#I think his eyes were dry and bloodshot and his lips pinched | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 1 year

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under the night | seven

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] description of injuries, violence, blood, discussions of death, nightmares, angst, non-explicit discussion of the death of a child, fluff. word count: 6.1k part six | series masterlist | main masterlist

Little bird…

Your hands around a throat, fingernails coated in dirt and dark blood.

Pressing down harder, harder, harder.

A man with a shaved head, bloodshot eyes bulging, thin lips pulled back to reveal crooked teeth as he gasped, desperately searching for air.

And then your own voice, a vicious snarl.

Are you afraid?

You woke with a start.

Remnants of the dream danced through your mind as you instinctively jerked your hand forward, attempting to wrench it away from the wall it was chained to. A harsh gasp tore from your mouth at the movement, scraping up through a painfully tight throat and escaping from chapped lips.

I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m oka-

Memories of the cold air, of the dirt and snow under your feet, rushed back to you, bringing hot tears to your eyes. You remembered Joel; his arms tightening around you while you beat against his chest, shoving him away. Joel. The muscles in your throat tightened with unshed emotion as you tried to sit up, but you cringed as your surroundings swam in your vision, and you collapsed back into the firm bed.

The room was too bright. Everything was a shade of off-white, and the yellow bulb on the ceiling flickered, irritating your eyes that had grown so accustomed to the darkness.

The pain was immense, radiating through your torso and legs, and an itchy blanket covered your body, tucked tightly underneath your armpits. You drew in air slowly, deeply, trying to regulate your breathing as you pushed the blanket down, and tried to push your legs off the side of the bed. A sharp stabbing pain rushed through your arm and you winced, noticing a canula injected into your forearm. Your eyes followed the attached tubing all the way up to the IV bag that hung beside the bed, filled with a clear fluid. Based on how dry your throat was, and the headache raging in your temples, they were trying to rehydrate you.

You were still contemplating a way to escape the scratchy bed when something else caught your eye.

She was asleep in a chair, her head tilted down awkwardly so her chin rested against her chest, little snores floating from her mouth. The heavy breaths escaping your lungs began to slow as you watched her, shoulders relaxing as the world around you solidified.

You were in the medical centre, you weren’t alone, and you certainly weren’t with him anymore.

Ellie looked so young while she slept; so innocent. Forehead smooth, lips parted slightly to make way for deep, heavy breaths. Momentarily, you allowed your eyes to drift away from her, inspecting the rest of the room. A side table with a mug of water on it, a tray at the end of the bed, a closed door on the wall behind the kid. Everything smelt like soap. So much fucking soap that you cringed to think what smells it was there to cover up.

With more care this time, you pushed the scratchy blanket further down your body. You still wore the same shirt, stained with dirt and blood. But a soft pair of shorts replaced the pants you’d worn for days, and the clean fabric brought a swell of relief. Most of your skin was on show, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. When you pulled up the hem of your shirt, a dark purple bruise staining the side of your ribcage was revealed. Your finger prodded it gently and you winced as a searing pain shot through the tender skin.

Next, your eyes caught sight of the thick bandage wrapped around the middle of one of your thighs.

Your eyebrows pinched together in a slight confusion, and you fingered the frayed edge of the bandage absentmindedly, trying to remember what had happened there. And in your moment of deep concentration, you didn’t notice the teenager waking up.

“He stabbed you,” Ellie’s voice tired came, and your head whipped to the side to see her awake, watching you closely.

“When?” you croaked, grimacing at how hoarse your voice was.

“At the end,” she said softly. “Tommy saw it happen when he got there… when you were on top of him.”

Lincoln’s face flashed in your memory; the gums of his smile lined with blood.

Are you afraid?

You blinked it away, shaking your head slowly as you attempted to piece together a succinct memory of what she was describing.

“I don’t…” Thick tears settled on your waterline once more, blurring the sight of Ellie in front of you. “How did he even find me?”

Ellie gripped her chair and pulled it closer to the bed, round blue eyes gazing intently at you. “He and Joel saw the smoke coming from Lincoln’s house. Tommy was the one that pulled you out.” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Joel’s name, but you blinked, looking down at the gauze again.

“Is he dead?” your whispered roughly.

“He will be.”

My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.

Panic flared through you. “No, no, no,” you breathed frantically, chest aching as harsh breaths ripped in and out of your lungs. “He has to be dead, Ellie. He has to, he’s gonna find me, we have t-“

She was saying your name, over and over, standing up beside the bed. Her hands hovered in the air over your arms, hesitant to touch you but searching for a way to calm you down.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. They have him, he’s not gonna fucking touch you, okay? They’ve got him.”

“Joel and Tommy?”

“And Cal too,” she nodded. Ellie cleared her throat, staring at you warily. “He was… he was almost dead when they found you guys. They took him out past the gates, wouldn’t tell me where they were going though.”

You nodded slowly, a dull ache forming in your chest at the thought of the two men you cared about the most being outside those gates, with him.

Ellie’s lower lip wobbled, just for a split second, but you caught it. And it made you falter, because suddenly all you could think about was what this must have been like for her. You didn’t know much, but you knew that this kid had been through a hell of a lot. And you didn’t take lightly how hard it must’ve been for her; having the last time you saw her being when you almost strangled her, and then you’d just been… gone.

“Thank you,” you murmured earnestly. “For being here.”

Slowly, you turned your arm so that your hand was resting on the bed, palm facing up. A bandage was tied around that forearm – covering a burn, you surmised. Ellie looked at your hand and dropped hers onto it quickly, squeezing once.

“Cal said you probably wouldn’t want any of them in the room,” she admitted. “Said it would be better if it was me or Maria.”

“That’s true,” you began slowly. “But I’m also just glad that you’re here. I… I’m glad I get to see you, and tell you again how sor-“

“Stop,” she squeezed your hand again. “I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Ellie,” you warned lowly.

“No,” she shook her head. “I fucking mean it. Forget about it.”

And then there were two memories in your mind, side by side, making your stomach churn. One of Lincoln’s face, skin turning red as your hands gripped his neck. And another of Ellie, staring up at you in horror in Joel’s bed.

“I’m sorry,” the words tumbled from your mouth, a feeble repeated apology being all you could muster.

You nodded, eyes drifting to the wall beside her head so you didn’t have to look at her anymore. “I’m sorry,” the words tumbled from your mouth, a feeble repeated apology being all you could muster.

“You should sleep some more,” is all she said in response, gently raising the blanket back up to cover you. “I’ll wake you up when they get back.”

You woke up alone, to the sound of raised voices outside the room.

“Open the door.”

“Just wait a minute, Joel.”

“I’m done waitin’. I mean it, Maria. You open that godda-“

“Joel,” her voice was stern. “You better back off. I’m not letting you in there.”

“And why the hell not?”

And then Cal’s voice interjecting. “She needs rest.”

Slowly, you pushed yourself out of the bed, almost stumbling as your full body weight rested on your feet for the first time. Shock pulsed through you as you remembered your toe. Looking down, you cringed to see a sock covering that foot, clearly thickly padded with a bandage underneath. Standing on it hurt, and you cringed as you grabbed for the IV pole, careful not to tangle the tubing as you slowly padded toward the door.

The world around you tilted for a moment, and you caught yourself on the wall, breathing slowly as you waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

“You have to let me see her.”

“Joel-“

“Let me the fuck in that room.”

There was silence for a moment, and you strained your ears, trying to sense any kind of movement, anything you might be missing. And then his voice came again. Softer this time.

“Please.” You could hear the desperation in his voice. The fear. “Please, just let me see her.”

Gripping the door handle, you dragged the door open, eyes widening when you saw the scene laid out before you.

Tommy had his back to the doorway, Maria a step in front of him, holding her hands up in the air towards Joel, who towered over her in a show of intimidation. He looked like he’d hardly slept in days, with oily hair stuck to his forehead and facial hair grown out longer than you’d seen it in a long time. A thin shirt clung to his frame, and a dark red stain coloured the left sleeve.

Cal sat in a chair against the wall, head resting in his hands. Dark brown blood stained his fingers.

As soon as the door opened, their eyes were on you, and you looked between the group of them slowly. Cal stood up quickly, wide eyes darting over your figure, gaging your reaction to their presence.

And then…. those big brown eyes you’d come to love, so wide and devastated as they took in every detail of your face, raking over you like he was seeing you for the first time in years.

“Baby,” Joel exhaled, and you could see the way his shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had been taken off them.

“Joel,” Maria spoke in a low, warning tone.

“It’s okay,” you said, nodding once when she looked to you for reassurance.

Maria stepped to the side just in time for Joel to barrel towards you. The only thing that stopped him from taking you into his arms immediately was when he noticed the IV drip beside you. He hesitated, glancing between you and the canula in your arm for a moment, a tear spilling from his eye. You felt your eyes dampen in response, and you raised a hand to rest it on his face, thumb gently rubbing the skin below his eye. He sighed, nudging his cheek further into your palm.

He said your name oh so quietly, and your chest tightened painfully. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Baby, I’m so-“

“Don’t,” you stopped him, shaking your head. A tear streaked down your cheek, and you wiped it away hastily. “Please don’t apologise.”

A sharp squeaking noise radiated through the room and your eyes flickered over Joel’s shoulder to where Cal had stepped towards the pair of you, eyebrows drawn tight across his forehead.

You were vaguely aware of Tommy and Maria leaving the room, quietly as possible, as you stared across the space at Cal.

“I’m okay,” you mouthed silently, and Joel’s head turned to see Cal standing there.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and you could sense the battle raging inside of him, trying to convince himself to step back so that Cal could get closer, but being unable to tear himself away from you.

Suddenly though, your hand dropped from his face as you swayed a little on your feet, head swimming from standing for so long. The pair of them pushed forward, both gripping one of your elbows to steady you.

“Let’s get you back in bed,” Joel rushed out quietly, and the pair of them ushered you gently back into the room, toward the bed. You chuckled softly, but it quickly turned to a groan as pain seared through your chest. Cal noticed, eyes narrowing as he attempted to silently pinpoint where you were hurting the most.

“It’s okay,” you croaked out, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed. Your throat still ached whenever you spoke, and you swallowed, desperate to rectify the hoarse roughness of your voice. They stood side by side, staring down at you, as if frozen.

You took in Cal’s wild-eyed expression; his sallow cheeks and clenched fists.

“I was supposed to be home,” your friend spoke finally, his voice hollow. Joel’s head snapped to the side to stare the younger man, mouth slightly ajar.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, and his mouth twisted into a pained smile.

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered, raising a hand to shove the hair off his face.

“Cal, he’d been planning it,” you revealed, looking down to your lap. You frowned deeply, unable to watch their faces as you spoke. “It wasn’t… he was always going to find a way around you, around both of you.”

“Fuck,” you heard Joel growl suddenly, and you flinched at the sound.

“Watch it,” Cal snapped, and your eyes darted up to see him staring Joel down through wet eyes. Joel’s face was soft, clearly having noticed your reaction to his raised voice, and he nodded, his eyes screaming apologies at you.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, and Cal stared at you. Slowly, he took a step back towards the open door.

“I need,” Cal’s voice broke, and he looked away, rubbing a hand over his eyes roughly. “I need a minute, just a minute.”

“Cal,” you whispered, holding out a hand to him. He pressed forward and caught it in the air, leaning down to kiss it. “Please, I don’t wan-“

“I love you so much,” he said firmly. “I just can’t be here like this. I need to… I need to get this blood off me, okay? I’m coming back, I’m not leaving, I promise. Just give me a minute.”

He left quickly, quietly, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. You stared at it for a moment, before the bed shifted with a new weight, as Joel rested beside you.

The side of his thigh brushed against yours, and you felt a slow warmth build inside of you. God you had missed him, missed being so close to him. It felt like an eternity had passed since you’d had this feeling.

Your head turned to the side and you caught his eye. Slowly, so you would see it coming, his hand came up to rest on the side of your head. Thick fingers brushed through your hair, smoothing it over your ear. Nuzzling into his touch, a thick sigh of unbridled relief escaped you.

He hesitated before asking quietly, “How bad does it all hurt?”

Too tired to lie, you told him the truth. That your chest was on fire, that it hurt to breathe, that your head swam when you stood up, that every part of your being ached. He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and you didn’t blame him. You could see how hard he was trying to control his temper. In the way his mouth tightened, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he stopped himself from speaking. The way his thigh was tensed against yours.

A few beats of silence passed between you, and then you both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry for everything I said.”

“Whose blood is that?”

You frowned, pulling away from his hand. “What?”

“I’m sorry for everything I said,” he repeated, looking down at his lap, where his hands now fiddled together awkwardly. “That last day we saw each other. It’s been playin’ on my mind on fuckin’ repeat, and I jus- I don’t want to lose you. I never wanted that, and I feel like I pushed you away for something you can’t control, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Joel,” the corner of your mouth twitched upward into a small, sad smile as you finally understood what he was talking about. “I understood. Ellie comes first, always. You have to make sure she’s okay.”

“No,” he grunted in frustration. “It’s not about first or second. I don’t want it like that. I just want… I need you both safe. And I fuckin’ failed you.” His voice cracked as he spoke, face falling as he finally began to cry.

“I’m here,” you whispered, taking his hands in yours. “I’m here.”

“I fuckin’ knew,” he choked out, tears dripping off his chin. “I knew you were out there, and you were fightin’. You’re so strong, darlin’, I just knew you wouldn’t let that bastard win.”

At the mention of Lincoln your smile faded, and your eyes drifted down to the crimson patch on Joel’s shirt.

“Is that his blood?” you asked quietly, and Joel’s shoulders tensed, back straightening. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the tears that continued to fall.

“We took care of it,” he said, with a tone of finality.

“Tell me.”

“Darlin’…”

“Joel,” you said firmly. “Tell me.”

He stared at you for a moment, eyes dancing across your features, down your body to note the bandages, the cuts and bruises.

“Ellie said you and Tommy saw th-the smoke…” you swallowed.

“We saw the smoke,” he repeated, voice low.

“And we went to find out what was burning so late, and it was Lincoln’s place, and it was bad. So Tommy goes in, guns blazin’, and I- I fuckin’ wait outside.” Joel stopped, sucking in a deep breath. You placed a hand on his knee, encouraging him to continue.

“And then I could hear him shoutin’. He was yellin’ my name in a way I haven’t heard in years, not since…” A pause. “And then you were there, and you were screamin’, baby. And there was so much blood, I couldn’t tell what was yours and what was his, and I just held you.”

“And you were out quick, y’just passed out,” he said, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. You could practically see his brain whirring, replaying the memory in his mind. “I think your body shut down once you were out. And then I turn around, and Tommy’s fuckin’ pulled him out too,” he laughed bitterly. “I told him to leave him, you know? I said let that fucker burn alive in there. But Tommy wouldn’t; he said we were gonna deal with him properly.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the words, jaw clenched tightly as your patience waned, mentally screaming at him to please, please just say he is dead.

“I carried you here, while Tommy got Cal. And once I knew… once I knew you were alive, and you were gonna stay alive, we took him. Out past the gates, ‘bout an hour out. He was hurt bad; bleedin’ and hardly breathin’… we struggled to get him too far. And once we were sure nobody would come across him on a patrol run, we chained him to the biggest goddamn tree we could find. And that monster was beggin’ us. Beggin’ for us to just end it, to put him out of his misery, but… Cal stopped me.”

The air seemed to rush out of the room, and fear rose in your chest. “No,” you exhaled. “No, Joe-“

Joel hushed you, brushing the hair back off your face and soothing you quietly. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured. “We knew he didn’t have long. That fucker wanted us to end it and we refused. Decided it would be too merciful. If he survives his injuries, he’ll be savaged by infected within hours. The idea of lettin’ him go out from a bullet… I realised I couldn’t stomach letting him die that quickly. I’m sorry, baby.”

You let the words sink in. there was no way he would get back to Jackson. No way he would ever get back into the commune. You were safe, he was gone, and you decided that was enough for you. No more killing.

Nodding slowly, you waited for Joel to continue.

“And that’s it,” he sighed heavily. “He won’t get out of the chains, I made sure of it. He’ll freeze to death, or bleed out, or he’ll get fuckin’ destroyed by those things out there. I don’t know which idea I prefer.” The look on his face was murderous, and for a moment you wondered how he could’ve stopped himself. You certainly hadn’t been able to.

Silence filled the room as you absorbed his words, a picture forming in your head of Lincoln, freezing and alone, out there beyond the gates.

Are you afraid?

For once, you didn’t push the words away when they flared in your mind. The words you spoke over the man, as his life hung in your hands. You sat with them, owned them.

“Good,” you said, and Joel stared warily, seemingly desperate for your approval. “He’ll be dead, and that’s all that matters.” You watched him nod, shoulders sagging in exhaustion as he twisted his hands together in his lap.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, gripping your hand. “What… what happened in ther-“

You squeezed your eyes shut, fingernails digging into his hand accidentally. “No,” you gasped out. “Please don’t… I-I can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel rushed out, pulling you into his chest. His head rested atop yours, his lips pressing soft kisses against your hairline.

“Not yet,” you murmured into his chest. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay, I’m sorry I asked,” he replied, kissing your head again. “But I’m here, alright? I… I know this ain’t gon be easy. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, y’hear me? I’m staying right here, and I’ve got you.”

Tears trailed down your cheeks, dampening his t-shirt, but Joel just held you closer, hand gripping the back of your head. And for a while the two of you just sat there together, on the edge of that bed in the medical centre, holding each other.

You were calmer when Cal finally returned, but for him it was as though a floodgate opened. Not for years had you seen him even shed a tear, and yet that dayhe sobbed, gripping you tightly, uncaring about the bruises that littered your body as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thought I’d lost you,” he sobbed into your hair, in between repetitive mumbles of “thank god, thank god, thank god.”

You clung to him for dear life, brushing the hair out of his face and reassuring him that you would never leave him. Returning to the people you loved that day felt like coming home, and you vowed that never again would anyone separate you from your home.

The weeks that followed were painful, and slow.

It took many attempts, and many failures, for you to finally divulge everything that had occurred in Lincoln’s house to Joel and Cal. Through time and patience on everyone’s part, there reached a day where everything was known, and you found yourself able to finally rest.

As Winter came to a slow, shivering end, your body had slowly but surely mended itself, after endless days spent in bed, being doted on by those closest to you. In time, those days turned into leaving the house, to going out more and going on walks around the commune again, until finally, you found yourself working at the stables, and re-joining a community that you had come to miss so deeply.

At first, the people of Jackson walked on eggshells around you. They hesitated before they spoke, before they held out a hand. You had always been too quiet for their taste, too firm. And returning to normal life reminded you painfully of the first few months you had lived in Jackson. But it showed you that you had come to love them all – the community of people who had welcomed you and Cal, who had accepted you as a part of their group. Jackson was your home, and to walk the streets safely again felt like the greatest luck you would ever experience.

The hardest day was the memorial service. Held on the final day of Winter, a sombre energy permeated the air all morning leading up to it. A candlelit vigil in the centre of town, where a plaque listing the names of four women had been erected.

Milena.

Claire.

Rebecca.

Leigh.

That night, wrapped in scarves and jackets, shivering against the harsh cold, the community had stood together in a hush, listening to the words of their loved ones. Families and friends shared stories about the women who had been lost. You had stood anxiously at the back of the crowd, chewing your bottom lip into a bloody mess and gripping Joel’s hand to steady yourself.

“You’re okay,” he’d whispered in your ear, nose brushing your eyebrow as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”

Everything inside of you had screamed to not go, to stay away from the people who grieved for lives that had been taken so cruelly, and yet you realised as you’d stood there, that it wasn’t about grief. It was about strength. A group of hundreds of people, standing together, to feel love and warmth in the face of such horror. An invisible weight lifted off your shoulders that day.

And when Spring arrived, it breathed new life into Jackson.

Ice thawed, and trees that had once been nothing but bark and sticks began to bloom small white flowers, pollen drifting through the air. No longer did you wake up to a thick layer of condensation covering the windows of your house. Rather, you rose to find the sun shining through the glass, warming your skin generously with its rays. The season changed, and brought with it an air of renewal, of rebirth, of permission for the people of Jackson to finally breathe clearer again.

Children roamed the streets, smiling and playing, the sounds of their laughter drifting in and out of open windows and doors. Large crowds filled the Tipsy Bison and the dining hall, where boisterous groups of friends shouted and laughed together, smiling wider than they had in months.

And at night, you found that your dreams had shifted. What were once nightmarish memories of being trapped beneath someone, helpless, had been replaced by reminders of your own viciousness. In the new dreams, you were the one on top, you were the instigator, you were the one to be feared.

But then one day, for seemingly no reason at all, they stopped.

At first, you didn’t trust the shift. You always slept better beside Joel, and yet time passed and they didn’t return. Sleep came easier, calmer, to you.

“It’s because you beat that fucker,” Ellie claimed one morning at the breakfast table. “You fucking won, and your brain knows it.”

You coughed around your mouthful of food, eyebrows raising in surprise at her response to what had been a casual comment about two weeks passing with no nightmares.

Joel gave her a stern look of warning, eyebrows drawn in tight. You heard a thump as he kicked her shin below the table.

“What?” she said defensively, glaring at him. But a small smile had drifted onto your face as your stared at the teenager. Slowly, she grinned back at you.

“Yeah,” you said then, eyes flicking to Joel. He watched you with a soft, wary expression on his face. “I beat that fucker.”

“That you did,” he agreed quietly. “That you did.”

And one quiet morning, as you and Joel laid in bed while the sun rose outside his window, limbs tangled together, lips brushing tenderly, he told you he wanted to tell you something.

“What is it?” you asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

One of your fingers trailed over the hair smattered across his chest, delighting in all of the exposed skin at your disposal. He shivered under your touch and you smirked, fingers drifting down past his belly button, toward the band of his underwear. But Joel caught your hand gently, pulling it up to his mouth to place a gentle kiss against your palm. Wordlessly, he left the bed and walked across the room, taking something from atop his chest of drawers. When he returned, you realised that it was a picture frame. One of the ones he’d distracted you from looking at that very first night you’d been in his bedroom.

“You know,” he said quietly. “After all of these years, I’d kind of… resigned myself to knowing that I would be alone. Everyone always died, or left, and at a certain point I just accepted that it was the way things were. But I found Ellie. And then I found Tommy again, and he gave us a life here, together. And then, on some stroke of dumb fuckin’ luck, I found you.”

His hands tightened around the frame in his lap, and you smiled softly.

“Joel Miller,” you murmured. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft.”

“Never,” he refuted the claim immediately, making you grin. “But I’m old, an-“

“Relax granddad,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes teasingly.

He scoffed, poking a finger into your side and laughing as you squirmed.

“Will you let me fuckin’ get this out?” he laughed. “Christ, woman.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, miming the action of pulling a zip across your mouth and throwing away the key.

“What I’m trying to say, is that I think you might know me the best out of anyone,” he admitted, and your smile faded somewhat as you picked up on his serious tone. “But I want you to know all of me. I want you to know every part.”

Slowly, but without hesitation, he held the frame out towards you, and you accepted it carefully, turning it around so you could see the picture slotted inside. Silence fell over the room as you examined the picture behind the glass, eyes devouring every detail. He looked so young in it. Standing in a vast green field wearing a t-shirt and a huge, cheesy grin, with not a single grey hair in sight. And beside him… was a girl. Maybe ten or eleven years old, with the exact same grin slapped across her dimpled face.

Your body stilled. Joel took one of your hands in his and held it silently, allowing you the time to truly take in what he was showing you. After a while, you managed to drag your eyes off the picture and look at him again.

“What’s her name?”

Joel smiled, eyes radiating with love, and told you, “Her name is Sarah.”

For hours that morning, he shared stories about her. Rolling through memory after memory, detailing her mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, the way she would drive him and Tommy crazy, how she showed love, how smart she was, how kind. As he spoke, you found that your eyes drifted constantly drifted back to the picture, raking over her features, her clothes, the soccer trophy she gripped triumphantly in her small hand.

And your chest ached the whole time, knowing that you would never get to meet such a wonderful human being.

Joel cried when he told you about the day she died, and you cried with him, putting the frame down gently before pulling him into your arms, wishing that you could sew the broken pieces of his heart back together.

After a while, the only sounds that filled the room were of birds chirping outside, and the sound of your stomachs growling as you grew hungry. It was some time before he finally spoke again.

“So lucky,” he whispered, almost wistfully. “My daughters.”

“Daughters?” you asked tentatively, bracing yourself for a second bombshell.

Joel hummed in response, head lolling back against his pillow as he gave you a soft smile. “Sarah and Ellie,” he said quietly. “My girls.”

A grin stretched across your face and Joel’s eyes widened, his smile broadening in response. But before he could speak again your lips were on his, pressing firmly. He grunted in surprise but responded with a fervour that had heat licking at the base of your spine.

“What am I going to do with you,” you muttered against his skin, dragging a line down his neck with the tip of your nose before smattering kisses across his chest.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he said breathlessly and you snorted, leaning back up to kiss him again.

He dragged the sheets up to cover both of you until nothing in the world existed except you and Joel, and your chest ached at the intense feeling of love that spread through your veins.

“Dingus.”

“Dingus?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“There’s no way that counts as a real word.”

