#insomnia is a curse I wish on no one

[rachadoodz]

All I want is to sleep through the night. I just want to sleep. I swear to god

[aberooski]

I love Taylor. I always have and to some degree I always will. She means too much to me and is such an important figure and source of joy and light in my life when I desperately needed, and a connection to my own father that I need desperately, to deny that I will always look on her fondly to some degree as silly as that may seem sometimes and to some people.

But that doesn't mean I don't/won't/can't be critical of her or be disappointed or disagree with choices she makes or has made, because I absolutely have been and I absolutely am.

My problem is that I always, with every fiber of my being, look for and try to see the best in people and believe in people until I absolutely can't anymore. Unless it's something truly reprehensible and irredeemable, my brain simply cannot comprehend the idea that one bad decision or mistake trust me I know she's made more than one lately can automatically invalidate or negate anything and everything good a person has ever done. I've genuinely tried to understand it and unfortunately, I can't wrap my head around the concept. I give grace to a fault. I get sad when I see things said about her in a negative light even when I completely understand and even agree, because I have so much love for her in my heart. It's that tride and true naive, blind optimism in me I guess.

But I do not in any way think she's a perfect person, I know she isn't, because nobody is. Some are just better at hiding that than others. She makes mistakes, she's wrong sometimes, she is a human being who messes up. Sometimes in big ways. And unfortunately she's messed up a few times over the last year or so and that makes me sad. It disappoints me because I love her so much, and I do want and expect better of her. And in the process of that, it makes me very sad that I feel like I have to hide the facet of myself that does still love her despite my disappointment in her or risk making people upset with me now because I'm so afraid of upsetting people. I'm terrified of doing or saying the wrong things I try so hard to do the best I can every day and it's disappointing to see her slip up. It's sad. It makes me very sad.

It's a complicated time to love her right now. I hope, in my heart of hearts, I sincerely hope that sooner rather than later it won't have to be that way anymore. Not just for me, but for all of us who feel that complexity or conflict of emotions.

[silkscream]

once bitten, twice shy

megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k (i cannot write anything under 2k to save my life)

ੈ✩ tags: emotionally constipated megumi, tsundere basically, friends to lovers, a lil angst, not actually unrequited love, pining, alcohol, typical yuuji nobara antics

ੈ✩ a/n: this is not xmas themed despite the title BUT it does end up taking place on satoru's birthday for plot reasons. megumi fushiguro your intimacy issues bewitch me mind body and soul.....

megumi does not know what to do with his feelings.

he’s never been the type to be particularly in touch with them — he didn’t remember his parents enough to blame them for whatever avoidant attachment he’d accustomed himself to. or maybe, that was the exact cause of said attachment style. gojo taking him in when he was a child didn’t help either — the man also refused to be very vulnerable around him, merely acting as a benefactor and a nuisance at best.

and while he was closest to tsumiki, he’d still built up a wall around himself that she couldn’t get through, and she knew it. she couldn’t break through it in his pre-teen years, and certainly not his teenage years when he was taking out his aggression on his classmates. he would ignore her soothing words and resent her kindness. perhaps he’d taken after toji in that way. constantly fending for himself for the sake of survival. always convinced that he was doomed to be alone.

and then there was you.

he’d met you first at jujutsu tech before any of the other students could. after sparring with maki, he’d been dismissed to shoko’s office. he’d opened the door that september day and was immediately met with your wide eyes, your searing cursed energy. gojo had found another stray.

shoko had made him your first experiment and you excelled. his injuries were healed within minutes. if anything, he felt better than he had in months — after battling insomnia and panic attacks, he felt… calm. like his brain was cleansed and that he had nothing to stress about. (until the next time gojo had gotten on his nerves.)

your introduction to his class was nothing extravagant despite gojo’s theatrics. megumi couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you after that — during practice battles, lectures, or lunch. he was always hyperaware of your presence. he blamed it on your cursed energy.

