity slips out instead, “So, you guys gonna tell the whole world yet?”

Lauren doesn’t seem bothered by her question, “We thought we’d just let the fans figure it out.”

“I see,” Camila nods then points her finger vaguely at her, “You look good by the way,” it’s shy and very Camila-like.

“Pretty sure you’ve already mentioned you liked my shirt,” Lauren is smug and teasing, further easing Camila into their conversation.

“What I meant was, I’ve never seen you this happy and I just…it makes me happy too.”

Lauren’s smug dissipates into something else and there’s that glint in her eyes that reminds Camila of a pair of emeralds winking at her. The same eyes that she swears she will never get tired of admiring. The same eyes that held so much admiration for her. Reminder: held.

“Thank you…” Lauren unfolds her arms from her chest, “That means a lot…Camz.”

And there it is.

“I think I’m gonna go and grab a slice, you coming?”

Camila is still motionless, her own nickname ringing in her ears again and again but she manages a lame, “You go ahead, I gotta call my mom,” which Lauren buys and leaves.

When she is no longer in sight, Camila sinks back down to the armchair and buries her face in her hands. Her stomach is making her uneasy and her chest heaves with pain. But she doesn’t cry. No, she’s done too much of that already in the past year.

You’re doing great, Camila. You’re doing great, she gives herself a pat on the back because, yes, this is part of moving on. It hurts to see Lauren with Lucy. It hurts to see her kiss Lucy. It hurts to have Lauren call her Camz. It hurts to feel hopeless when Lauren causes her heart beat like crazy.

It plain hurts.

But she’s hurt Lauren more.

Lauren, who had been so patient, so understanding and so willing to wait.

As much as she wants to chase her, tell her how she has regretted everything, how she has realized too late, Camila doesn’t.

Despite this torture she’s going through, she knows she has made a lot of progress. She’s proud of how she doesn’t cry herself to sleep anymore. She’s proud of how she can sustain a decent conversation with Lauren. She’s proud of how she can bare to look at them hold hands and kiss while she’s in the room. She’s proud of how she barely thinks about it could still be her.

With the livestream over, she doesn’t believe she gives it justice if she doesn’t finish the song herself.

She retrieves the guitar from its spot and faces the glass sliding door, pushing it to the side to be greeted by a gust of wind. Camila takes in the air, and the shrieks and laughter from the girls below.

Placing the guitar on her lap, her fingers brush against the nylon strings. She opens her mouth to sing the last two lines of the song, but closes it immediately after realizing that the lyrics don’t seem to fit her current situation. Her heart sinks when she sees Lauren and Lucy, hand in hand, both giggling at something Lucy said. At the same time, she’s relieved that of all people Lauren had to be with, she had chosen someone worthy like Lucy.

Unbeknownst to Camila, Dinah quietly watches her out of her peripheral, the younger girl’s heart breaking when she catches the glistening tears that slide down Camila’s cheeks. With the lyrics altered to her content, Camila ends the song. Her lips curve into a sad but since smile, her warm brown eyes never leaving the two figures.

“I know she won’t break your heart like lovers do,

So I will let you go ‘cause I love you.”

xxx

a little ed sheeran songfic for you guys, had this in mind even way before i wrote i have questions for u and i only got around it today

hope you enjoyed it

take care everyone, especially to all those floridians out there

-keeks