“Hey now, hey!” you hushed the three of them, waving your hands in the air. “It does too fucking count, now shut your traps. Sore fucking losers, the lot of you.”

“You asshole,” Ellie groaned. “Put that in a fucking sentence, I dare you.”

“Ellie,” Joel chided her, trying to hide the smirk that was creeping onto his face.

“Easy,” you interrupted, sparing a sly grin in Cal’s direction. “Dingus over there needs a haircut.”

“Hey!” Cal shouted, eyes wide. “What the fuck did I do?”

“You were a non-believer, like the rest of them,” you chastised, tutting quietly. “Aaaaand it’s worth 11 points. Plus! It’s on a triple word tile, so 33. Ellie, add that to the score card.”

Ellie groaned and scribbled down your score. Cal muttered something obscene under his breath as he stared glumly at the letters in front of him, plotting his next word. Satisfied, you leaned back in your chair and raised a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him staring, so you turned ever so slightly to stare back.

Joel was smiling. That soft, sweet close-lipped smile that he so often only reserved for you and Ellie. A calm smile. Like nothing in the world had ever, or could ever, be wrong, if only he continued to smile like that.

“Quit smiling old man, she’s beating you too,” Ellie sneered at him, and a laugh tumbled out of Joel’s mouth.

“She’s smarter than all of us, it’s not my fault you always suggest scrabble.”

“We’re playing cards after this,” Cal said through a mouthful of food, and Ellie turned her attack on him, beginning a shouting match over how he always cheated when they played cards anyway.

You listened to them yell at each other and felt your cheeks ache with the weight of you grin. The four of you were sat outside Joel’s house, surrounded by the glow of the setting sun, laughing and drinking and eating a delicious meal. And suddenly you were struck by a memory, one from months beforehand. A memory of you and Joel, sitting by the bonfire together at the beginning of November, talking about wanting.

It was true that you’d always thought that nothing good could come from wanting. From desiring more from the life you’d been given. You’d believed that only heartache and misery could come from yearning for love or friendship or anything other than what you could hold in your two hands at any given moment. But thinking back on those words you’d spoken made you shake your head, and you wished for a moment that the person you’d been when you arrived in Jackson all those months ago could see you now. Could see who you’d become, and what you’d overcome. Because that town, that community, had shown you a different path. One of light, of laughter, of kindness. A way where you could want, and yearn, and desire freely, without shame, and without fear of consequences.

For a moment you just watched them. The three people you had come to love the most in the world, happy and safe, full-bellied, and warm. From beside you, you could hear Joel laughing at something Cal had said, and you smiled, savouring the sound. A deep, baritone noise that tore out of his chest and soared through the air around you, soaking into your skin and warming you to the bone.

And you thought, as you reached for his hand and squeezed it between the two of your own, that you felt entirely comfortable wanting to hear that sound for the rest of your life.

tag list <3

@huffle-punk @ghostofjoharvelle @n7cje @sarahhxx03 @nrmnie @missgurrl @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @mari-poppins @mellymbee @mumma-moonchild @peqchsoup @zarahbronstein @unbotheredbeeeee @eddie-munson-dungeon-master @libraryofneith @chibimosa @stevie75

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller series #ellie williams #tlou #tlou fanfiction #my writing #under the night

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years

Text

WE’RE THE LAST IN LINE: 5

Modern day! AU | Eddie x Fem!reader

W.C 2k

Warnings: talks of drug use, abusive psychotic behavior.

MASTER LIST FOR WE’RE THE LAST IN LINE

What the hell is she doing here? It’s been almost a year since she knew where I lived. How does this keep happening?

The tension could be sliced thin with a butter knife. Sectioning out each piece to mix with flour creating delicious layers in a biscuit. After all that’s what Eddie’s life has become, peeling off layers of himself and shedding them around like a snake. Each layer becomes thinner and thinner before finally there is nothing left. But slowly he was growing new skin. New layers to build around his shattered former self. You were helping him do that just by being nice to him. Joking around with him. But Chrissy? No Chrissy was the soul reason for the shedding of the layers, for getting Eddie down to nothing, no epidermis to shelter him, just hallowed out marrow, sucking him dry until he was exactly what she needed him to be, a servant.

She wasn’t always like this, wasn’t always so utterly unhinged. But Eddie can’t think of times like this now. He needs to deal with what is happening presently.

A raggedy blonde ponytail invades your vision as the smell of stale cigarettes and filthy clothes wafts to your nose. Her piercing, bloodshot blue eyes, accompanied by chunky mascara smeared down her cheeks, stare at you maniacally. You can tell she used to be pretty, probably the most beautiful girl in Hawkins at one point. But now standing in the threshold of Eddie’s doorway was a bone thin, haggard looking woman. The hallows of her cheeks sucked in tight like she had a mouth full of lemons. The dull greasiness of her hair suggested it hadn’t been washed or combed in weeks. Her tattered zippered hoodie hung on her like she was a hanger, stains adorning every inch of it as if it sometimes was used as a blanket. The dark permanent circles under her eyes looked as if they would never go away. The yellow stained teeth she flashed were cracked and loose, many already missing. She wore light colored jeans and adidas slides both on the wrong feet.

“Chrissy, what are you doing here?” More importantly, how the hell did you find out where I live? He thinks.

“I— I asked you first Munson!” she stammers shaking as she points a dirty ragged finger towards you on the couch, “who is she?!” She’s licking her dr cracked lips frantically and shifting her weight to each hip as if she heard a melody no one else can.

Eddie is embarrassed beyond belief, he pinches the inner corner of his eyes as shakes his head, “You need to leave, you don’t get to come to my place and demand answers, get out.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who she is!” Chrissy stomps as she tries to shove her way into Eddie’s apartment. “I swear to God Eddie! I’ll fucking kill her, and you!”

The other shoe dropped. Of course it’s too good to be true why wouldn’t it be? The sinking feeling in your stomach as reality hits you is a sensation you can’t deny. You feel like you could throw up or possibly melt into the fibers of Eddie’s couch. All you know is that you have to get out of there and fast.

Chrissy is still screaming as Eddie’s eyes never leave your face. He manages to shut the door, locking it, “Listen, I’m so sorry, but you can’t leave. I can’t have her knowing where you live…” your eyes go wide at his confession, “I’ll explain later, I promise— just please— here.” He thrusts his phone into your hands, his eyes frantic as he holds your face, “Call Hopper, tell him she showed up and won’t leave, he’ll know what to do.”

“What?! Eddie!” You protest.

“Please,” he begs. “I’ll explain everything, I’m sorry you got involved with this, just please, 5-6-8-3 will unlock it.”

You don’t waste another second unlocking Eddie’s phone and going through the contacts to find Hopper’s number. Your hands are shaking as you hold it up to your ear. A few rings and a gruff voice answers, “This is Hop.” You explain the situation the best you can through a startled voice. “Christ Almighty this girl, on my way!” The line goes dead as Hopper hangs up.

The beating on the door continues as Chrissy kicks, slaps, and pounds on it. Her voice becoming more and more erratic. “Does she even know who I am?!” Or what you did to me— what you took from me?!”

“… you need to get the hell away from my apartment Chrissy.” Eddie says as calmly as he can.

“He’s—he’s on the way.” you explain to Eddie as he’s leaning against the door, the previously open blinds are now closed. You wipe the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, praying that Eddie didn’t see them.

The look on your face kills Eddie. He can’t believe this has happened, again. That she once again found out where he lived. She must have had one of her cronies follow him home from work. And now you were involved in all of this. Involved before he even had the chance to explain any of it. This must look terrible, you probably are thinking that she is his girlfriend, and she is pissed cause you’re a homewrecker. He pushed off the door with his back, walking quickly to you and holding your hands in his, “I’ll answer any questions you have once she’s gone, I promise you she is not my girlfriend, or my scorned wife, it’s—more than complicated.” He shakes his head and lets out a nervous laugh, “you deserve to know about all of this, but until she leaves, do you want to sit in my room? I’m sorry if this is traumatic for you, I just can’t… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll fucking kill her! I’ll rip her throat out and wear it as a necklace!”

The lights on Hop’s Tahoe blink through the blinds like pretty Christmas lights. “Oh thank fuck,” Eddie exhales as he notices them. He brings you into his room and sets you down on the bed, “I’ll be back, try to relax.” Eddie whispers as he shuts his door and deals with this mess.

A million different scenarios are swarming across your mind invading and duckling away at anything happy like the grasshoppers of the ‘30’s destroying crops along the plains. The tears fall easy without Eddie’s big doe eyes blinking down at you like you’re an injured animal. So this was Chrissy? The girl tattooed on Eddie’s chest. The unanswered questions burning through your soul etching across it and simmering. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, just certain that the smell of Eddie’s muted cologne on his pillow was comforting you.

The knife against your throat is dull but cutting your delicate flesh nonetheless. The banshee like screaming shrill in your ear as the blade cuts deeper and deeper, the choked spluttering noises of your windpipe being severed ring throughout your apartment. The maniacal laugh coming from Jason and Chrissy sounds over and over and over in your head.

You shoot awake. Sweat pouring from your body as your eyes adjust to your surroundings. You’re in Eddie’s bedroom. He is sitting on the bed beside you, hands cradling your face. He’s wearing sweatpants now and a faded shirt, and he looks tired. His eyes half lidded as he soothes you, “It’s okay, just a nightmare, she’s gone— Hop took her back to the halfway house she was staying in.”

A wave of relief washes over you as you sit up, “Eddie, a—-are you okay?” Your eyes search his face as he fights to stay strong.

“Yeah I uhh—” he starts running his hands down his face and looking towards the ceiling, “just can’t believe this happened. That she found where I live again.”

You grasp his hand in yours, rubbing his rough knuckles with the soft pad of your thumb. “Who is she?”

Eddie exhales loudly, letting the air completely escape his lungs. “She’s my ex, from high school.” He begins, shoulders sagging slightly with each word spoken. “She wasn’t always like this. In fact she was sweet, super outgoing, and beautiful,” he lets out a sigh at the memory, “anyway, we started dating and after about a year and a half we found out she was pregnant. We were both seniors and I was kind of excited about it, and she was too. Both of us were nervous, but I know she couldn’t wait to be a mom.” He sniffles and lets out another long breath. “The baby— we— Chrissy was about seven months along, when it happened. We were driving back from her parents place to my trailer, roads were icy—” he closes his eyes, and puts his head down, hair shielding his face as his voice breaks, “I —I tried to keep my old van on the road but we were sliding so fast I couldn’t control it. We hit a tree head on. The van didn’t have seat belts, and Chrissy was— we found out later that night that there wasn’t a heartbeat. We were devastated. She had to deliver the baby, a girl, that we named Chrissy.” His hand automatically flew up to his chest where the tattoo lay, pulling the collar of his shirt down to show you. “We stayed together probably another year after the funeral. She wasn’t herself, after the painkillers she was given ran out she started stealing from me, from her parents, anyone just to get high, to forget everything. She never finished high school, just completely went off the rails. I don’t even know what she’s on now, but it’s some pretty dark shit… heroin I think.”

You’re in complete shock. This entire time knowing Eddie, you had thought that damn tattoo was for his girlfriend. Finding out it’s for his daughter who passed away, made you feel like a goddamn fool. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You say, wiping a tear from his lower lashes, “what happened after that?”

“After that she was pissed that I didn’t want to be with her anymore and threatened to tell the cops that I was drunk driving that night, I wasn’t, but the threat is always there.”

“Is she the one who c—”

His voice picks up and he’s talking quicker than ever. “Calls me every hour of every day? Yeah that’s her. She likes to get high and then forgets that we aren’t together. I help her out sometimes because I feel bad. Her family disowned her, moved away from Hawkins entirely after she left treatment for the sixth time. The people she hangs out with, if you could even call it that, have threatened my life more times than I can count, that’s why I didn’t want you to go to your apartment so she could find out where you live.” He stands up suddenly and paces around the room, “I can’t believe I got you involved in this, I won’t ever forgive myself if something happened to—”

You stand slowly, stepping closer to him as his relentless pacing continues. “Eddie,” you say calmly, grabbing his hand as he walked past. “Look at me.”

He stops in his tracks, tears threatening to spill that are welling up in his eyes. “I just— you don’t deserve this, you barely even know me and now you’re involved with all this, this crazy shit! I’m so sor—”

You hold your hands on his face and look him deep in his eyes, “none of that matters to me, just because you have a shit past doesn’t mean you are a shitty person. And honestly I think it’s kinda sweet that you still try to help her. Shows what kind of man you truly are.”

“Pppffft, and what is kind of man is that?” Eddie asks incredulously, “a sucker? A pushover?”

“No, a sweet one who deserves nothing but kindness, and this.” Standing up on your tiptoes you place your hand on his cheek and wet your lips, you gently press your lips to his.

You pull away gently but Eddie grabs your waist and deepens the kiss, hands traveling up your body and into your hair. He pulls away and murmurs into your ear, “told ya I’d bring the sugar.”

Taglist: @boomhauer @sidthedollface2 @b-irock @creoleguurl @tlclick73 @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @emxxblog @jadequeen88 @edsforehead @quinnsgrapejuice @idkidknemore @bebe0701 @mandyjo8719 @chelebelletx @big-ope-vibes @e0509 @itsasilentreader @adequate-superstar @bpj519 @eddiemunsons-world @aysheashea @chonkzombie @vecnuthy

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie x y/n fluff #eddie x y/n smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfiction #eddie fan fic #modern eddie munson #eddie munson modern #modern au #mechanic!eddie

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Smoking 🍃 w/ Your Boyfriend Fred Weasley...

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Prompt: Thought this was an interesting idea since I think we can all agree the Weasley Twins were def dealers lol

(I’m still on vacation I just had this one in my drafts so I finished it up)

Warning: mature, sexual, weed, smoking, swearing, probs more. If mentions of drugs makes you uncomfortable or you just don’t like it, don’t read this please! as implied by the title, this is literally all about what smoking with Fred Weasley would include

- Okay lets face it

- Everyone and their owls know Fred and George Weasley were the best, most trusted, ‘flower’ dealers in Hogwarts 🍃🍃

- You knew this before you started dating Fred

- It just came as a bonus after getting together

- Fred and George are almost always a little high

- They sell carts, wax, edibles and flower

- Like they’ve got it all, and the best quality

- Their edibles are only for the brave; half the time you get an out of this world high, and other times, your skin is bright pink for a week from their trick

- Lee Jordan also helps them with sales, the three of them are by far the biggest stoners in your year- probably in the whole castle

- Seeing as most Slytherins’ did lines in the bathroom and in their dorms, Fred and George hardly sold to Slytherins

- Most of the money the twins make goes towards saving for their dream joke shop

- But Fred loves to buy you gifts when he has the chance

- Like flowers, a bracelet, butterbeer, candies, books, etc.

- He adores spoiling you

- Fred never makes you pay if you wanna pick up from him

- But he usually prefers you smoke with him or him and George

- “You’re just so adorable when you’re high, sweetheart, I don’t wanna miss a thing. Plus, I’m scared you’ll tweak like a minx if you’re alone.”

- Munchies galore

- You guys will smoke late at night in their dorm with Lee

- George is the designated snack man and will sneak into the kitchen before your smoke session

- Lee shoves towels under the door and closes the vents

- You would probably be the one enchanting the room so the smell doesn’t get out, but Fred really couldn’t care if anyone smelled it

- You’ll usually smoke out the window, then trudge over to Fred’s bed and plop onto of him

- “Jeeze, I think someone took one too many hits.”

- Fred, George, and Lee will mess around, laughing loudly as they pass a blunt amongst the group

- If it’s your first few times smoking, you’d probably just sit in Fred’s lap on the ground, staring off at the floor

- Fred loves to tease you when you’re high

- “Earth to Y/n- come back to us please.”

- “Lovie, you’re eyes, they’re bloodshot as hell!”

- Lots of kisses

- You guys don’t make out too much after smoking as it’s nearly impossible for the both of you

- Dry mouth is a bitch

- Fred is vvv handsy when high

- Like he needs to be touching your skin somehow

- Whether he places you on his lap with his arms around you

- Or laying together in his bed

- Or holding hands on your walk back to the castle after smoking in the forest

- Likes to pinch your butt when you’re walking up the stairs

- He doesn’t really like when you’re high in public

- He can tell when you’re nervous and start getting fidgety, so he’ll ask you to go on a walk with him to calm you down

“Angel, let’s go to the lake, yeah? Think you could use some fresh air, love.”

- Fred will help you if you’re using a bong

- “Here, love, just breathe it in until I tell you to stop and I’ll lift the top.”

- COUGHING IN A SIN IN THEIR DORM

- Whoever coughs first is labeled as a ‘little bitch’ according to George

- Fred scolds Lee and George when they try to make fun of you for coughing

- Like will murder them with his eyes and slap ts out of George’s arm

- “Leave her alone… you know she doesn’t smoke as much as us… it’s completely normal, darling.” “Merlin’s sake, Fred. We’re just teasing her, mate. I think you could use the hit next him, maybe it’ll calm your hormones.”

- George and you will have heated life debates

- “No, George! Dinosaurs were here before people!” “That is not true, Y/n. Humans ruled the earth before those vicious stompers came roaming about. The dinosaurs- or should I say dinomurders- they killed all of humanity! They stomped on them, trapped the kids in those jeeps trying to eat them and ruined the kid’s fun and made destroyed the theme park-“ “George… that’s Jurassic Parks. It’s a fucking movie, you git.”

- Fred likes to wrap his Gryffindor tie around your head and putting his sweaters over you “Aw, you look so cute, darling. I love seeing you in my clothes but my favorite thing is seeing you with nothing on at all.” “Fred! You can’t say that in front of George and Lee-“ “Oh believe me, Y/n. We sleep only feet away from you two- we’ve heard a lot worse. A lot worse.”

- You guys will just lay around laughing for most of the night

- You favorite times were when Fred and George would start talking about their childhood and sharing hilarious stories

- George likes to mess with Fred when he’s high

- For example

- He’ll throw his arm around you and lazily lean into your side

- Fred would watch closely from only a few feet away

- George would then whisper into your ear, causing giggles to erupt from your chest

- Which makes Fred jerk in annoyance

- The weed didn’t help control his jealous- it magnified it if anything

- Typically, he wouldn’t care since he knew George and you were extremely close friends

- But Fred always got a little more… horny and possessive when the weed hit his bloodstream

- Fred would pout until you noticed him and would comfort him

- “Freddie, what’s wrong, bubba? You look so sad, aww.”

- His jealously would diminish the second you moved away from George to his side

- He loves when you hold his hand

- Your favorite thing to do when high is play with his red, vibrant hair or when he would stroke and pet yours

- Fred likes to attempt a braid in your hair

- But he just ends up twisting two strands of hair in a coil then wrapped your black hair tie at the end

- The gleeful, proud look on his face afterwards melted your heart so much you couldn’t tell him he failed miserably at a braid

- You guys will place bets on who will slump first

- It’s usually you or George

- Fred and Lee will stay up until morning talking about life, school, quidditch, life goals, and anything else

- Nights that you did get high with Fred in his dorm, he’d always insist that you sleep in his bed

- He didn’t like taking the risk of you walking alone to your dorm room and risk getting caught

- The last thing he wanted was you in trouble when he could’ve prevented it

- You guys like to sneak into the kitchen after hours and make edibles together

- Preferably marshmallow bar edibles or cookies

- You liked to bring things with you for your smoke sessions with the twins

- Like coloring books

- A blanket, since Fred only sleeps with two which just seems criminal

- A water bottle !!! this is a must

- And some vanilla cherry Chapstick, Fred’s favorite

- Fred’s favorite spot to smoke in along the Black Lake at night

- Coming here with Fred will usually end with the both of you swimming in the lake

- Whether it’s because he pushed you, you pushed him, or it was decided in the moment mutually that midnight was the perfect time for a swim

- You liked smoking out by the lake as it was relaxing and fun with Fred

- But you much preferred his dorm- it was the safest option by far

- Fred loves getting high alone with you

- Typically in his room as your roommates didn’t want people constantly in and out of the room as where Fred, George, and Lee were used to it

- They made a handful of sales from their dorm room

- Like a sinful amount

- It was by far the easiest way

- Fred would light some candles before you arrived

- A variety of sweets and snacks were sprawled against his bed

- And warm fuzzy socks laid out for you

- He’d pack the bowl, then open the window

- A blanket was thrown across the ledge so you could sit more comfortably

- “What a gentleman!”

- After smoking, Fred would carry you back to his bed

- Most nights, you guys would just cuddle and whisper to each other

- Fred never misses an opportunity to kiss you

- On your lips

- Forehead

- Cheek

- Nose

- Neck (which will usually lead to something else with this boy)

- Anywhere

- Continuously giggling all night

- Fred and you share your high thoughts

- “But, just hear me out here. Is there another word for synonym?”

- “Babe, who do you think came up with the alphabet? And how the fuck did they put the alphabet shit in alphabetical order.” “Darling, I am way too baked to even remember what fucking goes in an alphabet.”

- High sex

- Fred makes you feel so comfortable

- Compliments you profusely

- Lot of laughing

- He lovesssss going down on you when you’re both baked

- Cause you make the cutest little noises, euphoria taking over your sense

- He can stay down there for hours just basking in your sweet moans

- Favorite is missionary so he can see every reaction gracing your face

- Is only brave enough to try new sex adventures when he’s either high or drunk

- Discovers that you both very much so enjoy his hand wrapped around your neck as he thrusts into you

- And when you get on top

- His touchy side comes out the most in these moments

- Sloppy sex

- But still vvvv fulfilling and pleasurable

- He’ll whisper in your ear as his pace quickens

- “You look so beautiful, sweetheart. So pure but so dirty just for me.”

- “Merlin, you’re bloody breathtaking with my fingers in your mouth, angel.”

- “Freddie, you feel so good.”

- You both finish within a matter of minutes, never lasting long when in this state

- “…That was the best sex I’ve ever had, ever.” “Fred, lovie, you say that every time we have sex.”

“Cause it just keeps getting better and better!”

- Cuddling for the rest of the night

- Always making sure you’re dressed before George or Lee turn in for the night

- Fred would fall asleep first when it was just the two of you

- He talks in his sleep, nearly every hour he’d mutter something

- In an odd way, you found it comforting

- Especially when it’s your name he’s mumbling

- Falling asleep in Fred’s arms

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE

Running into an ex-boyfriend is never anyone’s definition of a good time. Running into two ex-boyfriends however, is absolute and pure agony. Not to mention, you may not be entirely over either of them. And as it turns out, it’s incredibly too easy for all of you to fall back into the same destructive patterns from before-although this time, you’re not in a relationship. This time, you’re broken up. And the stakes are so much higher.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Namgi, BTS Drabble, BTS Angst, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Namjoon x you, Namjoon x reader, Yoongi x you, Yoongi x reader, Poly!BTS, Namgi x you, Namgi x reader

Genre: Angst

Soundtrack: Forget Me Too by Machine Gun Kelly ft. Halsey

Title: Forget You

You are slightly drunk when you run into him for the first time since the fight, and the breakup, and the ultimate madness and depression that followed.

And to say you are unprepared to see him again is a massive understatement.

The drink in your half filled cup sloshes over one of the edges as you try to steady yourself after literally bumping into him while leaving the kitchen, and your eyes widen and you feel your breath catch in your throat, as you glance up his tall frame, to the kind brown eyes hidden behind the lenses of glasses and the shaggy, brown hair falling over the perfect skin of his forehead.

The things you remember so clearly about him, even after all these weeks.

“Namjoon.” You breathe out, and then quickly cough, trying to clear the sudden pain and hoarseness from your voice.

“(Y/N).” He offers you a slightly sad smile, but the dimples still appear in the centers of his cheeks with the small movement. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Uh, yeah.” You laugh awkwardly, trying to avoid his gaze, as you covertly glance around the crowded living room, fully of partying college students, hopeful that maybe you’ll spot an exit you can duck out of. “Me neither.”

“Did Heather drag you out?” Namjoon queries, slight amusement in his deep voice, as he cocks his head and looks down at you, waiting for your answer.

It hurts that he still remembers how much you’d rather just stay at home than come to a party.

“Yeah.” You trail off, fingers dancing nervously on the edge of your plastic cup, as you swallow hard, and Namjoon takes a hurried gulp of his drink in the sound of the silence. “Did you come alone or-”

“No, Yoongi’s here somewhere.” Namjoon tightens his lips back into that pitying, sad smile once again, and you suddenly feel like you won’t be able to look him in the eye without feeling sick.

You don’t want to see how much of a pathetic mess you look, reflected back in the dark irises of his eyes.

“Okay, well-” You start to stutter out, backing away from him, hopeful that you’ll only run into one ex boyfriend tonight. One is quite enough. “I have to find Heather-”

“You’re gonna leave before I have the chance to say hi?”

The deep timbre of the voice in your ear, followed by the feeling of a sturdy, warm chest pressed against your back, has you swearing in your head, and your fingers crunching the flimsy plastic of your cup into a nonexistent ball of trash in your hand.

Shit.

“Yoongi.” You squeak out, backing up once again in Namjoon’s direction, and away from the new player in this very unwanted and very uncomfortable equation. “I didn’t know you guys would be here.”

“Didn’t think you’d be either.” Yoongi glances over your head and shoots a look at Namjoon, before he raises a brow in your direction and reaches up to rake a hand through newly blonde hair. “Friday night parties aren’t your jam right?”

“Like I told Namjoon-” You bristle slightly, at the mocking his tone holds, and it distracts you briefly from the pounding of your traitor heart within the walls of your chest.

“Heather made her come.” Namjoon interjects, and you try to ignore the fact that suddenly he’s much closer to you again, and you’re literally sandwiched between the two men you wanted to avoid more than anything.

The men you weren’t completely over.

Pressing your arms down at your sides, you feel as if the ink-freshly tattooed on both your wrists only days before the break up-is burning through your skin, the names there reminding you of just how much you are not over them both.

“Well, whatever the reason-” Yoongi raises his empty red cup in your direction, and shoots you a slightly smug smile, that sends your gut twisting in your middle. “We’re all here now. Might as well have another drink.”

******

“Is this for real?” Yoongi holds your wrist pinched in between long, cool fingers, and suddenly, he sounds a lot more sober than he had only moments before.

You yank your hand out of his grasp, almost stumbling while doing so, but you’re helped at the last minute by the saving grace of Namjoon’s firm chest steadying you against your back.

“No, it’s a fake tattoo.” You quip back, words slightly slurring from all the alcohol washing warm throughout your system.

“You did that for us? Ah, jagi, that’s sweet.” Namjoon leans down, and his lips are brushing the skin on your neck when he speaks. Between that and the low husky baritone of his murmur, you feel yourself feeling dizzy, and not from the drinks.

“I think it’s stupid.” Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes, as he leans toward you, hands going on either side of your body, beneath Namjoon’s arms that are wrapped around your waist. “You were supposed to forget us. That’s the opposite.”

“I did it before we broke up.” You snap, shooting him a glare, and you’re glad you have the steady presence of Namjoon to hold you up, because when you meet Yoongi’s gaze, your knees suddenly feel weak. “I’m not an idiot.”

“We know you’re not.” Namjoon says quietly, and there is something suddenly serious in his tone, but you can’t tell if you’re imagining things because of the alcohol.

“Do we?” Yoongi asks, smirking down at you.

“I really hate you.” You grind out between your teeth, hoping he doesn’t catch on to the fact that you hate them both-but not for the reasons you should.

“Yeah? I bet you do.” The side of Yoongi’s mouth pulls up to reveal a flash of white teeth and pink gums, the start of the customary growl mixed with smirk you had become so used to seeing in your time together.

The expression that always seemed to have your heart jumping into your throat.

“What about you guys.” You stutter out, looking away from him, and trying to ignore the feeling of Namjoon’s exhales on your skin-warm and balmy. “You were supposed to forget me too.”

“We tried, (Y/N). We really did.” Namjoon sighs out, and you feel his chest rise and fall against your back, and his fingers tick nervously across your hipbones, hidden beneath your shirt. “We couldn’t.”

“Speak for yourself.” Yoongi snorts, although he won’t meet your gaze, and the way his lips are pulled into a thin straight line now, tell you that he’s lying through the pain.

“Fine. Well-” You change the subject, desperate not to feel your heart break all over again as you look at them. You push away from Namjoon, and hold up the card key between your fingers. “Are we gonna stay out here all night? Or are we gonna go inside?”

Namjoon takes the card from between your fingers and slides it into the slot in the door, the old, worn entrance to the cheap motel room swinging in to reveal the darkness inside.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yoongi grunts out, his fingers once again encircling your wrist, as he tugs you toward the open doorway with him without looking back. “We’re going inside.”

*******

The light that slips in between the long, dusty curtains makes your head pound, and groaning and throwing your hands over your still half closed eyes, you let out a groan, noting that your mouth is so dry, it feels like it’s full of sawdust.

“Shit. What time is it.” You ask to no one in particular, slipping your leg to the edge of the blanket, as if you’re going to attempt to leave the warmth of the bed and the two bodies there, to find your discarded phone.

“Does it matter?” Namjoon groans back in response from your left, one arm slung across his own eyes. “It’s Saturday. No classes.”

“I’m not worried about classes.” You mumble back, attempting to open your eyes once more, as you slide your hand out to the edge of the bed and blindly feel over the cool surface of the dresser for your phone. “I had plans with Jennie today.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” Yoongi grumbles out, annoyance clear in the deeper and more husky version of his morning voice, as he throws your still searching arm off of his bare chest, and rolls over, squinting at you with bloodshot eyes. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you both if this headache doesn’t kill me first.”

“You’re just as pleasant in the morning as I remember.” You tease back, and a slight smile comes to your lips-you can’t help it-as you observe the naked, tan swathe of his skin and the tumbled messy nest of his blonde hair and the frown that pulls the corners of his full lips down. “Too much fun last night, Min?”

“I really hate you.” Yoongi growls out, baring his teeth at you, before he covers his eyes with one large palm and rolls away from you.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You laugh at his distress, as Namjoon rolls toward you, and slings his arm heavily across your waist, his skin warm against your own.

He presses a kiss to the skin beneath your ear, and you shiver slightly, but suddenly, without the warming, loosening effect of the drinks from the night before, you suddenly feel as if you’re doing something wrong, being here with both of them, just like old times.

“Um-” You hedge out, sliding out from his grip, and away from Yoongi, toward the end of the bed, where you lean over to grab your clothes, discarded on the floor from the night before. “I really need to get going.”

Another walk of shame for you.

You slip on your undergarments, and tug on your pants, before you pull your hoodie back over your head, all too aware that the two men are watching you the entire time, making your fingers fumble and your heart thud painfully in your chest.

“I-” You brush hair off your forehead, and begin the impossible task of looking for your phone in the trashed motel room. You don’t know how to finish what you want to say, so you lean down beneath the bed to avoid the tension, searching in the dark for your missing phone.

Finally, your fingers curl around the lost item, and standing up, you shove your phone into your back pocket, before standing nervously at the edge of the bed.

Yoongi, who had left the bed shortly after you did, reemerges in the door of the small en suite bathroom, towel wrapped around his bare waist, as he leans against the doorframe and looks you over with hooded gaze. “Leaving so soon, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels dry, and when you swallow, it gets stuck in your throat.

Namjoon sits up in the bed, and raking a hand through dark, mussed hair, he offers you a slightly sad smile, just like you remembered from the night before. “It’s okay, (Y/N). I don’t think any of us expected that to happen. We get it.”

You part your lips, because you want to say something, desperately, about how you still miss them both, about how you love them, more than anyone else in the world, about how terribly bland your life has been without them.

But you can’t

Because that’s not right.

“What will you do now?” Yoongi asks, stepping out of his place in the doorway, his mouth thin and serious again, dark eyes unreadable as he stares at you in a way that makes your heart ache.

“Try to forget you both again, I guess.” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, as you shrug stiffly, the words breaking your heart in your chest into a million pieces once again. “What will you guys do now?” You ask, before you can stop yourself, because you know you don’t want to hear the answer out loud.

Namjoon grimaces, watching you from his sitting position on the bed, and his eyes are sad, dark pools of regret. “Forget you too, I guess.”

You nod, and you have to swallow harder than before to dislodge the sudden ball of tears threatening to clog your throat.

“Heh.” Yoongi scoffs quietly to himself, something like a mix between a humorless laugh and a sigh, and when he addresses you again, his gaze is slightly softer than before, though the hurt is still just as apparent. “What will you do with your tattoos?”

You manage a watery smile. “Get them covered up with something, I guess.”

“Do birds.”

You glance over at Namjoon in surprise, shocked that he remembers how much you love the feathered animal-”free and light” you had always told the two men. That’s how you wanted to be.

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods in agreement, his voice soft and muted, and you glance over at him, but he won’t meet your gaze. “You always loved birds.”

And with those two innocent comments-from the lips of the men you still loved more than anything else in the world-you have a startling, agonizing epiphany, standing in the shitty, messy motel room.

It seems-as much as you all are loathe to admit it-that forgetting each other is going to be a lot harder than you had originally thought.

And maybe, not just because of the tattoos inked forever on your wrists

64 notes · View notes

hobisbeech · 3 years

Text

Even the drug dealer likes you | K.T

Stoner!Reader and StonerBFF! Taehyung talk about readers dry spells.

Posted: 03/29/2021

————————

[y/n] laid on her bed, scrolling through the app as her hair tangled up on her pillow. She had been intrigued by this fan fiction story she had found on tumblr. Her favorite kpop idol was written in a best friend to lovers aspect. She cooed over the cover picture. Pining over the one person she knew would never even know she existed.

Letting out an exasperated whimper, [y/n] scrolled down slowly reading:

(Kpop idols name) had been watching you, dancing ridiculously in front of him. In his living room, on his big screen TV, was a live stream of (your fav artist name) performing all of their top hits. [y/n] glanced back making sure her best friend was enjoying his time just as much as she was. He stood up, taking a few steps to reach her. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, startling her with his actions. “Oh gosh! You scared me doofus!” [y/n] turned around quickly slapping him harshly on his arm. A small rumble of a laugh escaped his throat. He grabbed you again, now pushing you closer to his chest, his hands once again landing around your waist.

You scoffed at the action, how could she just fall for that trick, you thought to yourself. You rolled your eyes in annoyance as you turned to your side, hugging the small decorative pillow to your chest. Knowing very well why the writer wrote this cheesy scene. You screeched, your voice instantly reaching a new level of highness. You knew from a readers point of view, this was exactly what you wanted. The concept had you eating from the palm of their hands and you did not mind at all. At least, you never exactly admitted it. You were a sucker for love. You knew that no one or nothing was going to change that. You huffed, this time it’ll be different. This time I will be strong. You looked back at your screen and continued reading:

“What do you think you’re doing?” [y/n] with doe eyes looked up, nervous at what her best friend was thinking of doing. (Kpop idols name) looked at her, a small hint of embarrassment showing on his cheeks. He looked away, he cursed at himself internally. Get it together man, he thought to himself. He mustered the courage to look at her again, he placed his index finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now. How crazy you make me. I go to sleep thinking about you. And I wake up to the thought of you.” He caressed your cheek, and with his arm around your waist he pulled you in closer to him.

He looked straight into your eyes, lustfully gazing into them, he whispered “Can I kiss you, jagi?”

You groaned loudly. This was just a very very cheesy story. You rolled your eyes dramatically, and laid on your back. “Ugh! Why do I always read these?!” You rubbed at your face, dropping your phone on your side. “They only make me feel even lonelier..” you exasperated, spacing out with just a blank stare up at the ceiling fan. You couldn’t believe that once again you were in this predicament. You laid there thinking about what had happened to you the weekend before. With a scowl on your face, you groaned again feeling hopeless about your non existent sex life. And the invincible blue balls that pulsed loudly in between your thighs.

—————-

The guy you had been talking to had invited you over to hang out one day. Knowing how your conversations with him had taken a turn to SEX-ville. You had made sure to prep the day before. Making sure whatever needed to be shaven and trimmed, was. You made sure you wore your best outfit, and also the easiest to take off. When you had arrived at his place, everything seemed as if it was going according to plan.

You both had rolled a blunt to have a smoke session together. And had a comedy movie playing in the background. You sat comfortably on his living room couch, lighting the blunt you had just finished rolling. Taking a few hits from it you passed it to him. The night had just settled in and the blunts were now nothing but small roaches that were put out on the ashtray that laid lazily on the over beaten coffee table.

The handsome guy had turned his gaze to you, lazily tracing small circles on your exposed knee. Your now low and bloodshot eyes, looked at him. With a small smile, he leaned closer. Leaving the smallest of space between you both. You could feel his breath settle and then fade from your lips. You knew you couldn’t deny him, so you made the first move. Closing the space between you both with a kiss. He snaked his hand behind your neck, keeping you steady. Not wanting to break the kiss, he began slowly caressing your body. Pinching your nipples through your blouse. He engulfed your small/medium/large breast in his large hand.

You whimpered in between kisses.

Leaning your head back, breaking the kiss, “That feels so good. It would feel better if I took my shirt off.” As you were reaching for the bottom hem of your blouse he stopped you. “I’m sorry, [y/n]. I know this got heated so fast but I can’t really do anything tonight. I have work in a few hours. I hope you understand.” This was the 3rd friggin’ time he had pulled that meaningless excuse on you, you internally scowled.

“Yeah yeah totally. I get it.” You sighed, with a small smile you adjusted your shirt and flattened it down to get rid of some of the wrinkles.

“Are you sure [y/n]? I hope I didn’t send any mix signals or anything?” He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling a bit of shame, his cheeks blooming with a soft pink for leaving you high and bothered. Mix signals?! You screamed internally.

You shrugged him off and smiled, “yeah definitely. We’re good. What time is it?” You asked, feeling your hands fiddle with the end of your blouse. “Oh uh,” he anxiously tapped at his phone screen. “It’s 9:30pm.”

“Oh okay cool, I’ll go ahead and skedaddle then,”

you nervously chuckled.

You both stood up quickly. He nervously laughed, and with a faint blush on his face, he handed you your purse and keys that you had aimlessly thrown on his couch when you had first arrived. “Thank you,” you said with a small bow. He smiled at you again now a little brighter.

“I’ll walk you out,” he informed you as he stepped in front of you. You followed him, with your head bowed and a blush that threatened to appear. He opened the door and moved to the side so you had room to exit. You looked back at him once again and he waved you goodbye. You walked away as quickly as possible, not hearing him call out to you that he had a great time. You unlocked your car and hopped in. Turning your engine on as quickly as possible, you burned off. Leaving behind black streaks from the burned rubber of your tires on the road.

Could this night get any worse? You thought to yourself.

____________

“[y/n-ahh]” your best friend loudly yelled from your living room. “What time was the plug gonna come and drop off ? I wanna smoke already,” he whined, leaning his head back on the couch. His long bangs falling awkwardly around his face.

You chuckled, and quickly checked your phone. You grabbed your closed packaged cigarillos from your top drawer in your bedroom and, scanned for the text message from your weed man telling you how far he was from your place.

Stepping into the living room, you dropped yourself beside him. With a smile you answered your handsome best friend, “He should be here in a few mins. He doesn’t live far, Taehyung.”

Your brown mullet haired friend huffed, dropping his hand on your thigh heavily. “Gosh, it sounds like he’s never gonna make it here,” you chuckled, placing your hand under his chin and scratching at his now 2 week old scruff.

You rolled your eyes, “dude we literally smoked this morning. How could you possibly be this needy now?”

Taehyung raised his head and gave you a knowing look, “you’re one to talk!” He spatted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Taehyung had a long list of things that could possibly make him needy but this wasn’t one of them.

“Why can’t I just get laid? Why doesn’t anyone want my pussy?” He whined in his best impression of you. When he was done he gave you another knowing look. “Hey! That’s not fair!” You yelled back, “at least I don’t brag about how many cheeks I’ve clapped this week.”

You sulked this time, crossing your own arms in front of you. You didn’t turn to look at your best friend. If you had, you would’ve seen the mischievous smirk on his face. He loved it when you sulked. Just watching you pout and be upset about something was one of many things he liked about you.

In fact, he could practically see himself with you. But he couldn’t tell you that. Of course not. Who the fuck knows how you would react if he was to ever confess to you how much he liked you. Scratch that. How inlove he was with you, his best friend. Before, he could continue on this tangent he had unconsciously dug himself in, you abruptly moved. Standing up from the spot that was slowly molding into you.

You opened your door, seeing your weed man, Yoongi, awkwardly standing there waiting with expectant eyes. You smiled, “hey man! Thank you so much for this. Best friend over there is having a cow because I supposedly finished our weed this morning. When in fact he smoked the last of it with me.” You told your plug, grabbing the money you owed him from your pocket. You quickly glanced back, sticking your tongue out at Taehyung. Your black haired friend, chuckled looking behind you at Taehyung, whom he had met a handful of times. “No worries man, I tell jagi all the time, a friend with weed is a friend indeed. Enjoy man! This is some fire shit.” With a smirk on his face, he winks at you, “bye jagi, let me know how you like this. I’ll catch you later.” Before you could even muster a response he was already halfway down your hallway leaving you with only a silhouette to make out.

You slowly closed your front door, absentmindedly locking it. “Did my plug just flirt with me?” You questionably looked at Taehyung. Taehyung was still in shock that even your weed man was throwing moves at you. He shook the thoughts away.

“wow ! [y/n] he probably likes you. He even told you to let him know if you liked his weed,” Taehyung, quickly smiled and as quick as his smile came it left his bronzed face. He snatched the medium sandwich bag from your hand, “thank you oh so much my dear [y/n]”

“Oh hush up and just roll us a blunt. I’ve had it rough these past couple of days.” You inform him, shrugging off any hint of annoyance your best friend was giving off. Taehyung made himself comfortable on the couch again, reaching for your new blue grinder you had recently purchased. He didn’t say anything else to you, letting the comfortable silence swallow you both.

Taehyung had managed to roll 4 blunts and still left weed for you guys to smoke at a later time. You had started playing some soft (genre) music you and Taehyung could enjoy. You relaxed into the couch and sparked up the first blunt. You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times and passed it to him.

“Tae why is it that I can’t get laid?” You randomly asked your best friend, laying your head back. “I mean let me elaborate. Why is it that I can’t just have a good fuck? It feels like I have to go through an obstacle course just to get a guy to notice me.” You ranted to your best friend, grabbing the blunt between your index finger.

“I think the guys get too intimidated with how easy going you are. And feel like they’re not good enough for you.” Taehyung responds, twisting his body to face you as he exhaled the rest of the smoke he had in his mouth.

You turned your face to him, “what do you mean? Isn’t that a good thing ? That I can just go with the flow,” you added, dropping your gaze and taking a hit from the blunt he had passed to you. Taehyung smirked, he scooted closer to you placing his hand as gently as possible on your cheek. “My dear jagi, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You tolerate me, you don’t really complain when I rant to you, you listen to me when I rant about the girls I’ve talked to, and even scratch my hair whenever I ask. Like come on best friend ! You are the whole package. You even cook food for us, for when the munchies hit.” He explained, listing the reasons one by one of why you were the best person you could possibly be.

Feeling the high rush to your head, you chuckled lightly, as you took a couple more hits from the blunt and passed it to your brown mullet haired friend. “Taehyung-ie can I ask you something?” You quirked up, leaning closer to him, your shoulders resting on one another. He nodded, exhaling the smoke he had just inhaled. “If you didn’t know me personally, would you smash me?” You asked, looking down quickly, not wanting Taehyung to see how red you were getting.

He coughed, and coughed some more. It had taken him about a minute or two and some water for him to stabilize himself from all the coughing. You looked at him again, “I shouldn’t have asked that. You practically almost died on me,” you dropped your gaze, you hadn’t meant to make your best friend uncomfortable. You just thought since both minds were foggy now he would just see it as a funny question. He probably didn’t even see me like that, you thought to yourself.

“Wait wait wait..” Taehyung spoke, he scooted closer to you. Intertwining both your hands with his, he laid them in his lap. The small smoken nub of a blunt long forgotten on the ashtray placed on the coffee table. Looking straight into your bloodshot eyes, he smiled. “Babygirl, I love you. And if you ever gave me the chance I would in a heartbeat jump your bones.” He kept his eyes locked on you, “and I mean it,” his voice had dropped an octave. Sounding a bit more deep and lustful.

You only heard that voice when both of you would fall asleep together and he would try to wake you up in the morning to ask you where you had your tea bags. Most of the time he was just a big fluff ball that loved flirting with you. Your thumb absentmindedly rubbed at the back of his hand.

“Would you ever let me?” He softly asked you, the words coming out as a slight whisper. He looked down at your entwined hands and smiled.

You observed him, did your best friend like you like that? How long has he had these thoughts? Did you like him like that? Or was it just the fact that you hadn’t had any luck in the guy department and Taehyung was offering? You shook the thoughts away. “Would I let you?” You hesitantly repeated his question, he nodded giving you one of his knowing smiles.

“Yeah, I would.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulged out, he didn’t believe you.

“No cap?”

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly “yessir.”

Instantly Taehyung jumped on you pushing you back, to lay on the couch. He was now on top of you. His thighs straddling your lap. He chuckled, wrapping his arms under your shoulders, he placed his head on the crook of your neck and you lovingly wrapped your arms over his broad shoulders. He snuggled into you, “jagi I’m sorry that that guy gave you blue balls. I can help you if you need some release.” He suggested not daring to look up at you.

You stiffened, wow Tae was just coming out with so many surprises. How on earth could he help you? you didn’t necessarily want an answer to that question. “Um uh- Tae wouldn’t that ruin our friendship or something? I don’t want you to look at me any different.” You hid your gaze behind his hair, your hand had sneaked into his locks and just scratched away at your worries. Taehyung propped himself up, caging your head between his forearms. “Jagi I will never look at you differently. You are my best friend for crying out loud. You’ve seen me naked, and I’ve seen you naked,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you his crackhead signature smirk.

“Taehyung! Stop!”

You playfully yelled at him, smacking his arm.

“Anyways, before I was rudely interrupted,” he nipped at your neck.

“I was saying,” he bit lower under your ear.

He lowered his voice to a lustrous whisper, with a deep tone he spoke, “I’ve always daydreamed what it would be like to finally have you under me.” He exhaled a deep breath fanning over your exposed neck.

“I always wondered what it would be like to have you quiver under me, to have you beg me for more,” once again his voice timbered out his mouth, violating your ears. Intruding your every thought, you were getting turned on.

“Tae,” you whimpered looking up at him.

His eyes were glossy from the smoke, but they also showed love.

Love for you is all he had, a ginormous amount of nothing but love. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked you, searching your eyes for any discomfort. You shake your head no. “I love you Taehyung, and I would love you even more if you showed me what else that mouth of yours can do.” Your devilish voice had made an appearance, wiggling your eyebrows at him, you smirked.

“Oh?” Taehyung laughed, dropping his head on the crook of your neck again.

“Oh yeah? You wanna see how my tongue would feel on your precious cunt?”

His tongue had trailed a soft wet line from the crook of your neck all the way up to your earlobe. He had sucked on the skin taking it in between his teeth.

Your body shivered, revealing small goosebumps. “Yes I wanna know how you would touch me. I want you to tell me Tae.” You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together. His voice alone was turning you the fuck on. Taehyung couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was because he was stoned like no other and he tended to drift off in day dream land from time to time.

He sat up on his bent knees. He slowly took his t-shirt off letting it fall beside him. He reached down for yours, “may I?” He asked you. You nodded smiling up at him as he reached to take your shirt off. Letting it drop beside you.

He whistled,

“wow, ladies and gentlemen jagi did not have a bra under that shirt,”

he reached for your breasts kneading at them both softly.

“I remember the times you would walk around in just a t-shirt and panties,”

He let out a deep full husk groan.

“It was the most magnificent sight, I ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes on.” With his thumb he rubbed at your nipple until it perked up on its own. You whined, the feeling that was exuding from his touch was enticing.

His voice and his words were enchanting you. The way Taehyung's voice would bounce around between the walls in your living room. Was impeccable. You had no idea how much power his tone held. It made your insides tremble. All you wanted now was for Tae’s tongue to finally make contact with your cunt.

“Taeee, please!” you whimpered, your body squirming underneath him. It was instant, like a switch had turned on within him. He pinned you down, holding your arms beside your head. He had his knee pushing up your core. Your legs instantly spread open for him.

“Tsk tsk tsk, who’s the needy one now?” He lowered his voice and whispered into your ear. “I can already tell you are wet just by the sound of my voice,” his deep voice bluntly stated.

You couldn’t help but move, you wanted nothing but friction. Something to just release you if only for a moment. His thigh stayed still between you. You could feel your vagina folds rub against the fabric of your underwear. Wetter and wetter it got.

“Is my jagi trying to rub herself against my thigh?”

He asked, tilting his head sideways with a small flirty grin on his face.

[y/n] exasperated, you couldn’t believe that this moment was actually happening. Your body was burning for Taehyung’s touch. You wanted him to just touch you. Caress your skin. Feel the amble of your breasts. Run his fingernails down your chest. You wanted his long fingers trail down and douse in your essence. You wanted him to fill you up with his digits. Make you unravel with just his precious fingers. You stared into his eyes, they were now a dark glossy brown. His pupils had been dilated due to the amount of marijuana he had smoked. He was intoxicating. You could feel this heat type of energy radiating off of him. Every time his hand would touch you, it burned. Your body was exuding heat, your thoughts twirled in your mind. His essence had completely taken over you. You had submitted to your best friend, you were ready for him.

“Taehyung please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me.” You whined through gritted teeth. You couldn’t take it anymore and absentmindedly grinded against his thigh. Feeling the pressure from his knee on your clothed core, it felt great. But it wasn’t enough, you needed to come undone connected.

Taehyung looked down at his knee, the sight his eyes had set on, was mouth watering. Seeing you, a whining mess grinding on his knee, was the last straw for him. He grabbed your thigh, stopping you. He grabbed your sweats and underwear roughly pulled them down. You moved your hips upwards and let him finish undressing you. He continued by unriddening himself of his pants, pushing his boxers down with them.

He pumped himself a couple of times using his own pre cum as lubricant. Just watching you, fully exposed in front of him made him crazy. He aligned himself in front of your entrance. Picking up one of your thighs for more leverage. He looked down at you, his gaze softer now. His eyebrows furrowed, he whispered, “you can tell me to get off at any time and we’ll stop.” He searched your eyes for a minute for any discomfort you might’ve been experiencing.

You smiled, raising your hand to softly caress his cheek. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone else to take care of me. I love you so much, but Taehyung baby I’m gonna need you to fuck me into this couch.” You stated brusquely, grabbing on to his waist and pulled him into you.

You moaned loudly looking into Taehyung’s eyes as his face contorted, dropping to his forearms around your head. Your legs had wrapped nicely around his waist holding him still in this position.

“Ohhh fuck jagi you’re even wetter than I thought. A-are you okay for me to move?” He asked, staring back at you.

You smirked, wrapping your arms around him, “go to town baby.”

____________

A couple orgasms later, you were both nakedly sprawled out on the couch. Out of breath and slightly sweaty. You both looked at each other lovingly. His dorky boxy smile on full display. Not wanting to move he scooted his hand closer to yours. Sending you a knowing look to take his hand in yours. You returned his smile, a blush sneaking to your cheeks.

So many thoughts had run through your mind. This handsome man that you had met so long ago. Who you became close to overtime. Was gazing at you stupidly in love. You probably didn’t know what was going to happen next.

But one thing for sure,

Taehyung might be your quirky best friend, that needs your full attention at all times.

At the end he was the one that had your legs trembling, and screaming his name. You were the lucky one in this happy ending.

#hobisbeech #bts v #bts taehyung #taehyung x you #bts fic #best friend taehyung #stoner!taehyung #stoner!reader #hi im selena and im pretty toasty right now #if you see this tag please enjoy your stay :)#hobisbeech masterlist #bts au fanfic #bts au fic

24 notes · View notes

sooibian · 4 years

Text

Freed

image from Pinterest, edited by me

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

A/N: Dedicated to smol bby @vampwrrr ’s magnificent mistresspiece Sweet Lies

Inspired by: I’m sorry about the blood in your mouth, I wish it was mine - Richard Siken +

Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations - Margaret Atwood

Description: A headcanon exploring SL OC’s thoughts after Baekhyun’s confession.

Genre/Warnings: Dark themes, destructive thoughts, Ambiguous AU

Word count: ~ 1.3k

Mollycoddling a murderer.

This isn’t how you thought you’d react. Not in your wildest dreams. In your wildest dreams, you’d probably strike him with a vase or a glass bottle like they do in the movies: out of horror or hurt or both. His head was supposed to be on the floor, completely drained off of blood, not solaced in the comfort of your lap.

This isn’t how you were raised to react. It went against everything you ever believed to be true - the bits and pieces that made you you. The rationalization of the black and white and the in-between. But you know now that the in-between isn’t what they say it is. The in-between isn’t grey. It’s technicolour. It’s the red of passion, the blue of stability, the yellow of happiness.

They say it’s grey because they’re so terrified of their own sentiments - resisting them so vehemently. Desensitizing themselves to being almost human.

Perhaps they’ve never been in a love this…grave. Grave. You swish the word in your mouth like an ice cube, the insides of your cheeks feeling unpleasantly cold. Grave. Like it’s going to be the death of you.

This love.

You thought you had a choice in the matter. Whatever it may be, you always had a choice. The sheer ridiculousness of this thought makes you chuckle - your yeses and noes never mattered. You’ve been nothing more than a dry leaf caught in the wind. Drifting. Dancing to the whims of the air current.

Decisions, decisions.

So much wasted time on the events you had no control over: it had been one giant, extensive freefall. The happiness, the suffering. It was all beyond you. You weren’t required to piece the puzzle, only make sense of it.

Or not.

Baekhyun’s asleep, his breathing is levelled. Scarily soft. This is the calm after the storm. He’s come clean. Is this supposed to purge him of his sins?

Questions. So many questions.

Is he worthy of your trust? But, do you still hold him accountable for it? Accountable for his own actions? Maybe. Accountable for you? Questions…questions…

Dangling, devoid of control, perhaps to him you were a puppet. A plaything. Maybe his favourite plaything. Yet, just that. But does this negate his feelings? Even if it was all just an act: to lure you in, to keep you forever. Doesn’t mean it was untrue. It couldn’t have been. Not all of it.

There’s a gossamer-thin line between surreal and untrue.

You’ve always wondered, much to your detriment, if you were ever worthy of his love. Would you be able to carry the weight of this question or sink underneath it. But this question still stands: very valid in its own right. It often sprouts prickly seeds of negativity in your heart and mind. So you shove down the deepest darkest corner of your subconscious: hacking it off every time it rears its ugly head.

So, are you worthy? Have you ever been worthy? For a moment, even?

Baekhyun is the embodiment of for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…

‘til death do us part.

Maybe he’d be better qualified to gauge your worthiness. Maybe he’d even think of it as futile. Maybe none of this ever mattered to him for as long as you’d let him love you.

Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.

….as long as you’d let him love you. You find a juvenile sense of comfort in this idea of having some semblance of control.

So, what now? You think, stroking his pretty little head that holds secrets so profoundly tragic. How does this earthen vessel, entirely made up of milk and honey and one trauma, not disintegrate by the sheer impact of its choices?

Would anybody actually believe this? Your ever so sweet and puppy-like Baekhyun was actually capable of acts this despicable? Your saviour was also a destroyer because of the one heinous thing he witnessed. The one thing that so terribly skewed the chemical balance of his brilliant brain. But aren’t we all bent out of shape? In our own way? Who’s to be the judge of these imbalances? How much is too much? At what point do the scales tip?

If you were to turn him in, who’s to say he’d come out a changed man?

If they ever let him out, that is.

He’s not the absolute worst of the lot. He’s not a wife-beater, a cheater, or a rapist. Maybe you’re rationalizing. But some would even argue that The Reaper is actually scrubbing the earth off its scum. Is this supposed to make him a hero?

He’s no hero, he’s no vigilante.

He’s your husband.

Who’s loved you unequivocally, albeit in his own twisted way. He is your husband. And you are going to protect him. You’re not going to turn him in. You’re not losing the one person that’s loved you this catastrophically.

It all boils to one question.

“Baekhyun? Sweetheart?”

You’re as gentle as you’d be with a newborn. But he awakens with a shudder and sits across from you: hunched, cross legged, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, brows pinched together, lips protruding in a pout. The seam of your trousers had imprinted a reddish dent across his right cheek.

“It’s alright, puppy. It’s alright”, the tips of your fingers tenderly travel the stretch of his face: relearning, tracing his eyelashes, the curve of his lips, his jaw, his cute little nose.

“Little doe, don’t leave”, he pulls away and begins to cry, sobs muffled as he presses his face into his hands.

“I’m here, Baekhyunie. I’m here”, you grip his wrist, tugging, urging him to look at you.

“Always?”

His gaze shoots up to meet yours. Steady. Challenging.

“Baekhyun…”

“Always?”

Testing.

“Baekhyun, please…”

“Sorry, I’m sorry…I’m not right for you..I never have been. You deserve better, you deserve more! If you want to leave, I understand…”

Your skin is raw, it’s sensitive. Like you’re reborn out of red hot flames. Pure. Clean. Carrying no cuts and bruises of the past. Maybe this is what it feels like.

Being in control.

Finally.

“Baekhyun, can you stop?”

His eyes bore into yours, journeying the bottomless pit of your soul. You catch his molten chocolate irises darken in a flash. Jaw clenched, hands hardened into fists, he rasps through gritted teeth -

“No.”

You take his fists and bring them up to your lips, peppering them with soft kisses, soothing them open. Then, the tips of his fingers. Slow, deliberate pecks. His eyes, although calculating and unsure, soften again, lips ease into a mellow smile.

You make your way into his lap, cup his face, his lips barely an inch from yours. The nearly domineering grip of his arms around your waist steadying you. Inside and out.

He’s truly a work of art. Deeply unsettling, thought-provoking. An enigma. The pain that runs so deep in his blood, you wish to tear it away from him. However ruinous it may end up being. For him.

For you.

You run your thumb across his lower lip, his eyes flutter shut almost involuntarily at the contact. Blood rushes to your head as your lips crash into his and a breath escapes him in a throaty groan.

He tastes like iron.

Leisurely at first, he’s quick to match your fervour then just like that, he outpaces you, leaving you gasping for each breath. His fingers dig deep into the skin of your back. Craving, yet carrying the potential to crush your bones to dust.

You’d let him.

A/N: Thank you @changshapatrol and @vampwrrr for being my friends *pouts* i love you both very much 💕

#exosnet #exowritersnet #bbh-net #exo angst #baekhyun angst #exo smut #baekhyun smut #exo #baekhyun

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty-one: misery loves company

"another fan's appreciation, a do-be, don't-be situation. drag me down into your hatred." -"misery loves company", anthrax

“Thank you again, Marla.”

Sam, Zelda, Alex, and Chuck had landed in Syracuse at around nine thirty at night. And, once they had landed and after a swift phone call to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen, Marla drove up for a ride over to Joey's place. For all Sam knew, he had barricaded himself into his place and thus she asked Marla to bring some more things along with her all the while: her old journal stayed put in that red courier bag over her shoulder. If Joey would at the very least let them in, she knew that the work of her pens and her pencils would perhaps help him.

Once Marla bounded into the airport parking lot, and she pulled up to the curb of which the four of them congregated at in anticipation of her, Sam was quick to catch her there at the driver's seat first: she kept her hair that bright neon green except this time around she ridded of the black stripe so she had a solid helmet of rich ferocious green hair that they saw from clear across the parking lot.

“You got those books?” Sam asked her once the three of them had piled into the back of her car.

“Right in the back seat!” Marla announced with a quick gesture behind her.

“Yeah, there's a li'l stack of books here—right here on the floor,” Chuck told her; once she put her courier bag in the trunk, Sam rounded the front of the car back to the passenger seat.

“Those are the books I got from the house in Elsinore,” she told him. “Next to my art, they were the only things that kept me sane. I have no doubt those books will help him recover and keep him company in this hard time for him.”

She strapped in and Marla lifted the parking brake, and they proceeded away from the curb and into the rest of the lot. Despite the glow from North Syracuse, the darkness met them there at the driveway and all the way into the woods outside there. The memory of her and Joey having driven up to North Syracuse felt so fresh in mind: it wasn't that long ago he took her to the edge of the lake and then he showed her some hockey moves, complete with a round on the ice.

She kept her hand up on the “oh, shit” handle over her head all the way out from that city's edge.

“I'm also glad you two guys and Zelda came with her,” Marla said at one point, and with a glimpse into the rear view mirror.

“Well, as Alex said—Joey's going to need all the support he can get,” Chuck told her.

“I was coming back East anyway,” Zelda added, “back to Providence once all is said and done here.”

“Tour's cancelled, I assume?” Marla asked her with another glimpse into the mirror.

“Yeah, pretty much. My hope is that we can pick up where we left off again soon enough. The four of us are fine and good to go—like we'll tour with David Bowie or with Springsteen, as long as it gets us going again.” Zelda paused for a moment. “We were doing great, too!”

“New album,” Sam said in a soft voice.

“Marla can't know the full truth about it as of yet,” Zelda pointed out; she had leaned forward to the back of the seat to better say that to her.

“Oh, right, right, right.”

“I didn't even hear you anyways,” Marla said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Anyways, but yeah! We were just killing it lately. More so than when we toured with them and these two birds on either side of me here. I have no clue what's gonna happen to Anthrax now.”

“They're gonna need a new singer, for one thing,” Chuck told her. “Who that's gonna be is another question all together.”

“Somebody who isn't Joey,” Sam declared.

“Yeah, it's not gonna be the same without him,” Alex agreed with her. “He gave them that dissonance that makes them stand out. His high voice held in junction to their hard and fast music.”

“He also gives them their heart, too,” she continued, “like when they were just a quartet and he was playing guitar, they had a lot more heart than when Scott was with them the first time around.”

“Yeah, they did,” Marla said with a glimpse over to her. “They really genuinely did. Like they had a certain warmth to them. Like a kindness of sorts.”

They fell back into silence and Marla took the next exit off to that familiar neighborhood, the street with the right turn across from the art shop, buttoned up for the night. The apartment complex stood dark and lifeless against the inky black sky overhead.

Sam reached his front door first and knocked on the panel.

“Joey?” she called through the wood as Chuck stood behind her.

Silence on the other side. The kitchen light was on, as well as the living room light. But it felt as though nobody was home.

“Try the knob,” Chuck advised her, and she turned it to the side. The door swung open.

There on the living floor, stretched out flat on his back, was Joey. His jet black curls had spread over part of his face while his arms were stretched out on either side of him. He looked as though he had fainted: through his curls, Sam made out the sight of his eyes pinched shut. His otherwise brown skin had washed out to the point it was more pale than the four walls that surrounded them.

To think that she held him in her arms only a month before. To think that she had come so close to him before that point. To think that he confessed his love to her and kicked that other woman away from him.

Sam lunged for him.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point onward. She was about to clasp her hands to the sides of his face when something stopped her.

Or someone.

“Sam, look!” Chuck pointed out.

She glanced down at Joey's outstretched right arm. The syringe on the floor, filled with something gray and liquid, and for all she knew fatal.

“Joey!” Zelda shouted from behind them.

“JOEY!” Sam never yelled so loud in her life as she crouched down on the other side of him.

“Oh, god,” Zelda groaned. “Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god oh god oh god oh shit—oh hell no.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Chuck said as she ran his fingers through his hair. “Sweet Jesus don't let it be true.”

Marla and Alex skidded into the apartment.

Joey groaned in his throat and Sam and Chuck gasped.

“Joey?” she whispered to him. Chuck crouched down next to her. Marla and Alex loomed right behind them.

“What's—what's all the yelling?” Joey grunted out through gritted teeth.

“Oh, thank god,” Alex declared in a broken voice.

“What's going on?” Joey rolled his head over so his hair streamed off of his face. Sam looked over to the couch to find an empty beer right bottle next to the base.

Using a tissue, Zelda picked up the syringe from the carpet and she tossed it into the garbage can in the kitchen; Sam and Marla took another look at his arm to find that he had not made a single puncture.

The point of the needle had missed the vein by about a hair's breadth. Had he not been drunk, he would've made the lethal injection. Being drunk literally saved him.

Marla and Zelda lifted him off of the floor and propped him into an upright position, with his back right up against the front of the couch. He bowed his head and his jet black curls tousled around his shoulders and his chest. Tearful, Sam lunged forward and lifted his head for a better look into his eyes: those soft brown irises had given way to bloodshot terror. The beautiful sun kissed Indian boy she had fallen in love with had the angel of darkness looming over him right at that very moment.

“Joey,” she pled into his face, “Joey, can you hear me?”

“I do,” he said as he closed his eyes. His dark lips, once smooth like chocolate, never looked so dry and chapped from the lack of liquids.

“Dude, why do you have to do this to yourself?” Alex demanded, mortified.

“I just feel like I have to,” Joey confessed in a broken voice: all the while, he barely moved his lips.

“We enjoy a couple of beers once in a while, but it's once in a while, though,” Chuck pointed out.

“Joey, I could've lost you!” Sam declared as she could feel the tears coming on.

“I've only had one drink,” he told them; indeed, he didn't smell alcohol at all, but rather like he had been asleep for hours on end. “I just—don't want to be awake anymore. I want to sleep. I can't sleep. I want to sleep.”

A single tear fell down Sam's cheek at the sound of that.

“Joey, listen to me,” she begged him. “You and I were getting so close to each other in my bed—in my bed! Back at my mom's house! Make no mistake, I was about to go all the way with you. I'll go with you all the way right now if you want.”

“Sam, please,” he said as his eyes drooped shut, “I'm not in the mood right now.”

“Joey—please—listen to me. You don't need to pollute your body like this—you have to heal—you have a beautiful body and you mustn't do this sort of thing to it.”

“I deserved it, though,” he breathed out; she could hear tears in his voice.

“No! No you didn't! You didn't deserve any part of it, Joey!”

She began crying right there, right in front of him. She pushed the hair out of his bloodshot eyes once again.

“I want to heal you—I want to make art of your beautiful body and show the world of what I see in you. All the love I feel, away from the horrors of which you do to yourself.”

She brought her lips to his, to that dry and cracked skin and she could feel the pains in his heart all the while. She held her hands on either side of his face to better feel his skin.

“I love you, Joey,” she begged right into his gaping mouth. “I love you—I love you, Cliff—”

“What?” he asked her.

“I love you, Joey,” she repeated in a near whisper.

“I thought that's what you said,” he breathed back to her.

“What else would it be?” she asked him and she could feel her eyes burning with tears. She ran her fingers through his inky black hair for a better look into his face, so sick and pale; and she took a glance down at his body, so thin and emeciated.

“When's the last time you ate?” Chuck asked him in a gentle voice, to which Joey shrugged and he closed his eyes again. Chuck turned back to Zelda, Marla, and Alex right behind them.

“One of you go into the kitchen and get him something—he's probably famished to high heaven right now.”

“No,” Joey begged them.

“No?” Sam demanded as she brushed a tear from her eye.

“You look like you're about ready to pass out,” Alex chimed in.

“Why the hell is he here,” Joey sputtered, and his speech slurred a bit.

“Alex came along because he wanted to help you!” Sam exclaimed. “Chuck and Zelda did, too!”

“I don't need help,” he croaked. “I don't need an Eskimo again.”

“Yes, you do! Yes, you do, Joey! You got fired and now look at you! You're in dire straits! I let one boyfriend die, I'm not going through that again.”

“I can get it myself...” His voice was to a near whisper at that point, further accentuated by the lack of liquids within him.

“I need to help you, Joey—I need to get you away from that. I need to protect you.”

“Sam—don't—with him,” Marla advised her as she set a hand on her shoulder. “He'll figure it out himself.”

“But I need to help him! He needs help—” Her voice broke as the words left her lips. Marla tugged her up from the floor and she turned her around to better face her.

“Literally the best and sexiest thing you can do for him is to let him figure it out for himself,” Marla continued in a gentle tone. Sam could see in her eyes that she too was crying. But she had to let him go, even if it meant another series of deep breaks within her heart. She bowed her head and wept right in front of Marla; she lowered her head and all but collapsed right into her chest. Marla cradled her in her arms and held her within her chest.

Chuck joined in right next to them.

Sam couldn't think about anything any further than that. All she recalled from that point onward was her climbing back into Marla's car and then nothing else after the fact. Everything was a blur, such that the mysterious man finally returned to her, even while she was wide awake. She pictured him right next to her, with his eyes deeper than the bottom of the ocean and his face right up close to her own. She wished to ask him on what to do next, but he never said anything to her.

Instead, he shook his head to her and then he looked back towards the trunk. She couldn't hardly think of anything else, but she knew that he meant business, and he always did when she reached a dead end. Behind every dead end was the road less travelled and his presence within her showed it to her. Marla saw him, too, and thus she knew that they were all in it together. It was all she could think about on the way away from Joey's apartment.

One of them led her into some place there in Camillus and the next thing she knew, she sat right next to Alex in a booth somewhere around there. She brushed away more tears and she peered over at Alex and the thoughtful look on his face. He had already ordered himself a cup of coffee despite it being almost eleven o'clock at night.

“Where's Marla, Chuck, and Zelda?” she asked him in a broken voice; she picked up a napkin so as to dry her eyes.

“Chuck and Zelda went next door for something,” he replied in a gentle tone, “Marla's right there.” He pointed to the right of her, where Marla finally picked up the receiver after she had apparently been waiting in line for a time. She put in the coins and slowly dialed the number.

Alex picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee.

“Hello, Charlie,” she started in a loud enough voice for the both of them to hear. “This is Marla. I know it's late, but meet up with me, Sam, Zelda, Chuck, and Alex as soon as you get this. We're at the coffee shop up in Camillus, like it's the coffee shop right at the center of town. It's highly important that you do. Like, this is dire. This is a potentially life or death situation here.”

Sam turned her attention to Alex right next to her in the booth, and his hand rested upon the table top before him, right next to his cup of coffee.

“So you said your parents hail from New York, right?” she asked him in a broken voice.

“Yeah, Sheep's Head. A neighborhood down in Brooklyn—my dad's from there, especially.”

She looked down at his cup of coffee right before him. Having coffee so late at night felt so strange to her, but at the same time, there was something so precious about it. She thought back to when she and Joey first met Alex, and he sat on the front porch of the coffee house with Cliff. The only thing they missed was a bit of rain on their backs otherwise the mood would surround them and fit like a glove. She had bought him some ginger snaps all the while.

“You know what, Alex?” she started. “You're always giving me stuff. I wanna give you something, too.”

“Nonsense, you always give me stuff,” he pointed out with a straight face. “You feed me and you cuddled up next to me—both in my car and in my bed. You took me to your old home, too, the place you go to when no one's looking. That's far more than what it's worth, Samantha.”

“And you took me home...” Her voice trailed off as she glanced up at Marla who had dialed another number on the pay phone right next to them.

“So we're always giving each other stuff,” she told him. “How 'bout—we give each other our silence?”

“Our silence,” he echoed that.

“Yeah, if we don't stifle one another with gifts to each other, surely we'd have to give each other our silence.”

Alex lowered his gaze to the floor before them and then he nodded his head in realization of what she meant by that.

“I don't know if I've told you this,” she started again, “but one thing I've always wanted to do with Joey was make a glass piece based off of him.”

“Glass—like stained glass?” He was stunned by that.

“Yeah. When I was in school, Belinda taught both me and Marla some tricks on how to work with the glass tools—you know the cutter and how to make things go with the grain of the glass. It was something I've always wanted to do when I was in school.”

“And you never did?” He knitted his eyebrows together, to which she shook her head.

“Never could get into it,” she confessed. “And I have no clue where to start with where Bel works over in Albany, either.”

“Do you think—” He raised his gaze to the ceiling overhead: the light over them shone down on his prominent brow and it in turn made his eyes appear deeper than they actually were. “Do you think maybe they can get you something there?” He returned his gaze to her.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug and a sniffle: all the crying had loosened her up. “But then again, that would mean that I would have to come back here to New York. I'm already just barely settled into my mom's house. And I'm still just getting to know you guys, too.”

“Traveling can be hard, too. I mean, look no further than when we were in Germany last summer.”

“Oh, yeah, on the flight home, you were out like a light,” she recalled.

“And I was out like a light after I got back to the hotel from the border, too!” he added with a chuckle. And then he turned serious once more. “Well—Samantha—”

She turned her attention to him, right into those bright steely deep eyes with a quick glimpse to the little tuft of gray over his brow, which had returned to full bright fruition. He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Whatever you want to do—” he began, but he stopped from something right next to them, and Sam turned her attention to Zelda who had just walked in through the front doors right then. Marla hung up the phone but then Zelda lunged for it herself.

“Sam?” Marla said once she turned back around towards them.

“What's up?” she asked her.

“You guys aren't gonna believe this.”

Alex raised those dark eyebrows at her.

“Apparently Bill hasn't nulled the marriage,” she told her. “You're still legally his wife.”

Alex closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sam groaned as she leaned her back against the vinyl seat right behind her. “But wait, I kissed Joey, though! That's a breach of contract, isn't it?”

“For it to be as such, you have to be caught,” Marla pointed out. “You have to actually show proof of it in the state of California.”

“Caught,” she echoed. Alex raised his head right then.

“Caught,” he muttered, and then Sam raised her eyebrows at him.

“Marla, do you have your camera on hand?” he asked her.

“No, it's back home in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Damn.”

“Why?” Marla frowned at him. Sam lowered her gaze to those spidery guitar player fingers right next to his coffee cup, and right next to her own hand. Thin and sparse, perfect for running along the neck of that little red guitar back at his parents' house.

“Well,” he started again with a bit of caution, “'cause if you did, I'd ask Sam here to hold my hand with me and you to take a picture for us. If he needs proof that his legal wife's sneaking around behind his back, then let's give it to him right now.”

“I think you're gonna need to do way more than to hold hands with her, Alex,” Marla pointed out. “Even when she said that she and Louie screwed around, he didn't buy into it once. At least as far as I could tell anyway.”

She sat back down next to Sam while Zelda called up someone, probably one of the girls back in Rhode Island. The three of them sat there in silence, when Marla turned her attention back to them.

“I have an idea,” she said in a low voice, “but it doesn't involve him, though.” She nodded at Alex.

“What're you thinking?” Sam asked her as she drummed her fingers on the top of the table.

“We go back to Hell's Kitchen—you know, it's four hour drive, so it's going to be real late by the time we get there but it'll be more than worth it, though. Like we get in the car and—and—” Marla closed her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“We go back there and—seeing as Chuck is with us, another Native American man—I do a little—” She ran her tongue over the edge of her top row of teeth.

“A little what?”

Marla nibbled on her bottom lip and then she made the shape of a woman's body with her index fingers and then she made a camera gesture thereafter.

“Marla,” Sam scoffed, albeit in a hushed voice.

“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do, though, Sam? Especially since we're here right now, within range of Hell's Kitchen and my camera—” She flashed Alex a dirty look.

“Hey, sometimes the way is through, you know,” he pointed out as he took a sip of coffee.

“And be the other woman with Chuck and Tiffany?” Sam was horrified. “I don't think so.”

“Well, unless Joey wakes up any time soon, there's no way to do something straight up without crossing some lines and then showing it off to Bill to verify it. As far as he knows, you're a citizen of California now and therefore his official wife. He won, Sam. Unless you go to bed with Chuck and I catch you on camera all the while, that Bible thumping mother fucker won and you go back to Elsinore and undo everything Bel and I did to get you out of there.”

She sighed through her nose and she pulled in her fingers so she had her fist upon the table top.

“Time to put on your acting skills, Sam,” Marla told her with a wink. “C'mon—it's a four hour drive. The longer we stick around here, the later it'll be by the time we get home.”

Alex polished off the rest of his coffee and then, as Marla left a tip for the waitress, the three of them headed out of there right as Zelda hung up the phone.

“Rose is coming to get me,” she told them.

“Okay!” Marla replied. “So—good night for now.”

They exchanged embraces and then Marla led Sam and Alex back outside, where Chuck met up with them, out of breath and with a sheen of sweat on one side of his face.

“Where've you been?” Sam asked him.

“Looking for another phone,” he told her as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Not another one for at least a couple of blocks and the damned thing wasn't working.”

“Well, we're going back to Hell's Kitchen,” Marla announced to him, “I have an idea because Sam's still caught up in a little pickle with her insane counselor.”

“Oh, really?”

Sam herself then turned to Alex.

“By the way,” she started, “what were you going to tell me a little bit ago?”

“On what?” he asked her.

“You know when we were talking about glass and coming back here to New York, and how traveling is hard and whatnot,” she recalled. “You were going to say something to me. Whatever I wanted to do and then you got cut off. Ring any bells?”

He paused and then his face lit up.

“Oh, yeah! I was gonna tell you that whatever you wanna do—I'm behind you on it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Even in the afterglow from the cafe behind them and the streetlights before them, she could see the thoughtful look on his face. She sniffled again and she flashed back to when he rescued her from the side of the road.

“Aw.”

“Besides,” he continued with a shrug of his shoulders and a shift of his weight, “after what happened with Joey earlier, you're going to kinda need that, too. That type of support. I'm sure Marla and Belinda would give it to you, too. But—you know. The more, the merrier.”

“Thank you, Alex, that—that means a lot to me.” She showed him a little smile and she could feel the tears coming on once more.

“Hey, it's just like when I picked you up from the side of the road a couple of months ago. I'm just doing what I can.”

“Hey, kids!” Chuck called out to them. “Think the snow's coming, I feel it!”

“Oh, shit! Yeah, let's get a move on...” Alex and Sam ran to the car together, and he stayed right behind her in the back seat on the four hour ride back to New York City. Even if the snows came in right then, Sam knew that she could rely on friends now.

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

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Hard To Come By / Elton John Imagine

Request: Hey there! It's been a while since I've requested anything, so if you're up for it, I think I'm gonna ask for some fluffy Elton x male reader, maybe after he's out of rehab if you're comfortable doing that? If not, don't worry about it, I don't mind when it happens! 😉💞

Thank you my dear @fandom-star, I just watched Rocketman again for the fourth time so this is perfect!

Comments are always appreciated!

Rubbing his tired eyes with the insides of his calloused palms, Elton tried to wipe away the dry glazed over look, his eyelids crusted with the remnants of a forgotten dream.

He sat on that bench, waiting to meet you again for the first time in weeks. For the first time, since your last visit to the rehab clinic. He sits, legs outstretched on the sun-scorched grass, rainbow straw hat on his head, and navy blue, starry glasses he raises to perch on top of his nose again. His white suit crumples at the elbows as he folds his arms, flexing his fingers against the smooth material. Good hands for playing the piano, as his grandmother would always say, although he’s too frightened for that at the moment. Has been for a while now, really. He can wear these clothes, outfits that always make him easy to pick out of a crowd, but for the moment, he can’t seem to even find himself in a crowd of one.

The park he chose covered a wide area that could fit about three small houses. It was hilly with a tall tree or two near one hill. There were benches for people to sit in every corner and jogging tracks were all around the edges of the park. Flower hedges and bushes grew all around, making the park look more pleasant and attractive. This place would have been most beautiful at this time; it would have been so pleasurable to relax here and take in some cool fresh air as the two of you used to do when he and Bernie were only starting out, but his heart was hammering too loud against his suit breast to settle.

He watches the duck move through the small pond in front of him like it's got some kind of motor in its stomach, even though underneath the surface its legs are working hard to move it along at that speed. He finds himself lost, staring at the effort of that small being just to keep moving, keep afloat against the invisible stream, so much that he finds his head beginning to ache with it all.

Twirling his cane within his hand, he didn’t notice you at first. You walk over to Elton, turning to sit, feeling the slight give in the wood, any creak being lost beneath the sound of the children throwing bread into the water with high giggles. You sat looking at him for a moment, not with the impatience of one waiting for something to happen, but with the feeling of one savouring the moment. You couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked, how bloodshot his eyes seemed.

‘Not getting enough sleep, are you? You never do these days.’

He started slightly, turning to look at you with lips lifting into a welcoming smile. A blush rises high on his cheeks as you gaze back at him.

‘I don’t have time to sleep these days, I’m too busy writing songs again.’

‘Finally touched a piano again, hm?’

He sighs, leaning forward slightly to place the palms of his hands against his forehead.

‘I’m still worried it’s not enough. That I’m not enough. Not without the drugs, that is.’

His stomach shifts uneasily as he speaks his truth, and he notices that the hands that he’s dropped down to hug himself with are pinching tightly into his skin. He releases their grip, but then he can't figure out what to do with them, so instead they clasp and unclasp each other as if in constant need of touch and reassurance.

‘Excuse my language, but that’s complete bollocks, isn’t it Reggie? Talent like yours is hard to come by, and it doesn’t just go away. Now come on, give us a whistle of what you’re working on, and I’ll let Bernie know if it’s rubbish or not.’

He smiles fondly as he leans towards you, his warm breath in your ear, then she hums the song the two of you used to do during the local karaoke nights back after school. Your lips, the ones you’re trying to keep looking pensive and serious, creep into a grin as he begins to hum. Slowly, you join in, until the two of you are shouting lyrics into the warm air, both of you ignoring the strange looks from runners passing by, or the small ducklings who patter curiously closer to you. All the two of you see, is each other.

When excited, and happy, Elton always had a tell tale sign: he would nudge his glasses up a little higher on his nose. It was as if he thought those midnight rims ought to sit up and pay attention too, as if he and his glasses were a a team, silently focusing together.

When the two of you had stopped singing wildly out of key, and your breathing had rolled down to breathless laughter, you put your hand softly on the shoulder of your best friend, and he gladly clasps his own on top of it.

There the two of you sat, the sun setting in the sky like fresh colours brushed upon an artist's canvas, as if those rays were destined to create a great work of art, one given to those open to capturing simple moments in the soul.

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bmo-137 · 4 years

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Hannigram Oneshot—Hide and Seek Europe Edition

Warnings: slight angst, tiny bit of fluff, some fancy metaphors, implied sexy time at the very end of the chapter (but you see none of it, basically nonexistent)

Will sighed, slumping onto the bed of the hotel room, the TV playing in the background of the half lit room, the lamps on either side of the bed atop two nightstands glowing in a golden light. Will sighed again, pinching the skin between his brows and looking at the TV under half-lidded eyes. Half listening, but lost in thought, thinking back to the events of that afternoon.

“I forgive you...”

In the catacombs, chasing after a serial killer- no... his... friend... Will wasn’t even sure if he was there, just a hunch. If he wasn’t there, then that Detective could think he was a lunatic like all the rest. For good reason too. But if he was there....

“-Il Mostro has struck again. After almost a decade of peace, the monster who was the bane of Europe has come back with another murder, but in the form of a heart. The police are still investigating this issue but there hasn’t been much word of late...”

Will deadpanned at the TV, the news knocking him from his thoughts as another pang of pain resounded in his head. He groaned.

These headaches are gonna be the death of me.

Will stood up shakily and headed to his luggage in the corner, barely unpacked as he searched for his aspirin. From the time his journey overseas started to this very moment, digging through a poorly packed luggage for painkillers, Will had gotten a maximum of three hours of sleep. The only thing keeping him going was copious amounts of coffee and his persistence to find the one who ran away after stabbing him. Oh, and his spunky sniper sidekick who pushed him off a train. That didn’t help his lack of sleep at all.

Finally locating the pills he sat himself down on the carpet, about to dry swallow about five of the fuckers when he noticed a glass of whiskey, poured neatly on the nightstand.

Huh, guess I poured it and forgot.

He stood, knees a bit wobbly as he walked towards the bed sitting down on the side where the whiskey glass and bottle was. Ignoring the glass, Will took the bottle, tossed the aspirins in back and took a swig, and maybe another. He relented, putting the bottle down on the nightstand and flopping down on his bed.

Dusk was approaching. A beautiful sunset appearing off the high rise of the city he currently resided in, the thin curtains flowing carelessly from the open patio doors, a warm breeze blowing in.

Will knew he was in enemy territory. This city, this whole country, Italy, it was threatened by the very notion that Il Mostro had come back, that Hannibal had returned for seconds. But strangely, in this moment, with a warm breeze on his face, the quiet flutters of the see through curtains and the drowning of the TV was all so comforting. Something Will hadn’t experienced since... since Hannibal.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Will had been gutted, that was something he could forgive. Wounds heal after all. But the fact that he fled—Will didn’t want to admit it, but he wished that Hannibal left when he called him, right then and there... but he didn’t. Wounds heal but scars remain... And Abigail... Abigail stayed dead.

Will’s lip twitched. With one hand, he covered his eyes and clamped the other over his mouth. The blood wasn’t something he could ever erase from his mind. He went through the same trauma not once, not twice, but thrice and to think that he was still chasing.

Molten hot lava bubbled under his face, the undealt anger and frustration that he pushed down boiling over. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought he could’ve done something. He could have... The lava spilled over. It overflowed in the form of hot liquid that ran down his flushed cheeks and through the cracks of his fingers.

“Why did you do that Hannibal?” His voice was raw, it cracked with overbearing pain.

“...”

“Why did you have to kill Abigail?” Will muttered each word, getting slightly weaker as he reached the end of his question, not bothering to look up. He had long since felt the presence of the man since he crossed the small hallway that blocked his view of the patio, whose doors weren’t open yet. The whiskey, the curtains, everything was laid out perfectly, he knew the signs but chose to ignore them. Hannibal wanted Will to know he was there, it was so blatantly obvious that it didn’t seem like there was a plan at all. But there always was.

Silence.

Will sat up abruptly and stared at the man clad in a black turtleneck and cargo pants, his black boots spotless, so no tracks could be traced in case... Hannibal didn’t answer, he just looked off into the distant city of Florence.

The tears slowly dried from his eyes, his hands making no movement to dry them faster as he looked at the man unblinkingly. Hannibal finally looked back at Will, an unreadable expression on his face except for the small pang of regret in his eyes, so small that one would have never noticed, that is if they weren’t Will Graham they wouldn’t have.

“I thought you weren’t fond of eye contact,” Hannibal said softly.

“I think I’ve seen too much, that’s for sure, but I’ve never seen enough of you it seems,” Will said his gaze still fixed on the lean man before him. His silver hair combed, not a single hair out of place with the aid of a very firm hair gel. His hands were loosely folded on his lap, his eyes soft, but devoid of emotion now that he knew that he was being analyzed by ‘the keenest hound ever to run in Crawford’s pack.’ But he reveled in it. He did, every time before now, at every crime scene, at every session—it was there and so was the rush. But the keenest hound in Crawford’s pack?

I might have to change that soon... Hannibal thought as he slowly drew his hand up to lean his head against.

“How have you been Will?”

Will was dumbfounded. There was a pause, before a chuckle started that didn’t end until Will noticed that Hannibal’s lips were slightly pointed down, “How... hm, how am I?” Will asked, composing himself poorly, a smile playing at his lips, but dangerous venom waiting behind it for Hannibal to say something that even remotely triggered Will to clap back, “I think the more important question is how are you?” Wills smile dropped immediately, “How have you been doing Dr. Lecter.” The question now more of a statement.

“..... I’ve been doing alright...”

“Oh I’m sure you are, no problems with finding your special meat, or sleeping at night, or being in a medically induced coma for three months,” Will said with a thick layer of saccharine sweetness in his voice.

Hannibal opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

“So how. Have. You. Been. Hannibal,” Will repeated, each word with a pause in between. Hannibal pursed his lips for a moment, keeping steady eye contact on Will’s bloodshot eyes. There was a pause before he straightened himself and sat up, folding his hands while keeping his gaze trained on a stain in the carpet.

Another moment passed and he looked up finally, got up from the chair and approached Will until he was directly in front of the brunette’s seemingly small figure on the bed.

To Will’s surprise, Hannibal bent down to Will’s level and sat on his knees, “I missed you,” he said and took Will’s hands in his. Will looked down, noticing that his hands were shaking.

He quickly pushed his hands away and flopped back onto the bed, covering his face, “Fucking hell,” he whispered. The bed creaked as another weight was added. He peeked through a slit between his fingers to find Hannibal sitting on the bed as well. Will could see his broad back, and with him being hunched over a little, you could see his muscles under the dark fabric, how strong he was, but not overtly muscular.

Will slowly raised himself into a reclining position, not yet on Hannibals eye level and just stared at his back. Who the fuck was he kidding, he needed Hannibal like how a fish needs water to live. He needed Hannibal to live, and at that moment, he thought: Fuck it.

Hannibal was startled when he found two arms around his torso, warmth against his back, a muffled voice saying, “I missed you too.”

At that point, Hannibal really couldn’t help himself, a soft smile broke out on his face as he looked down at the arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. Gently, he priced them off and turned himself to see Will lying on the pillow behind him, bright blue eyes glassy again. He grabbed Will’s torso and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I never regretted anything in my life. But the moment I met you, everything I did gave me second thoughts, and the things I did on a whim, especially if it involved you, I regretted, at least a little. Taking Abigail from you was one of my biggest mistakes.” Hannibal said into Will’s shoulder before pulling away, but not letting go of the dark haired man.

“What was your biggest?” Will asked his voice hoarse.

“Leaving you to pick up the pieces,” Hannibal said with such a look of regret that Will had never seen before, “And for that, I am sorry... So very sorry mylimasis...” Hannibal lowered his head against Will’s chest, “How you could ever forgive me I do not know, and I don’t expect you to either.”

“Shut up you idiot,” Will said as he lifted Hannibals face up to his to find a single tear had found its way down to his chin, “I already told you, yesterday, in the church, down in the caves... I forgive you.”

Hannibal looked at Will, “You don’t believe in God.”

“I believe in you,” Will said, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the edges as small, but genuine smile was cracked, “Isn’t that enough?”

Hannibal looked at Will, longing in his eyes before he pushed Will down onto the bed and gave him a tender kiss, “You’re more than enough for me mano meile, always.”

Will laughed a bit, “I sure hope so,” He threaded his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, breaking through the hair gel like straw cracking until his hair was soft and silky again, “But if you ever run off to some place halfway across the world again,” Will said pulling Hannibal’s face towards his, “Mark my words, I will find you, and you won’t be running off anywhere anytime soon.”

Hannibal chuckled, “I would never leave you Will, who in their right mind would?” Hannibal asked his eyes crinkled and an adorable grin on his face as he pressed Will closer to him.

The two sighed. Night settling in. A small while passed, the two eventually moved into a more comfortable position, side by side holding each other, listening to the night as a now cool breeze blew over them.

“Folie a deux.” Will whispered.

“Madness shared by two.” Hannibal finished.

Will turned to look at Hannibal, “I wouldn’t want to share madness with anyone but you.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything, but a small smirk appeared on his face, “Mylimasis,” he said before he rolled on top of Will and leaned in for another kiss.

And all I’ll tell you is, is that they had a very eventful night.

The End.

#Hannigram #WillGraham #Hannibal #Italy #Europe #Fanfiction #Bryan Fuller #fluff #angst #florence italy

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zayneternal · 5 years

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《 thantophobia (n.) 》

summary ↠ thantophobia (n.) the fear of losing someone you love. the fear you’ve preparing to accept as reality the longer Jungkook has been away. the tour you never thought would end has come to a close and Jungkook is coming home, but months and miles apart have left you both wondering what he’s coming back to.

genre ↠ angssst | idolverse member ↠ jeon jungkook warnings ↠ emotional taxation, yo. word count ↠ 5.3k

moodboard by @jiminspjm || I think this is some of your best work yet, my friend ;) || requested by anon. This is essentially a sequel to a previous Jungkook blurb, lacuna (n.) so get ready for some heightened angst, my dudes.

Just landed. Be home soon. [6:36 pm]

You stare so hard and so long at the boxy text bubbled in grey that your eyes start to lose focus, weighing your sore gaze to where your subdued reply rests. The hours-old read receipt, however, still hanging lifeless underneath your words, only reinforces the weak ache in two thumbs still hovering over digital keys.

Ok. Be safe. [6:40 pm]

Forcing intentional breaths into the bottom of your lungs, you cast your eyes towards the foyer from where you sit fidgeting on the sofa, ears straining to pick up any evidence of the door jostling to open, but none comes in the deep and agonizing quiet you’ve been subjected to for the past couple of hours.

[9:57 pm] You squint against the stark light of your phone screen when your eyes subconsciously travel back to check how many minutes have passed since the last time you looked. The dim glow humming from the standing lamp nearby that shrouds the rest of the living room makes the curt conversation glaring up at you seem too-bright, it’s luminescence only amplifying the minuscule exchange of words and the tightness of your chest.

He should be home. The airport is hardly a half hour drive from your apartment, and even with the staff most likely dropping the rest of the boys off at the dorms, it still shouldn’t be taking Jungkook this long to get here. Your throat burns upon the next attempt at swallowing, the action, in tandem, a measly effort to rid the ill thoughts that try to pinch and poke the back of your mind. Biting the inside of your cheek, you quickly lock your phone, tossing it to the side of you in favor of the TV remote, the diluted sounds of nighttime television that spill out into the suffocating silence washing you with a momentary relief. Momentary. The more you flip through the various options of distraction, the more you can’t help but recognize how uncanny the scene around you is becoming, looking and feeling more familiar by the second.

The couch, the blanket, the non-realistic happy endings flashing across the screen before you, and that bruised sensation creeping just under the surface of your skin; it’s all nearly identical to the combination you’d found yourself wound into almost 6 months ago, face raw and blotchy and pressed into these couch cushions with the emotion of Jungkook leaving for tour the next morning. Back then, though, the prospect of him walking through the front door had you on edge for very different reasons. It almost hurts to acknowledge the pocket of anxiety rolling around like a bowling ball in the pit of your stomach, but you’d be kidding yourself to try and ignore the incessant feeling like you tried to ignore your feelings the weeks leading up to your collapse. You know it only makes things worse.

The noise of the television drowns out into the background of your loudening thoughts, little help in distracting you once more as you’re hazily drawn back into the memory of that morning. Images and scenes living half-blurred now sharpen to the most minute detail in a gross effort to reassure you of what you know has already changed.

“Hey, JK! Let’s go, we’re gonna miss the boarding call!” Namjoon had urged, his (fourth) prompt the only thing that seemed to finally stir Jungkook’s arms away from where they wound around you. “We’ll be back before you even know we’re gone, Y/N!” your towering friend attempted to console, taking the time to allow a reassuring and genuine smile to sculpt into the curve of his lips for which you were grateful. You weakly returned the gesture from over Jungkook’s shoulder, unable, though, to force the grin to curl around your sadly drawn eyes. “Give her a kiss for me, Kook, and move your junk!”

The picture becomes more vivid as you recall Namjoon turning to make his way through security, becoming the sixth to a group of huddled boys who stood awaiting their final member on the other side. You remember the way they were all attempting to avoid eye contact with you as their way of allowing you and Jungkook the most “privacy” possible in your goodbye, though you caught their gazes eyeing over you sympathetically more than once before it was all said and done.

Jungkook had pulled his face from where it’d been hiding in your neck, pulling back as his arms loosened from their ensnarement around your waist by what would be an almost inconceivable fraction on any other day, but on that day it was enough for the distance to be felt in an instant. You ponder a while on the memory of Jungkook’s face when he finally titled his drooped gaze to you, eyes visibly red through the curtain of his inky locks. Despite whatever confident monologues Jungkook had extemporized with comforting whispers and steady hands the night before, the morning of his departure proved to be a role reversal granting you the task to keep some semblance of composure for both your sanities sakes. Surprisingly, however, whether it was ignorant denial or just the dry bed your eyes had become, you found yourself doing a pretty good job of keeping your emotions from going full Super Saiyan on him.

“Don’t say it.” Jungkook’s dulcet voice laced with a strained timbre echos as clear as if he were right in front of you now. You close your eyes, your breaths feeling heavy as you try desperately to latch onto this moment, longing to remember the crystalline boy with glassy eyes standing in your memory and the way he looked when he longed for you too.

“Say what? I-”

“Don’t say goodbye. Don’t make me say it back.” His eyes close, hiding the bloodshot worry that clouds the cotton outskirts of the deep toffee center. The hands that knot together at the small of your back give a squeeze, pulling you forward that fraction of a breath as his head dips once more to hide against you. You hear the troubled rhythm of his inhale and know he’s started crying again which makes your heart agonize in tandem with him.

“Jungkook...” you try, not trusting your voice to come out right but pushing it past weak lips anyway.

A soft, stifled sob wets the juncture of your neck and shoulder where the bridge of his nose is pressed, his body stuttering in time to the beat of his emotion. You raise feeble hands from the plane of his back to fit the curve of his head and the round of his shoulders, simply cradling him to you in the last of these fleeting moments you know you won’t be able to savor for a long time.

“I love you,” you whisper into his hair, fingers treading through the fields of the soft tendrils. You feel him ease against you at the combination of touch and admission, muffled plaining quieting into the fabric of your sweater. “That’s what I was going to say. I love you.”

His breathing calms to a manageable rate, filling his lungs in time to the rake of your fingers. “That’s all?” he hiccups, murmur of a voice like that of a child, laced with traces of hopeful and wide-eyed disbelief.

“That’s all. No goodbye today,” you affirm, attempting to put some smile in your tone. “Sorry to ruin the drama.”

The small success of laughter that puffs from Jungkook’s lungs is short lived as he crushes you against him, his arms fully circling the round of your shoulders and head, pressing your face into the comfort of his sanctuary as he draws every last ounce of you into him that he can. “I love you. I love you. I love you so so much.”

You breathe deeply his scent, spending a generous amount of energy on stowing away the smell in the pocket of your memory for when it’s not right under your nose anymore, skin-tinglingly warm and all authentically Jungkook. “I know,” you assure him, a hand wandering off down his spine. “You love me so well.” A knot begins to lump in your throat that you aptly swallow away, pacing carefully through the rest of the words that are getting harder and harder to speak with a placid heart. “Which is why I’m so happy that you get to go and share that, now, with everyone that supports you so so much. I’m so excited that they get to hold some the love that you give me every day, even if it’s only a glimpse of everything I’ve seen in here.”

You pressure your lips overtop the place where Jungkook’s heart beats rapidly, feeling the impact through the layers of clothing and skin.

“I’m so proud of you, Jungkook. Now I want you to go see just many other’s you’ve made proud.” Finally pulling your head from the divot of his chest, you steel your expression with softened eyes and the most stable smile you can manage, every word you utter like nails on the chalkboard of the selfish and anxiety ridden parts of yourself. But no matter how badly your arms ache to begin dropping from his frame, you push yourself back a small step, the chasmic space almost dropping your stomach from your body.

You rise to your tip-toes, placing a warm palm on Jungkook’s dampened cheek, fingers brushing gently as your lips slot tenderly against his own and press. He leans into you, but you’re gone before the sear in your throat worsens, balling your emotions one last time to squeeze at his palm, if nothing else placated by the mollifying expression Jungkook is relaxing into, though still bleary and worn on the surface.

“Besides, you heard Namjoon,” you press his hand, fingers kneading over the back, trying to memorize the texture of his silken skin as you shut your mind off and let your mouth run. “You’ll be back before I even know you’re gone.”

But you’re in tears the moment he turns away.

Your eyes snap back open, a feeling you weren’t expecting to be present resting in the center of your chest: anger. The phone sleeping silently to the left of you makes you angry; how long he’s kept you waiting here without so much as an explanation makes you angry; the man confessing his love too loudly on screen makes you angry; but most of all, the lack of Jungkook makes you angry.

Gritting your teeth with a newfound resolve, you breathe out a copious amount of the stress riddled air from your lungs in one blow, straightening your bent posture and running your fingers through neatly curled locks until they’re falling haphazardly around your face, but who’s to care anymore? It’s obvious no one that you need to impress is coming home tonight.

You flick the television off with a satisfying click, sighing relievedly into the silence that previously had you at wits end before rising from your perch, muscles straining as they seek the stretch of relief they’ve so desired. Giving it to them, you turn and pluck the string on the standing lamp, washing the room in a new kind of quiet that somehow sets you more at ease--like the room isn’t in anticipation of anything anymore.

Your bed calls sweet and low upon your approach down the short hallway past the small kitchen, and you realize for the first time in a while that your mind isn’t burdened with flashes of blurry memories, taunting you from the haze in various rooms as you pass.

Your apartment is small, but you and Jungkook spent a lot of time here when your relationship began and since. The past 6 months have been random nights of heartache and sadness springing up when you least expect it; the pass of the kitchen always paints the shape of Jungkook throwing a dusting of flour into your face during the cake baking competition he’d wanted to start as a tradition for you two--it ended in a mess that took hours to clean and no cakes; the sweep of the spare room tends to have your mind conjuring illusions of the time Jungkook brought home a stray puppy he’d found wandering a parking lot on the way over and tried to hide it from you for a surprise under the bed in there--you were the one who had to answer the door the next day to a frazzled owner inquiring about said puppy and break the devastating news to Jungkook that he had just run away from him during his walk. You remember often thinking of those days and wondering how things got so far from where they were.

None of these memories surface now though. Your mind is clearer than it’s been in ages, and it feels freeing yet strange at the same time.

The sheets are crisp and cool against your body as it slides in between, fresh from when you had washed them and remade the bed earlier in the day in preparation of another body sharing it with you, but you still feel grateful for the sensation against hot skin as your head collides with the pillow, flipping to your side and curling under the comforter. No thoughts come. No inner mantra coaxing you to sleep after an hour of repetition. No tears. It’s just silence and a blank plane stretching for as far as your mind can manage. Sleep comes easily to your weary limbs tonight, eyes falling shut into a dreamless slumber that brings real rest from months of trying to keep it together for him.

You’re so far into the absent bliss that the sound you’d been waiting all day to hear doesn’t rouse you. The front door slowly jostles open, a stumbling Jungkook, half-falling through the frame in his attempt to be discrete, only creating more noise as he collides with the entry bench that seats your purse and jacket.

A curse slurs from his lips as he catches himself, the duffle bag hanging on his shoulder dropping to the floor next to your shoes as he manages to kick his own off, hands steadying his lopsided stature against the wall. The sight of your belongings stalls him for a moment, bloodshot eyes staring entranced at the disorganized display in the foyer: your bag, the same one you’ve always carried, worn and tearing in a few places, but you refuse to buy a new one; your scarf, the one Jungkook purchased for you at the start of last winter, just before the two of you began dating. He’d made the excuse while you were both out shopping that you’d catch a cold in just a jacket, but really, the sight of your exposed neck curving down into softly edged collarbones was more than a distraction from what was supposed to be a friendship at the time.

His gaze halts along the wall on the framed photo of the two of you from New Years, you slung across Jungkook’s lap, arms hooked around his neck with your eyes squeezed shut, laughing at something happening behind the camera, your grin bared wide and raw for the world to see--that grin. He stares at his face in the photo, eyes beaming down at your unaware laughter, lips pressed in a smile against your temple, his own arms cradling you so casually to himself.

For a moment, the dizziness in Jungkook’s head subsides and it’s just you. It’s you struggling to surface at the tips of his fingers again, fighting to recreate the feeling of you in his hands, but just like every other time he’s attempted, he can only imagine it, never feel. Remembering the feeling of you became an elusive memory he started desperately chasing only a month after he’d left--the month you started pulling away, texting less, cutting FaceTimes short, and working more with a plethora of excuses trailing behind; it was the torture of a fraying string without the snap.

He still isn’t sure what happened with you both, but he’ll be damned to be the one to let you go. He kept reassuring himself that if he could just make it home...things would get better. You’d come back to him, things would be the way they used to be, and it would all be okay, but the closer he got to coming home, the less he knew how to navigate your distant ocean--the less he knew how to function.

She’s doing fine without you.

It became the devil on his shoulder: more and more time spent away, less and less communication, and all feeding the monster. Every text he received from you was a whirlwind of fresh air in his hectic schedule allowing him a moment of respite and solace, but they became moments he wasn’t sure if you shared. And he became hesitant to ask the longer you went on behaving as if the miles of distance and time zones of separation didn’t make a difference to you. Should he have been feeling the same confidence in your relationship that you seemed to have? He wasn’t insecure in being away from you, but the shorter exchanges and the less you seemed to have to say about the happenings back home...would confidence be what he would call it? It was all that was on his mind after every show, in between every practice, and before every interview, but all he could do was reflect the reciprocity being delivered and pray he was doing the right thing by not burdening you with it.

Jungkook tears his eyes away from the photo, squinting against the rest of the darkened living room as the swirly feeling in his head creeps back in, shadowed objects warping at odd angles. Whatever was on his mind when he got to the bar with Namjoon and Jimin became a little jumbled on his way out, the only thing he could really hone in on being the image of your face and the familiar route to your apartment, stumbling his way onwards determined to give you a piece of his drunk mind for what happened between you both and also maybe kiss you.

His body trips around trying to find the unlit hallway that leads to you until he walks into the corner of it, cursing once more while he nurses the knock on his kneecap. Jungkook collides with at least three hung frames along the wall on his way down the hall, hushed expletives aiding blind hands in correcting them which instead just tilts them too far the other direction. Shuffling feet stutter into the wrong room twice before he makes it to the last door on the left, entrance cracked enough for his eyes to catch the edge of the bed and part of a still, sleeping lump stuffed under the covers.

He pauses, hand hovering against the wood, feeling unsure now that he’s finally standing here. He wonders guiltily how long you’ve been asleep, knowing he kept you waiting all evening, and knowing you, guesses you probably stayed up to wait until the last of your hope for him had vanished. Maybe that was the last straw? If he left now, would there be a text waiting for him in the morning saying it was over? The snap. The thought of it being too close for comfort is what has his hand shoving forward, though, a little harder than he intended, the swing of the door wide until it thuds against the wall.

He cringes, quickly attempting to reach forward and right the noise when he spots you beginning to stir in your sleep, but his efforts only help his feet get tangled in a stray pile of clothing you never bother to put away (“why put them away when I’m just gonna take them out to wear again?”) and send him falling with a heavy clonk onto the hard wood.

He knows he’s done it when he hears those soft mewls rousing from the sheets.

“...Kook?”

His already racing heart pounds at the sound of your voice, ridden with sleep, shaping the endearment that lets him know he hasn’t totally fucked up. He quickly shoves himself out of your clothes, feeling more idiotic and impossibly nervous than on his way here. Your presence only feet from him makes everything he came here to say and do all fuzzy...except the kissing you part. He still really wants to do that.

Especially now that his eyes are focusing on your hazy image, curled up on his side of the bed, your bright eyes squinting with sleep and soft locks loosely waved and tossed by the pillow. Your skin is golden in the low light, almost shiny reflected against the moon beams filtering in the parted window nearby, and Jungkook swallows hard, fingertips aching to reach out and feel you despite the better judgement, no matter how small right now, working against him.

“I see you still leave your clothes out,” is the first thing that slurs slightly from between his stalled lips, gaze raptured and body yearning for you.

Your expression doesn’t change, slightly sleepy but glazed with unreadable caution as you fully acknowledge that he is standing in your room, present and whole and real. “Why put them away when I’m just--”

“--gonna take them out to wear again?” he quietly finishes for you, mouth twitching in a familiar smile that disappears just as quickly as he reads the thin ice coating the surface of the conversation.

“...yeah,” you breathe, lungs having a hard time getting enough air to say anything else. Your hands are clenched around the fitted sheet, wrinkling the fresh make in place of where you’d rather have them, but the sting of anger, though diluted, is still swimming in the pit of your stomach, waiting to be addressed.

Jungkook’s eyes are locked on you, widened as if he’s looking at some hallucination; it’s then that you notice the worn hue under his irises and a clouded red hue around them, your own eyes adjusting to the scene. You watch as his hand slowly lifts, almost like he’s not fully aware of the action, and his body lurches slightly in your direction, but even the small attempt at motion has him leaning too far the side, losing his balance momentarily before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress, hand coming dangerously close to where your feet slide under the comforter.

“You’re drunk,” you observe without opinion to your voice. The shamed look in his eyes when his head rises to meet you before looking away makes your heart jolt in empathy, the wear and tear he sports almost like a physical manifestation of the emotional wear and tear you’ve suppressed.

There’s a breath of silence while you look at the boy before you, somehow a different form of the same broken Jungkook you’d let go of 6 months ago, the one you promised yourself you wouldn’t burden while he was away, taking it upon yourself to be your own emotional support while he was living the dream, but it seems the past few months have done their own burdening on him. Your expression softens, the anger in your stomach giving way to the hurt that you’ve longed to let go of since he started pulling away from you only three months before his return.

“Why?” you find your voice filtering into the silence, a hoarseness drawing among your confusion. Jungkook’s face flits up to meet your gaze again, his lost manner seeking clarity amidst your initiation.

His eyebrows scrunch. “I went with Namjoon and Jimin to the bar downtown when we landed...I know I should’ve just come straight--”

“No,” you cut him off, honestly uncaring for how he’s spent his evening. You’re more concerned with how he’s spent a much larger gap of time. “Why did you stop?”

“Stop?”

“Why did we stop?” You continue on, the pulse in your chest quickening. “Why did we stop trying for each other? Why are you here if you don’t care anymore?”

His face morphs into one of offense, as if you’ve just deeply insulted him. “Don’t...don’t care anymore? Why am I here?” Jungkook doesn’t feel so inebriated the more that you speak. “Who said I didn’t care anymore, Y/N?”

The sound of your name pouring from between his lips trips you up, a gasp of air inhaling between yours, but you clench your jaw, determined to hear something from him before you fall apart. “You...you stopped, Jungkook. You stopped talking to me like you used to...you stopped saying ‘I love you’.” Your gaze falls to the edge of the sheets in insecurity as you speak, everything you’ve been wondering for a long while now surfacing at the mercy of your newfound resolution. All the things you couldn’t seem to ask when he was an ocean away all seem so necessary now that he’s back home--now that he’s yours again. You don’t want him to not be yours.

Your fallen eyes fail to see Jungkook moving from his leant place at the end of the bed, stifling a yelp of surprise when his body falls before you, seating himself on the same edge of the mattress and leaning his weight on the muscled arm he tents over your legs. When your stare shoots back up to his face, your unwavering purpose now wavering, you find his face to have a new sheen of intention, his brow furrowed with thought as he processes your words and his own musing.

You keep quiet, busying yourself with your anxiously fiddling hands resting in your lap lest you reach out to touch him so close to you as he forms a response. “Y/N, look at me,” he requests, his voice steadier and gentle, sweet like you remember, so you look. His eyes are searching your face, making sure your attentions are his before his lips part again, slow and clear. “I love you.”

Your heart nearly explodes on the spot, killing you both. It feels like a lifetime since you’ve been reassured of his affections, and to hear it now almost tears you open with relief.

“I love you,” he repeats once more, leaning forward slightly. “I never stopped loving you. I never stopped trying. I was...confused.”

“What?” You’re aching for him to keep talking. You’re desperate for utter clarity, no matter the conditions. You just want to touch him. You want him to be yours.

He drops his head for a moment, shaking it like he isn’t sure what to think anymore before rejoining your gaze. “I...you--it’s just that this whole time...” He’s at a loss for words, and you can see him mentally struggling to piece together both sides. Without thinking, your hand slides forward over his larder one, fingers beginning to trace along the veins that protrude just under his supple skin. The feeling of just that is euphoric, lighting up your nerves with a warmth they’ve been deprived of for much too long. You want more.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m listening. I’m here,” you comfort, not able to look him in the eye just yet and instead just continuing to stroke shapes into his hand until he’s shifting, palm moving to engulf yours like a gentle blanket, fingers slowly--agonizingly so--intertwining as his body slides forward a little more. You can almost smell the full weight of his natural scent, the memory of it long faded and long overdue for a renewal.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore...or at least didn’t need me anymore,” he speaks softly again, explaining more calmly and collected this time, though his words still surprise you, eyes darting up to him in confusion.

“You thought I didn’t need you?”

“It’s just...you were so sad about me leaving, but it seemed like right after I was gone you--you just weren’t leaning on me for anything.” His words begin to blend together into a cohesive picture, the more he elaborates from his perspective, the more you begin to understand how things started to turn so sour, your hand wanting to pry from Jungkook’s just so you can face-palm yourself with all the regret readily available.

“You didn’t text me nearly as much or about nearly as much. You cut our FaceTime’s short for whatever reason...I felt like I was missing out on your life and that that was okay--that you were doing fine without me here.”

It clicks.

“Oh my--I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you heave, your heart heavy and mind reeling as you realize your grave mistake. You toss yourself forward throwing inhibition to the wind as your arms ensnare his neck, pulling him tight against you and reveling the opportunity to reconcile that him being here presents.

His arms don’t hesitate for even a second to respond, wrapping in their entirety around the breadth of your waist, his face dipping away into your shoulder and making you feel as you did when you were in the airport so long ago, though the dread you felt then is replaced with fervent relief.

“What are you sorry for, baby?” he wonders breathily against your skin, his lips brushing agonizingly sweet lines down your neck.

“It was all a misunderstanding,” you reveal, feeling like an idiot just saying it. “All of it, everything, and it’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I made this so much harder on you than it was supposed to be.”

“What are you talking about? Slow down, Y/N,” he soothes, brushing hands down your spine. “Just breathe.”

You comply. “I thought that you would be burdened, you know, having to focus on me so much while you were away. So I-I tried to handle things on my own as much as possible...god, it all sounds so dumb when I say it now. I don’t know what I was thinking.” You press your head into his hair, hiding your embarrassment and guilt from him, but he only breathes a heavy puff of repose.

“That was it?”

“Well yeah--but then it got you thinking I was done with us, and you started pulling away too, and I’m sure it was a huge distraction that you didn’t need to focus on at all, and things could’ve been so much smoother so much sooner if I had just talked to you about it, and I--”

The pressure of his cupid’s lips pressing a line up your neck, along your jaw, and finally to the stalled part of your own shuts you up pretty quick. You melt into his hold, nothing more than the simple connection needed to have you falling apart. He seems so calm and relaxed despite what you’ve just told him, and you’re not sure why, but if it means more of this, then you don’t really know if you care.

“I love you,” he says again, and you don’t think you’ll ever tire of hearing it. “I never stopped loving you.” His reminder from earlier sits differently with you now. “And I’ll continue to love you. It’s exactly like you said--a misunderstanding.” He pecks your lips lethargically once more, savoring your taste. “And now that I understand, I just want to love you.”

His words set a pounding heart to rest, your eyes sighing closed as he pulls you into his lap and shifts along the mattress, cradling you over him and allowing you to inhale his presence for all its worth. You’re uncaring of every shitty moment you had to endure for whatever shitty reason leading up to this one because, for some reason, you presume your reunion wouldn’t have been the same--still happy, yes--but you’ve realized a newfound level of affection you have for Jungkook that you don’t think you realized before. A deeper kind of love. The kind that endures.

aaaaand scene. i seriously can’t write breakup!au’s so here’s this cliche ending. cool? cool.

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logicallyanxious · 5 years

Text

Creative Differences

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS VIDEO*

This now has a prequel, although both can be read separately!

Also on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397842/chapters/46161067

Words: 4,255

Characters: Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, and Remus Sanders. Also the dragon witch.

Warnings: Blood mentions, injuries, evil/nonsympathetic Remus (idk what tags to use for him yet like we have for Deceit), fighting, intrusive thoughts/nightmares, food mentioned. Let me know if I should add anything else.

Summary: After being terrorized by his brother, Roman seeks out Logan’s help. The logical side is quick to find a solution and Roman realizes he’s been taking their relationship for granted.

Logan looked up from the book he’d been studying at the faint knock at his door. He stared at it, perplexed, certain that he’d misheard. That his ears were playing tricks on him. No one ever came to visit him.

The sound came again, this time louder, more urgent, and Logan jumped out of his seat.

“Coming!” He acknowledged the visitor as he crossed the room.

He pushed the door open, blinking in surprise at the side that stood before him.

Roman leaned against the door frame, his head hanging, as if he could barely hold himself up. His usual pristine attire was wrinkled and stained and his hair was wild, as if he’d spent hours pulling at it without the energy to summon a comb. Logan looked to where Roman’s hand clutched his sword, his knuckles white as if he’d forgotten how to let go, his nails clearly having been gnawed on.

“R-Roman?” The name left Logan’s mouth in a whisper, a question, as if he wasn’t sure he believed his eyes. He wanted to ask more, ask if he was okay, what happened, but it all got caught in his throat when the other side looked up.

He had bags under his eyes, a blossoming purple that stained his usual blemish free, tanned skin. Although, now his skin was a sickly pale, looking dry, almost as if the most subtle shift in facial expression could cause it to crack.

Logan’s heart lurched as he noticed the fresh tears on his friend’s face, his eyes red and bloodshot. Logan’s eyes followed the droplets down Roman’s cheek, which was hollow and littered with bruises. Roman chewed on his lip, which was blotched with a dark red that spilled onto his chin, dripping onto his shirt.

Logan’s stomach churned as he took in the red color before him, just now noticing it. Roman’s uniform wasn’t just stained, it was bloodstained. The material was torn in several places, as if someone had cut into it, and blood splattered those areas.

“I-I’m sorry,” Roman finally managed to mumble out, his voice thick and hoarse. “I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

Logan wanted to assure him that there was no need to apologize, that of course Roman was welcome here, would always be welcome here. To tell him that he was grateful Roman trusted him enough to seek out his help while in this state. But another part of him wanted to ask why him. Why not Patton or Virgil, sides Roman was undoubtedly closer to and more comfortable with.

Before Logan could find the words to reply, Roman had pushed off from the door frame, stumbling forward. Logan easily caught him, more worry flooding his system as he noted how light the other side was.

“S-sorry,” Roman apologized again and Logan shushed him, helping him inside.

He gently laid Roman down on his bed, trying his best to make him comfortable.

“What… What happened?” Logan finally managed to ask.

Roman stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and distant, and at first Logan thought he hadn’t heard him.

“He’s stronger now.”

Logan blinked in surprise, unsure how to take that information. He knew who he was, without a doubt, but he never thought he’d ever cause so much pain, at least not to his own brother.

“Wait, Remus did this to you?”

Roman flinched at the name and Logan made a mental note not to mention it again. Roman nodded, more tears falling from his eyes.

“That- that…!” Logan couldn’t think of a bad enough word to describe the side. “I’m going to go give him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t!” Roman sat up, reaching out to clutch Logan’s arm. He groaned at the sudden motion, and Logan helped lay him back down. “Don’t…” He said again, this time just a quiet whisper.

Logan’s eyes softened as he took in the other side and he reached out, fixing his hair. Roman seemed to relax at the touch, melting into it.

“I know you’re worried, but he can’t hurt me.” Logan reminded.

“Don’t leave me.”

Logan frowned, taking in the fear in the others voice.

“You know he can’t hurt you here, right? You’re safe.”

“Please.”

At the desperation in Roman’s voice Logan nodded, a silent promise to remain by Roman’s side. That seemed to help soothe him and Logan let out a sigh of relief.

Logan didn’t want to pry, but he didn’t know how to help Roman if he didn’t understand the situation. They were sides, they shouldn’t get hurt. He knows it’s happened to Roman before, such as when he threw a paper at him or when Remus knocked him out, but he never thought it could go to this extent. If so then shouldn’t Roman be littered with scars after years of battling the dragon witch?

Logan let out a deep sigh, looking down at Roman, who’s eyes were half closed, his eyebrows pinched in discomfort.

“Do you mind telling me how Re- how you got hurt?”

Roman shifted nervously, biting at his lip and Logan reached out, rubbing his thumb over it until he let go. It was already bleeding enough, no need to agitate the wound further. Roman frowned, unappreciative, and Logan grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. If Roman felt comfort in having something to clamp down on, then his hand would have to do.

“I know the memory is unsavory, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong. Though, I encourage you to take your time. You don’t have to reveal anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Roman nodded, squeezing his eyes closed. More tears spilled out and Logan wiped them away with his free hand.

“He used to be reigned in and n-now he’s running free. Ever… Ever since the last video I haven’t been able to get rid of him.”

“You’ve been dealing with this for that long?” Logan mumbled, astonished, and Roman nodded. “Oh, Roman, I should have noticed and helped you sooner.”

Roman shook his head, his nails digging into Logan’s hand. Logan ran his thumb over the back of Roman’s hand, comforting him.

“I-I thought I could handle him, l-like before. But he corrupted every day dream and whispered in my ear a-and I-I haven��t been able to sleep. He keeps showing me awful things and telling me that he’ll replace me as… As creativity! A-and I tried, I kept trying to fight back, but with every blow I got weaker and I just, it hurts so bad Logan. It hurts. I couldn’t do it anymore. I-I couldn’t…”

His voice trailed off as he began to sob and Logan’s heart broke for him. He reached out, combing his hand through his hair, doing whatever he could to help lessen his pain.

“Shh, it’s okay. I know you hurt, I know. But I’m going to fix you, okay? I won’t let him get to you again, I promise.”

“I-I wanted to ignore him like you did b-but I couldn’t!” He hiccuped.

“Well, it’s not that I ignored him. I just understood that his power comes from the mind, that none of it is real.” Logan’s eyes lit up with realization. “But as creativity, you don’t understand that! You believe in the power of the imagination, and that makes his attacks real, and gives them power to hurt you. Of course!”

Logan jumped up, ignoring Roman’s whine as he reached out to him. He summoned a first aid kit before returning to Roman’s side.

“It’s like he’s a placebo. Since you believe it’s real, it affects you. So, it’s safe to assume that if you believe you can get hurt, then you believe you can be healed.”

He helped Roman remove his shirt and hissed as he noticed how many cuts and bruises covered his skin. He pulled out the disinfectant, pouring it on a cotton ball and pressing it to one of Roman’s wounds.

On instinct Roman flinched, hissing at the sting. Logan smirked to himself.

“I know a lot of disinfectants sting, but this one doesn’t.”

The pain in Roman’s face ebbed away, replaced by confusion.

“O-oh, yeah. I guess it was just cold.”

Logan smiled. Belief is a powerful thing, especially to Roman.

He continued cleansing the wounds, moving on to covering them with antibiotic ointment before putting on the bandages. Roman laid still, something Logan never thought the creative side was capable of.

“All done!” Logan announced, summoning a cherry lollipop.

Roman quickly grabbed it from him and Logan chuckled at his enthusiasm. Though, the excitement in Roman’s eyes faded as he glanced over at his discarded shirt.

“That one was my favorite…” He commented, forlorn.

“I’ll fix it up for you, okay? In the meantime, why don’t you get some rest?”

Sides didn’t really need sleep, but given Roman’s current state Logan guessed it’d be the only way to help him gain some energy back. Roman nodded, closing his eyes, and Logan went to his desk, summoning a stain stick and sewing kit.

Before he began he paused, looking over to where Roman was resting.

“Hey, Roman?” He asked, hoping the other was awake.

“Huh?” Roman hummed, peeling open an eye.

“I was just curious… How come you’ve never been hurt before, given all your battles with the dragon witch?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Roman replied with a smile, closing his eye again. “I don’t lose.”

Logan wanted to know more, but Roman’s breathing evened out and he decided that it’d be best left alone. He instead turned his attention to the tattered shirt lying before him, pulling the cap off the stain stick and setting to work.

It was about an hour later, when he was admiring his finished product, that he noticed Roman thrashing in bed. The sheets were wrapped around him and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Logan ran over, shirt forgotten, and shook Roman’s shoulder, trying to wake him up. The other side’s face was contorted and he was mumbling in his sleep. Finally he bolted upright, his eyes wide and breathing quick and uneven.

Before Logan could say anything Roman turned to look at him. His eyes immediately filled with tears and he lunged forward pulling Logan into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured on repeat, sobbing into Logan’s chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Logan promised, rubbing Roman’s back. “It was just a dream, whatever happened I’m okay.”

“I-It felt so real!” Roman revealed, his voice muffled in Logan’s shirt. “I-I was fighting the dragon witch b-but before… B-before I could strike her roar faded out a-and his voice s-said, it said, “Imagine if you missed.” A-and then I did! And she, th-the dragon witch, attacked me. And then I… I imagined that you came to help me but then the voice, it, the voice came again. A-and said, “Oh, what fun would it be if she ate him?” But I didn’t want her to! I didn’t! B-but I couldn’t get up a-and you were calling for help and the dragon witch was laughing and I saw… I saw her teeth tear into you and you were screaming and there was so much blood and and-”

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” Logan reminded, resting his chin on Roman’s head. “I’m right here, nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.”

In his arms, Roman was shaking, terrified, and Logan squeezed him tighter. He clung to Logan’s shirt and Logan found himself unable to care about the wrinkles that that would leave.

“I’d say it was just a nightmare, but I think we both know who’s responsible.”

“I-I thought you said he couldn’t get to me in here.”

Logan flinched, unable to bare the thought that he’d given Roman a false sense of security.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Logan tried to come up with a way to make it better and settled for giving Roman a small kiss on the top of his head. He’d found that the other sides found such expressions of affection endearing. “He couldn’t physically get to you, but it appears that in your absence he has full control over the imagination, and therefore is better able to control dreams. I think the only way to stop him is to fight back.”

“I-I thought you said not to repress intrusive thoughts.”

“I said that Thomas shouldn’t repress them. But these aren’t intrusive thoughts for you, he’s purposely pushing you out of your territory. He’s being a bully.”

“But I already tried fighting back!”

“You tried to fight back physically. I was unbothered by his attacks, but clearly you are. Use your imagination to your advantage. Instead of letting him control it, you take control.”

“I-I don’t understand.” Roman sat up, watching Logan get up and throw his shirt at him. He slipped it on and climbed out of bed.

“We’re going to take the fight to him. To the imagination.”

Roman took a step back, looking timid. It was an unnatural look on him.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Roman, it’s your realm too. You can’t let him take over.” He reached out, grabbing Roman’s hand. “You can do this, I’ll be right by your side the whole time. I believe in you.”

Roman’s cheeks reddened and he nodded, feeling more bold.

“O-okay, let’s go!”

Logan led Roman down the hall, the latter becoming more resistant the closer they got to their destination. He dug his heels into the ground when they reached the door, eyeing it cautiously.

“I-I changed my mind. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Logan gave his hand a squeeze and offered him an encouraging smile.

“I’m not going to force you to if you don’t want to, but I don’t have any other solutions to get him to stop. Just know, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t know you could do it.”

Roman nodded, steeling his nerves.

“Let’s do this!”

He pushed the door open, revealing a fantasy world. Mountains stuck out in the horizon and they stood in the center of a market, merchants selling anything from exotic fruits to potions and enchanted armor.

Standing before them was a woman in a black dress, wings and horns marking her different from the other shoppers. She grinned when she saw them, her teeth jagged and pointed.

“Prince Roman, ready for a round two already? Oh, and I see you brought your delicious little friend! How did you know I was starting to feel a bit peckish? You’re so thoughtful!”

Roman let out a growl, moving to stand in front of Logan and brandishing his sword.

“Don’t even think of it, witch! I won’t let you touch him, not again.”

The dragon witch laughed. “Oh, come now, enough dramatics. There’s no need to fight, really. Just hand him over and I’ll be on my way.”

“Never!”

The witch’s amused expression hardened, turning into a glare. Her eyes began to glow a sickening green, her voice growing deep and deafening.

“Fine, if you want to fight, then so be it.”

She began levitating, a mist forming around her. She let out a scream, transforming into a full fledged dragon. A stream of fire burst from her mouth and Roman pulled Logan out of the way.

“I’ve won a thousand times before! Don’t think that one defeat will deter me!”

Roman lunged forward, stabbing downward at her claws. Before he could hit, his ears began to ring.

“Imagine that you miss.”

The sword pulled itself from its trajectory, stabbing into the ground instead. Roman felt himself panic as he tried to pull it out.

The dragon swept out a wing, knocking Roman to the side. Logan ran over to where he fell, helping him up.

“Y-you need to get out of here.” Roman told him but Logan shook his head. “Please, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The dragon turned to them, the back of her throat beginning to glow, warning them of a fireball. Roman gasped, grabbing Logan and acting as a human shield.

“Roman, fire can’t hurt us, it’s raining!” Logan announced.

Upon hearing the words, Roman felt water stream down his face. He looked up at the grey clouds, then back down at Logan, who was grinning.

The dragon launched the fireball, which immediately fizzled out in a puff of smoke.

“How…?” Roman tilted his head, staring at Logan in disbelief.

“You have the power, Roman. This is your realm, whatever you imagine, whatever you believe, becomes real. Why do you think you never lose? Don’t let him influence you.”

Roman grinned, summoning a shield and handing it to Logan.

“Stay safe.”

He raced off, going back for his sword.

“The rain turned the dirt to mud and now my sword is free,” he mumbled to himself.

He found his sword lying in a puddle, just as he’d imagined, and turned to send Logan a thumbs up. He turned back to the dragon, letting out a shout and attacking.

He got in several blows before the voice returned.

“You’re going to slip in the mud?”

And so, with the thought in his head, he did. He fell forward, his sword flying from his hand, leaving him defenseless.

He could see Logan yelling at him, probably encouraging him to get up or warning him of an incoming attack, but his voice remained muffled.

“You’re defenseless now… It would be a shame if the dragon witch went after your friend.”

“N-no,” Roman muttered, sliding in the mud as he tried to stand. He watched as the dragon turned her attention away from him and towards Logan.

“It’s okay, Roman!” Logan assured, holding up his shield against the lumbering creature. “You’re brother is no better than a boggart from Harry Potter. Just take the awful things he says and turn them into something better. Use your imagination.”

Roman summoned a bow and arrow, refusing to stay down without a fight. He shot at the dragon, regaining her attention.

The voice of his brother laughed. “Have you ever thought about shooting Logan?”

He felt his muscles shift, the aim of his bow changing directory. He screwed his eyes shut against the thought, knowing there was no use in trying to fight against his brother. Shooting Logan…

The bow in his hand morphed into a camera and he shot a picture. He smiled at the angry shout of his brother.

He pictured himself in rain boots and suddenly the mud wasn’t too slippery. He stood, regaining his fighting stance, and going after the dragon once again.

He fought for a while longer before the voice returned.

“Imagine her eating Logan.”

Just like in the dream the dragon turned to Logan with a snarl, her teeth bared. But unlike in the dream, this time Roman knew how to fight back.

“No,” he shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “Imagine her eating with Logan.”

Suddenly the scene shifted into a fancy restaurant, the dragon witch and Logan sitting at a table, a waiter pouring them drinks.

Roman let out a laugh at the absurdity of it all and his brother appeared, his face red.

“You can’t just do that! I was in control here! I’m stronger than you, the better creativity. Thomas can’t ignore me any longer!”

“You may be different than Roman, but you are in no way better,” Logan replied as he took a bite of a breadstick. “And this is Roman’s territory too, he can control it just as well as you. Your ideas may be able to bother Thomas, but those are his thoughts. You don’t get to control Roman’s, only he does that.”

“Yeah!” Roman chimed in, crossing his arms.

Remus let out a growl, summoning a hammer. He hit Logan, who only blinked.

“This isn’t real, you know that, right?” He asked, tilting his head.

Remus glowered at him before hitting Roman, his hammer letting out a squeak. He looked down at what was now a children’s toy and threw it on the ground with a yell.

“Wonder how that happened…” Roman feigned innocence and Logan let out a snort.

“Y-you haven’t seen the last of the Duke!” Remus shouted, marching off. The dragon witch stuck out her tongue at them before following after him.

Once they were gone Roman let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the table. Logan reached out, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’m proud of you, Roman. I know it took a lot of courage to stand up to him like that.”

“It was all thanks to you, really. How can I ever repay you for your help?”

Logan waved the notion off. “I was happy to help, really.” Then he grinned. “Although, we are already at this restaurant and I am feeling kinda hungry…”

Roman grinned, jumping into the dragon witch’s abandoned chair. He snapped his fingers and their mud soaked clothes transformed into fancy suits. The waiter appeared before them, listing the specials.

Roman looked down at the camera in his hand, which had finished developing the photo. He thought Logan would look worried in it, afraid of being shot with an arrow, or that he’d be focused on the dragon witch, but instead he was looking right at the camera, right at Roman. Roman smiled as he took in Logan’s encouraging expression, knowing that he’d meant it when he said he believed in him. Plus, that shield really suited him.

“I’m hanging this on my wall,” Roman commented, showing the picture to Logan. He could have sworn Logan’s cheeks reddened.

“I’m glad we have a photo to capture our first adventure together.”

Roman’s brows furrowed at that.

“No, this can’t be our first adventure. I go on adventures all the time. Like that time I was a sea captain with… Patton… Or that time I owned a haunted mansion with… Virgil. Oh, Logan I’m so sorry for never inviting you into my realm before.”

Logan just shrugged, looking away. “It’s quite alright, Roman. I’m sure that, given the fact that I’m logic, it could be assumed that I wouldn’t enjoy such activities.”

“I still should have asked…”

“But why would you, it’s not like we’re friends or anything. I was surprised to see you at my door, no ones ever visited me before.”

Roman felt like he’d been punched. Logan didn’t think they were friends? Of course they were friends! Even if… He’d never given an indication of such. And no one visited Logan? He thought for sure Patton and Virgil were friends with him outside of videos. He knew they did a few group things, but come to think of it, did he ever see Logan outside of that?

“Of course we’re friends!” Roman announced and Logan’s eyes widened.

“W-we are?”

“Yes!”

Logan looked happy at first but soon grew quiet. He thought for a few seconds before standing up. “Well, you haven’t been a very good friend.”

And with that, he left. Roman let out a groan, putting his head against the table. All the names he’d called Logan and times he’d ignored his interests came to mind and he felt like such an idiot.

“I have to make this up to him.”

The next day Roman knocked on Logan’s door once again. The logical side was much quicker to answer this time, his eyes full of worry.

“Roman, did something happen again?”

Roman frowned, grabbing Logan’s hand and pulling him down the hall.

“No, I’m sorry for making you believe that the only reason I’d come to you is if I needed something. We’re going on an adventure, a real one.”

When they reached the imagination Roman changed them both into space suits. They stepped forward, into a rocket ship.

Logan let out a gasp, studying the controls in awe. “Roman, you really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Roman revealed, showing Logan how to start the ship, “we’re friends after all, it’s only right that I find an adventure that caters to your interests.”

Logan grinned at him, flipping a switch and listening the countdown. They buckled in, yelling as the ship took off.

Once in space, they floated around the cabin, Logan staring out the window in fascination.

“The reason I came to you yesterday,” Roman began, believing it only fair to let him know, “is that you’re calm and collected. I trusted you’d be able to help me and know how to handle the situation. If I… If I had shown up like that at anyone else’s door there would have been a mass panic.” He let out a sigh looking away. “I was also… Scared. Of my brother. But you… You had stood up to him. I admired that. I felt safe with you.”

“Roman…” Logan pulled Roman into a hug. “I’m glad you came to me.”

Roman smiled at him. “Me too.”

The soft moment ended as quickly as it started, as alarms began to sound. Roman grinned excitedly, showing Logan how to attack the alien ship. Logan protested at first, saying they should form an alliance with the aliens.

So, after a long day, the two had ended up with quite a large army formed of different species. They also ended up a few human colonies on different planets and several trade agreements. Luckily for Roman, there were also some battles with species that refused to stand down.

Roman watched Logan’s eyes shine as he stared out at the stars and made a mental note to hang out with him more often. They were friends, after all.

(No tag list because I don't know who's seen the new video or anyone's thoughts about Remus yet)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #ts spoilers #thomas sanders #my fic #tw blood mention #tw fighting #tw intrusive thoughts #tw injury #tw food

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drarryruinedme7 · 5 years

Text

Don't air your dirty laundry in public

This is completely wild @rockmarina 😂I wrote it for you, inspired by real-life event (?? ahahah I hope you’ll like it! ❤️

Betad by amazing @keyflight790 !!! ❤️

Rating: Explicit | Word count: 1.8K | Tags: Domestic Drarry, Draco Malfoy is Clueless about Muggle Things, a lil bit of angsty feelings flavoured with smut and fluffiness | READ IT ON AO3.

Harry went back home to a unique sight.

Draco Malfoy was crouched in front of a… was that a washing machine?

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, sliding his glasses up his head, in the mess of his hair. He exhaled slowly. “Dray, love, what exactly are you doing?”

Draco replied without moving his eyes from the porthole of the washing machine. “I…don’t know. This seems evil to me.”

Harry drew in a breath and closed his eyes. Not again.

“Draco, we’ve discussed this. Muggle things are not evil, they work through electricity and–”

“I know! I know! You’ve told me many times and I’ve bought possibly every single electronic Muggle device by now. Enough to know how they work. It’s just…” Draco pushed the ON button and the washing machine started vibrating, the basket rotating.

He resumed. “I’ve lost the last two hours trying to understand how this works. It seems harder than other devices.” He clutched the information leaflet in his hands, knuckles turning white.

Harry reached him and crouched down. Draco still didn’t move his eyes from the porthole. Harry raised a hand and slowly tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. He lingered a moment on his earlobe, stroking it lightly.

“Dray, I’m proud of you. It’s not easy to understand how these things work if you never grew up with them.”

Two tears broke free from Draco’s lashes to fall down his cheeks. His voice came out broken. “You shouldn’t be p-proud of me. I’m – I’m only doing this to ease my feeling of guilt. I c-can’t understand, Harry.” He angrily wiped the tears with the back of his hand.

Harry placed a kiss on his temple. “What can’t you understand, love?”

“Why! Why my parents hated M-Muggles so much! I – I was an idiot! And believed everything they told me. I was convinced, Harry, I was so convinced Muggles deserved to be hated! Because I couldn’t understand a fucking thing about their world.” Draco’s eyes snapped now towards Harry’s, bloodshot and shiny.

Harry smiled. “Is this why our house is packed with Muggle devices lately? Do you want to understand them?”

Draco blushed a delicate rose and bit his bottom lip. “Y-yes? Am I crazy, Harry?”

Harry snorted and pulled Draco close, claiming his lips in a sweet kiss. “Merlin, you’re the craziest, Dray. But still, I love you and I think it’s cute you want to understand them. Don’t be harsh with yourself, you’ve made some mistakes, but you’ve changed now.”

Draco looked crossed at Harry and pouted. “Hey, you’re supposed to say things like, No honey you’re not crazy.”

Harry brought the back of his right hand in front of Draco’s face. “But I can’t lie, honey. You see, it’s written right here.”

Draco batted off Harry’s hand, rolling his eyes. “Always a show-off. How can you love me, Harry?”

Harry stood up, bringing Draco with him. He didn’t know how to answer to that, so he silently brought him in their bedroom, positioned him on their bed and started wandering through their stuff.

He took out a photo album, a shirt, two identical jumpers, one with a D, the other with an H, a snitch. He placed them on the bed, next to Draco and started talking. “Dray, I love you because you always care for me, you are affectionate and sweet, you remember every anniversary, every birthday, everything I say. The day after I told you I liked this shirt, you bought it for me. It wasn’t even a special occasion. You just did it and you do it all the time.”

Harry sat next to Draco and took the photo album. He opened it, searching for… “Ah! Here! It was Teddy’s birthday and he was so upset because he had a fight with his best friend and didn’t want to celebrate anymore. You just went to pick his friend up at his house and took the two of them to a day trip in the woods. You built a wooden playhouse that day and Teddy was so happy, he kept saying he was the luckiest kid in the world, having an uncle like you. And you know what I thought? That the truly lucky one was me, having you as a husband. You look stunning in this pic with them, the sun makes your hair shine.”

Draco smiled fondly at the memory, brushing his fingers on the pic. “I do look stunning.”

Harry winked and then pointed to the jumpers. Draco giggled and closed his eyes, whispering, “Oh no, please.”

Harry laughed and with a jump, he reached for Draco and put the jumper on top of his head. “Oh yes, please! You hate this jumper, but still, every Christmas you wear it to make Molly happy and I know you do it for me too. You are the cutest with it.”

Draco came out of the head hole with his hair tousled and a frown on his face. “I’m not cute!”

Harry raised an eyebrow and grabbed the snitch. He threw it at Draco, who caught it easily. He was a Seeker, after all. “Objection, Your Honor! The snitch is our last smoking gun!”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re an idiot, Potter.”

Harry’s cheeks burnt and he felt his blood rushing instantly to his cock. His throat was suddenly dry. “D-Draco – c’mon, you know that – don’t call me that! It’s not the right moment.” He scooped a hand in his pants and readjusted his stiffening cock. After all these years, Draco’s tone when he said “Potter” could still drive him totally crazy.

Draco smirked and he brushed his lips over Harry’s neck. He purred, “It’s always the right moment, Potter.”

Harry closed his eyes and his hands flew to Draco’s head, clutching his hair. Draco pushed him down into the mattress and Harry opened his legs, to make room for him between them. He rocked his hips and hissed at the sensation: Draco was already hard as much as himself. He trailed his fingers through Draco’s hair, kissing his chin.

“At least, make me finish.” His voice was low and husky.

Grinding against Harry, Draco replied, “I’ll give you five minutes.” He licked Harry’s ear and then trailed down, nudging the soft spot under his earlobe, kissing Harry’s collarbone, grazing his fingers on Harry’s sides.

Harry’s breath hitched and he slipped his hands under Draco’s jumper, stroking his back. “This is unfair. I’ll never be able to concentrate like this.”

Draco lifted Harry’s jersey and placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his left hip-bone. He breathed, “Three minutes.”

That sent shivers running through Harry’s body, but he managed to swallow around the lump in his throat to answer, “Okay, okay, so. That day, four years ago. That day we played one of our Seeker-to-Seeker games and you won. All three sets. And I was so upset because I’m not used to losing three times in a row. You see, I’m silly too. And, aaah, fuck, damn Draco, aaah, let me finish.”

Draco had unbuttoned his trousers and was leaving hot kisses all along Harry’s shaft through the fabric of his pants. It was arousing. It was distracting.

Draco flicked his eyes up. “One minute, Potter.” He grasped Harry’s waistband and freed his cock that popped out, red and leaking. Draco licked his lips and brushed them on the tip of Harry’s cock, moaning and kissing off the wetness gathered there.

Harry gasped and searched for his last strand of self-control. “Damn, Malfoy. That d-day, when we went back home, you gave me the snitch you f-fucking won, telling me you didn’t need it because…because…”

Draco was now sucking gently Harry’s balls. He gave one last lick. Looked up. “Because I already won the most important thing in my life. Your love. And then I asked you to marry me.” He smiled, that warm smile that made dimples appear in his cheeks and his eyes crinkle with joy.

Harry smiled back. “Told you, you’re the cutest shit. Now, care to take my cock in your mouth?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but grinned. “If you ask like that…”

He finally slid the tip of Harry’s cock inside his mouth and Harry groaned, a low guttural sound coming straight from his groin. Draco’s teasing always made him achingly hard and he already felt close.

Draco started bobbing his head up and down on his shaft; two strokes and he angled himself to swallow the entire length until the tip of Harry’s cock hit his throat, and his nose nudged Harry’s groin hairs, gagging a little. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, coming back up.

Harry’s hand grasped Draco’s hair and pushed his head down again. With a violent shudder, Harry jerked his hips off the mattress, and he coated Draco’s tongue with his hot semen, crying, “Fuck, yes, Dray, yes.”

Draco swallowed around his cock and swirled his tongue around its sensitive head, making Harry’s toes curl and his stomach clench.

“Aah-ah, Dray, umh, stop please.” Harry was half laughing, the tranquillity of the after orgasm sweeping through him.

Draco sighed and sat back on his heels, pouting. “Mmh, but I want more. I could blow you for eternity, you know. You taste so sweet.”

Harry propped up on his elbows, a cheeky smile on his lips, eyelids half-closed. He was about to reply when they heard a loud bang coming from the bathroom.

Alarmed, they ran to it, to find a disaster. The porthole of the washing machine was wide open, water mixed with detergent spilled everywhere, an indefinite mass falling down from it, soaking in the mess on the floor.

Harry quickly tucked his cock in his trousers and looked sideways at Draco. “If you ruined one of my jumpers, I swear – ”

“Ah, is this for clothes?” Draco was scratching the back of his neck. “I thought… it is a washing machine and I washed… I thought it could wash everything, you know.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What did you put in it, Draco?”

He reached the bathroom and crouched to see scattered wooden pieces all over, sponges half destroyed, something that were probably leather gloves completely ruined. Cold sweats formed on Harry’s forehead. “Draco, did you put our broomsticks and our polishing kits in the washing machine?” He turned, glaring at him.

Draco stuttered. “I – um, I could have shrunk our broomsticks and put them to wash with our polishing kits. I m-mean, erm, the kit is for cleaning but, but then, who clean the polishing kit? So, I…”

Harry had thought he would be angry by now, but he could only laugh, tears at his eyes. “You’re amazingly idiot, Dray. How could you think detergent would be good with leather gloves or wood, I don’t know. You’re a special kind.”

Draco blushed deeply, muttering, “You’re not angry with me?”

Harry got up and hugged him tight, soothing him. “I would never. You’re trying, that’s what matters. I love you, Draco.”

Draco looked into his eyes and kissed Harry. “I love you too, Harry.”

#drarry squad #drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #draco X harry #domestic drarry #mywriting #draco malfoy is clueless about muggle things

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

See The Light: Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

yandere bts masterlist | main masterlist

[Edited]

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“And through it all she offers me protection, a lot of love and affection. Whether I'm right or wrong.” – Angels [Robbie Williams]

“Whoa, [Name]. You look like a zombie!”

It was the first thing you heard once you stepped into the dining room. Irene sat on the head of the table, accompanied by a cup of hot cappuccino. Faint smoke rings wafted from the opaque liquid before disappeared into thin air, the enticing smell reached your nostrils. The morning sunlight poured through the window and gave a sheen to her hair that cascaded down her back like a murky waterfall. She wore a white tank top, revealing her pale chest and cleavage that left much to the imagination. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she suppressed the snicker at your disheveled and grumpy appearance.

You cocked an eyebrow at her, oblivious to where the humor lied. Well, had you bothered to take a look in the mirror, you would most likely agree to her remark. Dark bags underlined your bloodshot eyes, messy locks which resembled more of a bird’s nest than actual hair, dry streaks of tears left a crusty feeling along your cheeks, and chapped lips set into a tight line. It was chaotic, and although it wasn't uncommon, it was obviously an odd kind of chaos.

However, Irene didn't look too much into it and merely assumed that you'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Like any sane, rational person in this world, she thought the first - most obvious - thing her mind could conjure. She was wholly unaware of your predicament. That's why, the moment your alarm rang like discord in your comatose ears, you immediately rushed out of the room like it was on fire.

The strangest thing was, you didn’t even remember ever setting up the alarm. However, you couldn’t gather enough strength to start overanalyzing things and jump into conclusions that might or might not be true.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, lazily pulling the chair beside her and plopped down. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Poor you...” Irene giggled a little and stopped when you shot her a glare through your peripheral vision. Clearing her throat, she switched her teasing face into a more concerned one. “But seriously, you usually slept like a log. So what happened?”

“You slept like a log.” you accused. It was too early to provoke an argument – one that she probably thought as silly, and you would think that too, had you were more rational – but you felt like utter shit today.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I screamed for you to let me out but you didn’t come.”

“Wha- whoa, whoa. Let me get this straight,” she coughed into her palm, trying to comprehend the reason behind your sudden accusation. You never complained unless it was to get something out of your chest, and you certainly never made a passive aggressive comment on her. “You, screamed at me to let you out last night?”

Resting your jaw on your palm, you nodded sleepily. “Yeah...”

“But, why? What did you do? Did you lock yourself or something?”

“No,” you glowered, annoyed with her obliviousness. You would regret this later, but you wanted her to know that the incident that occurred last night was no joke. “There was someone in my room, Irene. A man in my room, even though I’ve locked it.”

“What...?” The dark haired woman reeled back, unblemished forehead creased into a skeptical frown. “[Name], you know I’ve locked the front and back door as well.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, clearly he managed to get in.” you scoffed into your palm.

“Maybe you haven’t locked the window?”

“God, Irene. I did.” You slammed your hands on the table and abruptly stood up, knocking the chair off in the process.

Irene just wanted to see the positive, you knew that much. She was giving you a chance to clear your mind; that the incident was probably a product of imagination or nightmare. However, you weren't in the mood to be optimistic. If there was one thing you hated the most, it would be people who doubted your claims despite the truth. Why couldn't they just accept it? Why did they have to question everything?

Why did they have to make you seem like the crazy one here?

“I’ve locked the door and the window, but for some reason, he was still able to enter my room. And you know what he did? He pushed me into the fucking cupboard and locked it! I was so scared because I thought that I would get locked there forever. I tried to scream for help but you didn’t even fucking listen!”

“Okay, okay.” Irene softened her tone to prevent your anger from escalating to fury. Stress from work, frustration at her skepticism, coupled with the bad mood that came from the lack of sleep made you easy to provoke. “We’ll figure this out later, okay? For now, how about we go gardening instead? I think we all need a little fresh air to ease the tension.”

Guilt from snapping at her washed over you as your shoulders dropped. Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Sorry, Irene. I was just... you know, stress and stuff. I know it’s not fair to put the blame because you’re just as exhausted as I am, but I just-”

“It’s alright,” Irene didn't let you finish your sentence before she started patting your back comfortingly. Because she understood, because she accepted your flaws and because she refused to ruin the friendship you both had nurtured over the past years.

And you didn't deserve such a figure in your life.

“I understand. I’m not mad, really.”

You stared at her face. It was calm, completely unbothered from your outburst seconds ago. Sometimes, you wished you could be as composed as her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Why should I lie? Now, come on. There’s a long day ahead of us.”

Irene unlocked the back door and ushered you to the backyard, where flowers of various colors grew in a medium sized plot. Motley butterflies flitted around from one plant to another, sucking on the sweet nectar from the nectaries without a care in the world. Spring breeze fluttered the leafy trees and doused the raging fire in your chest.

“I didn’t know you like gardening,” you commented as you strolled around to inspect the flowers. “Thought you prefer singing than doing dirty work like this.”

“You made it sound like I’m engaging in a shady business.” Hearing her chuckle lifted the tension from your shoulders. Even though she had assured you that she wasn't mad, you couldn't be one hundred percent sure. She could be lying, for all you knew. After all, she had always been the peacemaker. You were the fire, and she was the water to keep your temper in check.

Besides, to get in a fight with your best friend was something you always hated doing. Not to mention, you were having a sleepover in her house. The least you could do was to be cordial with the owner.

“What? It’s true, right?” You giggled along with her whilst touching the soft petals. They seemed to reflect the lightheartedness of the situation.

“Yeah, that’s true.” She tucked locks of dark hair behind her ear and smiled. “But these flowers have been here ever since I moved in. I think the previous owners tended these, I don’t know. Rather than leaving them to die, it’s better to let them grow. Who knows, they might generate money for me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother to argue again. She was right, though. These flowers could bring fortune if they tended correctly. As much as you would love to learn gardening, you didn't have much time to do it.

“Who were the previous owners?” you asked, admiring the lush scenery that laid bare for everyone to see.

“Byun Baekhyun and Kim Taeyeon.”

“Huh, I don’t know them at all...” you murmured distractedly.

Irene huffed out a 'no shit Sherlock' laughter. “Well, obviously.”

A continuous ring interrupted the lull that filled the conversation. Fishing her phone out of her skirt's pocket, Irene raised a hand that indicated that she would accept the call.

“Hold up, Seulgi's calling me. I’m gonna go inside for a bit.”

You shrugged as a response and watched her returned to the house through your peripheral vision. Averting your gaze back to the front, you took a deep breath. The atmosphere was serene, and the air was fresh like in the countryside. Irene truly made the right decision in bringing you here. Who knew what would have happened had you stay inside any longer. You might accidentally lash out to her out of pure frustration alone.

However, your temporary peace was cut short when you heard the familiar knock. This time, it sounded like a tap against a glass. Gulping, you braced yourself to discover the source and slowly turned around. Needless to say, you were unprepared to see the culprit.

It was a man. The same man who had been terrorizing you last night. The same man who let you experienced a real nightmare of being trapped inside a cupboard with no way out.

From this view, you could see his upper body that had been concealed under the darkness last night very well. And you had to say, he wasn't what you expected him to be.

He was tall and possessed a rather exotic face that you saw in typical Korean men. His eyes were rather wide, complemented with a pair of alluring dark irises. Crimson locks fell over his tanned face, a large nose that peaked slightly, and a natural soft pink lips that seemed to set in an eternal smirk. His deep gaze left you feeling oddly vulnerable, but as much as you wanted to seek refuge, fear hindered you to do so. The man wore a grey coat, with some of the buttons opened revealing a black shirt underneath. It was such simple clothing, nothing too remarkable, and yet it successfully added to the mysterious aura that you could sense even from the distance.

Overall, he was quite a looker. The kind of man that would probably have lots of fangirls and secret admirers in tow.

And you would have been attracted to him too, had he didn’t hold something that you thought he wasn’t capable of gaining in the first place. Then again, he had locked you up before. Who's to say that he couldn’t actively injure Irene as well?

The man raised a finger to his lips, one eye fluttered close as he made a hush sign. Like he was about to tell you the biggest, ugliest secret ever known to humanity and he wanted you to swear to absolute secrecy. He smirked once he got the reaction that he wanted from you, before approaching Irene who was still busy talking with her friend. You watched him slowly closed the distance between them, the knife glinting on his hand. The blade had been sharpened, you could tell, and the one side was jagged.

You shivered, imagining what would happen if he buried the knife on her back. Would he, though? Or would he prefer a slice on the neck? Regardless, the jagged part would make the whole place messy with blood.

... And with you as the only witness, you could be counted as the murderer instead.

You tensed up once the possibility dawned on you. He was trying to frame you up by committing a crime you didn't do. Because he knew, he was fully aware of the fact that nobody would believe your story. Why would they? Even your closest friend was skeptical with you, so what made you think that you could convince the jury?

“No, no, no.” you murmured, immediately dashing towards the back door.

It was locked.

How the fuck was it possible when Irene had clearly unlocked it in the first place?!

“Shit!” You let out an involuntary curse and punched the wood, ignoring the pain surged into your fist.

You contemplated the probability of calling the cops, but you left your phone in your room. Again, you contemplated the probability of running for help, but there was nobody in sight. Not even a neighbor. From the looks of it, this was private property. Besides, if you left, you feared that your best friend would be nothing but a bloody corpse. So you needed to find a quick solution to solve this emergency.

But what? The keys were in her hands, and she probably couldn't hear you from here.

Biting your bottom lip, you slowly raised your leg. Irene would be angry at you for breaking her house, but you could care less about that. Better to be scolded than to see her dead.

You took a deep breath and began to kick the wood repeatedly, ignoring the pain and cramp that shot all the way up to your thighs. This was trivial; this was nothing compared to the agony that she would suffer later. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you let anything bad happen to her. Despite your one-sided argument and passive aggressive remark, you loved Irene with your whole heart.

You didn’t think you could bear to see her corpse on her new house, either.

After many kicks, each from different foot, the door finally broke open. The lock was unhinged, but you could deal with that later. You had a more demanding task at hand.

You weren't a hero. You were just as a coward like everybody else. But for the sake of Irene, the friend who despite your vices still stuck with you, you were willing to sacrifice yourself.

“Irene!”

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sweetlangdon · 6 years

Text

Night Terror (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU from “Sojourn.” Soft Michael. Angst, hurt/comfort, with a hint of fluff. Michael struggles to resist his father’s influence, and you try to help him. Takes place in the same ‘verse as Lights.

Suggested listening.

Word Count: 1.8k

The feeling that something’s wrong permeates your shapeless, incoherent dreams, strong enough to rouse you from sleep. A quiet gasp falls from your lips as you startle awake, hair tousled across your pillow, still drowsy and a little disoriented, limbs heavy. You lift your head to find the digital numbers of the clock sitting on your bedside table and groan at the time. Nobody should be awake at this hour. This hour shouldn’t even exist to you—you should be dead to the world and time itself until the sun brightens your room. But the nagging thought of something keeps your eyes open, the familiar, cramped bedroom slowly coming into focus in the dark.

You think it’s an instinctual reaction, that maybe your cat has broken something in his nightly rituals of terrorizing your apartment. It’s an almost monthly occurrence. It’s also a problem for tomorrow, when you’re not exhausted and you’ve had at least one fortifying cup of coffee before dealing with his shit.

But that was before you gained another roommate. Now, there’s another reason to worry; not that you don’t trust him, exactly—he’s been here for a little two months—but things can get downright volatile with the literal Antichrist under your tiny, insignificant roof.

…You’re still trying to process that, for one thing.

When you coaxed Michael Langdon off the streets with the promise of a hot meal and a warm shower, you never expected the metric ton of emotional baggage that he carried with him into your life. And you never expected to accept it, to try and help him, even if you still have no fucking idea what you’re doing.

He’s been quiet and distant at best and moody and stubborn at his worst. He has powers you don’t really understand and it freaks you out a lot more than you’ll admit to him. There’s been days where his mood shifts fast enough to give you whiplash—a darkness that crosses his face before he pulls you in with a watery, pale blue gaze and a whispered apology. You’ve seen the evil that lurks inside his soul (and fuck, is it terrifying), but you’ve also seen the gentleness, too.

It’s his messy, raw, and entirely human side that makes you determined not to fail him. Michael’s revealed his past in broken fragments over the last few weeks, and you kind of want to throat punch everyone who’s given up on him and used him in his short, confusing life. So far, you’ve kept him from stumbling down a dark path of vengeance and destruction. You don’t know how long it’ll last, and that scares you more than whatever the Devil planted in Michael’s soul.

You kind of want to throat punch Satan, too.

If only it was that easy.

A muffled whimpering sound floats down the hallway to your bedroom. This time you know for sure it’s not your cat. You wrench back the sheets when panic begins to settle around your lungs like a vice. Your eyebrows knitting together, concerned, as you hop out of bed in a thin long sleeved shirt and pair of loose cotton shorts, your bare toes ice-cold against the hardwood floor. In the short walk down the hall, the cat finds you; he’s nothing but a black smudge in the shadows, a soft trilling sound while he follows your footsteps. You think maybe he’s worried too; that he’s sensed the same cold fear that prickles down the back of your neck.

“Michael?” His name pierces the quiet, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer. You find him, though, in the semi-dark of your living room, his face obscured by shadows, his hair like gold in the pale moonlight that falls across the floor from the windows. He’s a silhouette huddled on the floor in front of your couch, one knee drawn toward his chest, sitting among a nest of blankets and pillows scattered around him.

You notice the violent, wracking movement of his chest from the way he’s trying to stifle his crying. You realize it’s because he never meant to wake you up, and your own heartbreak manages to push away whatever fatigue had been dragging you down a moment before.

“What happened?”

You ask even though you know. He’s had nightmares before, and you’ve pretended not to notice unless he brings it up. You just want to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself.

You approach, slowly, and Michael’s head snaps up from the shelter of his hands. “Stay away from me.”

He sounds hoarse and though he tries for a commanding tone that you should be wary of, he can’t quite summon the energy. He hasn’t sounded this broken since the day he arrived in your apartment with a thousand-yard stare and unsteady legs. You hate it. You fucking hated it then—that tremor in his lower lip, the tears that made trails through the dirt on his face, the fact that you could barely get him to speak for two days—and you hate it even more now.

“Just go.” He waves you off, one hand sliding into his hair. You can’t ignore the tremble in his voice, how desperate he is in the fight against his tears. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.” You settle on your knees and sit back on your legs in front of him, allowing him a comfortable amount of space. The hand slung over his bent knee is shaking, and some part of you wants to reach out and hold onto him, but you stop yourself. “Talk to me, Michael—I just want to help you. Tell me how…let me help.”

“No.” It comes out as a sob, and your heart shatters. Michael shakes his head, mussed curls under his fingers moving with him. The silvery moonlight finds the tears on his cheeks, the rosy splotches across his skin and his bloodshot eyes telling you he’d been crying for some time. “He wanted me to kill you.”

The confession makes your mouth go dry and the breath catch in your lungs.

“It’s like an impulse I can’t control, sometimes.” His voice is still rough, wavering between sorrow and exasperation. “I wanted to snap your neck, like I was blinded by all of his anger inside of me. Like I…don’t even fucking recognize myself. It’s so loud…I can’t sleep because I don’t know who I’ll be when I wake up.”

Michael buries his face in his hand and you see more tears trickle across his cheekbones. “I don’t know what to do anymore…how to stop him from whispering in my ear. One of these nights, I’m afraid I’ll have your blood on my hands and that’s it. That’s all I’m meant to do.”

Warm tears spill down your own cheeks, and Michael’s scrawny, huddled form blurs for a moment. “But you didn’t,” you tell him. “You made a choice, right? You were strong enough to resist whatever you felt.”

“What happens when I can’t?” Michael pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyelids flutter closed. “I can’t do this forever.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.” You finally reach over and settle your hand on top of his, and you’re thankful when he doesn’t recoil from your touch. His fingers are impossibly warm under your own. “It’s going to take time, and it’s not going to be easy. You spent most of your life being told what you were supposed to be, Michael, and no one ever asked you what you wanted. No one ever gave you a choice. But you have that now. You get to decide. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” He opens his eyes and blinks at you, bright blue nearly translucent in the light of the moon. He looks just as lost and solemn as he did the day you found him, and before you can think twice about it, your fingers lace between his on top of his knee. “Anything but whatever he wants from me.”

“That’s a start.” Your thumb brushes over his, and Michael’s fingers tighten around yours. “There’s so much good in you, Michael. I can see it. You just need to be reminded that it’s there. Lucky you have me for that.” You offer him a smile, and he nods at you, sniffling, the last of his tears streaking down his chin. “And you don’t have to do any of this alone. I’m right here. He can’t have you, because I’m right fucking here and he’s going to have to fight me first.”

That gets you a weak smile, an almost imperceptible curve of his lips. “I believe you.”

“You’d better,” you tell him. “I’m not the least bit threatening but I’ll kick his fucking ass for you, I promise.” Even though you don’t really want to, you squeeze his hand before you untangle your fingers. “Try to get some sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”

Michael reaches for your hand again, long, slender fingers curling around your own. He peers over at you in the dark with those soft blue eyes, and all you see is a lost, frightened child; someone who’s done with being abandoned and abused. You don’t want to ever be the one to make him feel that way.

“Stay.” Michael’s voice is small and gentle, a fraught whisper. “Please.”

You nod and crawl over to sit next to him with your back against the side of the couch. The cat is sprawled across one of the cushions above your head, asleep on one of the pillows that hadn’t fallen onto the floor. You know it’s because he prefers to be as close as he can manage to Michael. It’s there, beside him, your knee and shoulder pressed against his, that you notice the sweat that’s matted some of his curls to the side of his face. His shirt is damp, too; soaked through and clinging to his slender frame, dotted with tear stains. You lean into him, drawn to the impossible heat that he radiates.

Michael settles his head against your shoulder, his hair soft as it brushes your cheek. You forget how to breathe for a minute, surprised by the ease in his decision to be so close to you, to trust you, to find comfort in your presence. You feel the ebb and flow of his breathing against your side, and find yourself lulled by it. He’s so warm, you think; you can’t focus on anything else. Maybe you shouldn’t, because you don’t want to dwell on Michael’s sadness and loss and all the different ways that he’s been left unloved. You want to help him, and for the first time, you begin to believe that maybe you can.

Michael falls asleep before you. You follow soon after, your hand resting on top of his, as if you’ll be able to protect him while he sleeps. You hope that it’s enough, for now.

@lastregasolitaria @zeciex @mylippo @thelangdoncooperative @langdonfern @lvngdvns @langdonsgun @langdonsdemon @langdonsrapture

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon imagine #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse #fic: angst #fic: roommate series

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weibuyaolian · 6 years

Text

chapter 95: to want all the time

☆、第95章寤寐第二十 6

^is what the title actually is. It’s literally awake and asleep, but apparently also means “to think of day and night, to long for”, so there’s that.

Part two of the drunk Lan Wangji bathtub scene! Spoilers for how Lan Zhan acts when drunk.

>thirsties of dual cultivation trash discord ;)

also, there was originally a part that was just “a small crab scuttles past” because that was what was in the cut version I found (sto.cc). Thanks to this twitter post for motivating me to go locate the spicy stuff.

Tonight, Wei Wuxian had already directed countless of these small flirtatious gestures toward Lan Wangji because he was used to Lan Wangji just going along with it. So now, when he was suddenly grabbed and stopped, Wei Wuxian didn't even react until after a moment. In a suppressed voice, Lan Wangji said, "Stop moving."

His silhouette was beautiful, especially with the translucent droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. While his expression was icy cold, his gaze held a scorching heat.

It was probably that the effects of tonight's wine were too much, because Wei Wuxian felt his head start to get warmer.

He said, "Stop moving? Why? You've already let me move around for so long?"

Lan Wangji kept his lips shut and said nothing, but the hand on his wrist didn't relax — he seemed very determined.

One corner of his mouth curled up and he laughed softly. "If I insist on moving, do you think you could even do anything about it in this state?"

Lan Wangji stared fixedly at him, sparks flickering in his gaze.

This face, this kind of expression, this kind of gaze, these circumstances, this person...it affected Wei Wuxian as if his entire person had been tossed into a rationality-burning fire and incinerated.

He suddenly went a bit insane and reached his other hand into the water, grabbing a certain part of Lan Wangji and roughly tugged at it. Breathily, he said, "Hanguang-Jun, don't you tell me that you don't like me touching you like this!"

Like he'd been bitten by a venomous snake, or enraged by his actions, Lan Wangji yanked hard. Wei Wuxian felt a scary force, and then, unable to control his own body, he was dragged in with Lan Wangji.

The water splashed everywhere, making a complete mess.

He didn't know who started it, but when Wei Wuxian regained a bit of clarity, he was already sitting on Lan Wangji's lap, hugging him like that. And they'd been kissing in a mess of lips and tongue for a while, too. The two of them were pressed tightly together, and while they were obviously both drenched, the only thought left in his brain were irresistibly passionate, as if the flames of desire had ignited a pile of dry wood. His moment of clarity didn't last long. There was a faint voice in the bottom of his heart telling him that Lan Wangji was drunk, that he could no longer tell right from wrong, so doing something like this was inappropriate and that he really shouldn't. But that voice was immediately buried into oblivion and silenced by the breathless, sloppy kisses.

Wei Wuxian crossed his forearms behind Lan Wangji's neck and kissed him like he could not bear to part with him, doing whatever felt good. The repeated promises of "I'll just ask him a few questions" and "I won't do anything else" from before had already been cast far, far away.

Suddenly, he gasped and pulled back, cursing. "Lan Zhan! Why are you biting people like you're a dog again?!"

He was unsatisfied with the out-of-place pause, so his answer was to bite his chin again. Wei Wuxian was most afraid of this, so he reached out a hand to where he'd teased earlier and massaged it again.

Lan Wangji's expression suddenly changed, and Wei Wuxian laughed until he had to stop to catch his breath. He pecked the corner of Lan Wangji's mouth and said, "What, does it hurt, are you angry yet?"

He tugged at his thoroughly soaked robes and took them off, saying, "Lan Zhan, did you know, I really like it when you're angry......"

His words were full of fearless excitement. Lan Wangji's skin was so hot he seemed about to burst into flames. He wrapped an arm firmly around his waist and whacked the edge of the tub with the other hand. The bathtub immediately fell apart and the floor of the room immediately became an unsightly mess.

But the two of them could not be bothered by such irrelevant, not crucial things. Lan Wangji picked up Wei Wuxian and tossed him on the bed. Wei Wuxian had barely sat up a bit before he was pressed back down. The action was extremely ferocious, completely unlike the praiseworthy, well-mannered Hanguang-Jun. Wei Wuxian's back hurt from the rough treatment, but when he cried out, Lan Wangji only lessened the pressure a bit. Next to his ear, Wei Wuxian said, "Looking at you, it's impossible to tell you'd be so rough in bed."

The earlobe by his lips was a lustrous, jade-like white. Wei Wuxian couldn't resist nipping it and then then tugging it into his mouth and sucking on it. Lan Wangji's fingers, which had been clutching Wei Wuxian's shoulders, suddenly tightened their grip. Wei Wuxian hissed at being pinched like that and tilted his head to look at his shoulder, which now had five red imprints. Lan Wangji's hand had slid to Wei Wuxian's waist.

Wei Wuxian wanted to tease him and swatted his hand aside. Laughingly, he said, "In a hurry?"

As he said that, he slid his knee between the legs of the person on top of him and nudged. Lan Wangji's eyes were almost completely bloodshot. Wei Wuxian said. "It's not like I won't disrobe I just want to do it myself."

True to his word, he readily ripped off everything on his lower half with two tugs, then smoothly embraced Lan Wangji's shoulders and back, pulling him down toward himself.

The two of them were now naked, rubbing together skin-to-skin, pressed intimately close together, heads tilting to kiss. Wei Wuxian's left hand pressed down on the back of Lan Wangji's neck, preventing him from pulling back or even leaving a sliver of space as he bit and rubbed his lips, and swallowed his breaths and his saliva. He right hand traced down the muscles of Lan Wangji's exquisite and powerful back, trailing lower and lower until he felt the slightly raised scars from the disciplinary whip, which he caressed gently.

Lan Wangji's actions became even more explicit. He slid the slender, pale fingers of both hands all over Wei Wuxian's body a few times before greedily lingering around his waist and butt. Wei Wuxian was touched and played by those two hands, but the person playing him no longer had any of the elegant coldness he'd had in the past, when playing the seven-stringed guqin.

At first, Wei Wuxian could enjoy it, but after a while, it just felt like the delicate skin of his thighs was just being pinched and rubbed by Lan Wangji. It was a sensitive area, and with Lan Wangji's terrifying arm strength, it soon became itchy and painful, numb and tingly. Wei Wuxian choked on his own breath, moved his swollen and red lips aside, and panted for a bit. He jokingly moved aside that hand which was not the least bit gentlemanly. In a mocking tone, he said, "Never would've thought Hanguang-Jun would get so coarse and wild after the clothes come off, you were wrongly deemed upright......ah!"

Lan Wangji roughly pinched a point on his chest, and Wei Wuxian's body curled up, trying to duck away. Lan Wangji made a threatening sound, making Wei Wuxian hurriedly say, "Okay, quit that, I'll let you pinch." So saying, he took Lan Wangji's hand and pulled it toward his own body. Laughing, he said, "Whatever you want to pinch, you can."

In this moment of satisfaction, Wei Wuxian felt he had a kind of innate perverseness.

Thinking of it was one thing, doing it was another thing altogether. In his two lives, no one had touched that intimate area aside from himself. But when Lan Wangji’s heated hand wrapped around him, Wei Wuxian couldn’t resist a full-bodied shiver as he curled in on himself. Being grasped by those fingers and pumped rhythmically by that palm felt too good. It wasn’t too long before, despite himself, his body arched. He wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, thrusting into his hand.

Lan Wangji’s movements sped up, making Wei Wuxian gasp, eyes falling shut in pleasure. His fingers ached to grab onto something, finally settling on Lan Wangji’s solid back, clenching and unclenching unceasingly. He suddenly realised that he shouldn’t be the only one feeling good, so he reached down toward Lan Wangji with his right hand.

As soon as he palmed it, he felt the hard and thick object get even bigger, solid like iron in the palm of his hand. Just touching it made his face burn. He’d never thought he’d touch another man there; it was unthinkable. But knowing he was touching Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian felt his excitement spike to the point that he could barely control his strength. He gripped him and as he stroked him wildly, he used his bare thighs to rub against him, grinding on him over and over again. Lan Wangji’s breathing stumbled and grew rough He pulsed in Wei Wuxian’s grip and became even hotter.

In their ears was the sound of their increasingly uncontrollable breathing, and the moans that Wei Wuxian couldn’t suppress. He didn’t know how long it’d been, but Wei Wuxian felt the blood and arousal rush low in his body, threatening to boil over. He felt a tingling sensation, and fragmented whimpers escaped from his throat as he said, “Lan...Lan Zhan, wait, wait, I…” But before he could finish speaking, the urgent arousal burst from him.

Wei Wuxian was breathless, his mind a haze. A while later, he traces of a pale fluid on Lan Wangji’s firm abdomen and realised that he’d come, and that Lan Wangji had released at the same time as well, right between Wei Wuxian’s legs. Wei Wuxian shifted slightly, and it continued to drip down his thighs, over sensitive areas. He was all too aware of it, and knew without looking that there was a big mess. The stickiness between his legs made Wei Wuxian a bit uncomfortable, but it was outweighed by an incomparable sense of satisfaction.

Lan Wangji's warm body covered Wei Wuxian's, burying his sounds against his chest. Wei Wuxian's whole body had gone boneless and he felt melty from his fingertips to the top of his head, rendering him so lazy as to not even want to curl his fingers. It was only long time later that the waves of heat finally faded from his body and his breathing gradually evened out.

Being so solidly pinned down stirred in his heart an incomparable sense of tranquility and quietude. He tilted his head down and pressed a light kiss to Lan Wangji's hair. Around their breaths, there was not only the cold scent of sandalwood, but also a trace of the honey locust from the bath earlier. The ambiguous, musky smell was no longer so obvious.

Wei Wuxian had originally wanted to ask Lan Wangji something, but now, didn't feel like he needed to ask anymore, he could just say it himself.

Quietly, Wei Wuxian said, "Lan Zhan......are you listening?"

Immediately, Lan Wangji responded with an "en".

Wei Wuxian said, "I have something to say to you."

He paused, then, in a slightly unreadable voice, lightly said, "Thank you, Lan Zhan. I......"

If he hadn't run into Lan Wangji after he'd come back this life. Wei Wuxian wasn't sure how he'd be right now.

No matter what, he felt, it wouldn't be better than how he was now.

But, hearing these words, Lan Wangji's entire body instantly stiffened.

Wei Wuxian remained completely oblivious, and was about to kiss him and keep talking when Lan Wangji suddenly pushed him away and sat up.

Wei Wuxian didn't expect to be shoved to the other side of the wooden bed, and at the impact, he gave a muffled cry. Lan Wangji was looking down, chest shallowly rising and falling, breaths a bit too hurried.

The two of them sat silently and stared at each other a whole, before Lan Wangji moved first.

His face was extremely pale, but his eyes were very bright. He picked up one of the white robes on the floor and draped it over Wei Wuxian's body before finding something for himself to wear.

Wei Wuxian almost couldn't believe that everything that had happened was real.

It was like in sweet and gentle dream full of affectionate feelings, he'd also had a nightmare, run into a basin of cold water, gotten splashed from head to toe with cold shock. And like he'd been forcefully smacked in the face, leaving his ears ringing and his heart pounding, so dizzy that it would be a long while before he could even make any sound. When he could finally manage to open his mouth, his throat had gone hoarse.

Wei Wuxian said, "......Lan Zhan, have you sobered up?"

Lan Wangji had gotten fully dressed, sitting away on the wooden couch. He rubbed his forehead with his right hand, then turned around to the mess of the room with his back to Wei Wuxian. A while later, he spoke lowly. "En."

Although he couldn't figure out when exactly he'd sobered up, Wei Wuxian was sure he had, at least somewhat.

Since Lan Wangji reacted like this once sober, it made it even clearer that he hadn't wanted to continue what had been happening earlier.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian regained his senses.

He finally realized how despicable his actions earlier had been.

---

As always, the line-by-line!

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #魔道祖师 #wangxian #忘羡 #modaozushi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation

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