he hates how enthusiastic yuuji is about you, how yuuji tells him about how he manages to get you alone even though you often keep to yourself, and how he thinks you’re so fucking pretty, and that you’d agreed to watch the human earthworm movies with him. (megumi had refused when yuuji asked.)

he stews in that anger quietly because he’d rather die than let anyone know. nobara knows better, of course. she teases him about it and brings up jealousy.

why should megumi ever be jealous of yuuji? the boy was a freak accident in human form, with no inherent technique. who fucking cares that he can make you laugh without any effort?

it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. because you have no direct effect on megumi and you don’t distract him during school. he doesn’t cling onto the memory of your hands on his skin. he doesn’t wish for the feeling again. of course not.

he tells this to yuuji and nobara, too. there’s one day where nobara goes too far — she teases him about setting up a date, that you rave about him, that he’s definitely your type. megumi doesn’t believe a word of it, especially because you’re probably more comfortable with yuuji. he doesn’t care to date because it would hold him back. he’s too focused on his training, on being the best, because he’s determined to follow in gojo’s shadow even if he won’t admit it. he could be the second strongest. he could be the most reliable.

it comes out in all the wrong ways. he’s more irritable than usual, so he yells at nobara instead of seething in hushed tones. he rants about how he does’t need someone by his side, certainly not you, whose only benefit is to heal superficial injuries and not much else. how your combat skills are poor, how easily you get beat when you spar on the field. how compared to him, you’re weak, so you’re of no use.

unfortunately, you hear him. every thought on his mind that tumbles out of his stupid mouth, his tone spewing wrath. you know that megumi is a moody person, but you’d never think him to be mean.

you pretend you’re just passing by, but from the faces nobara and yuuji are making, megumi already senses your presence. the color drains from his face, cobalt eyes wide.

“i’m — i’m sorry, i didn’t mean —“

“it’s okay, fushiguro,” you say softly. even after that shitshow, you’re still fucking smiling. it puts a sinking feeling in megumi’s stomach.

“ah, i got an extra pack of mochi and thought you guys would like it.”

you hand over a small bag and megumi takes it wordlessly.

“that’s so sweet,” yuuji beams, attempting to deflect. “hey, i was just looking for you. do you happen to have those jujutsu history notes? kugisaki spilled a soda on mine.”

“you knocked it over!” nobara protests.

“you put it on top of my stuff!”

you take your notebook out of your bag and hand it to yuuji graciously, avoiding megumi’s gaze and making up an excuse to see all of them later.

apparently, “later” means a week after. megumi sees you in class, and while he attempts to walk you to the dining hall or invite you to hang out, you bolt out the door before catching anyone’s attention. he has to find out how you are from fucking yuuji, who somehow gets to see you around the dorms every other day.

“i think she just likes to keep to herself, s’all,” yuuji says. he can sense megumi’s anxiety just from being in the same room as him.

“but you see her all the time.”

“she’s been tutoring me a little. and we just like the same movies and stuff.”

yuuji shrugs casually. his nonchalance makes megumi’s blood boil, because of course he’s the one who gets to occupy all of your time. of course you’re probably most comfortable with him. he knows he shouldn’t be seething at the thought of you two together — it isn’t his right. but his jealousy is starting to get the best of him lately.

“are you guys together?” he blurts out.

“no?” yuuji furrows his brows. “if anything, i feel like nobara might be trying to make a move since she’s way nicer to her than she is to us. except i’m pretty sure she and maki have been going out lately.”

“maki?”

“dude, keep up!”

and when yuuji accuses of megumi having a crush again, the same way nobara did all those weeks ago before he made a fucking fool of himself, megumi shuts it down with a grimace and a blush. he’s merely concerned about your wellbeing is what it is. that’s what he’s able to muster up to yuuji, of course, who absolutely isn’t buying it based on his shit-eating grin.

it’s annoying, especially because yuuji can make you feel more comfortable, comfortable enough to hang with the whole trio, and the pink-haired bastard has to meddle like a little troll. bumping the two of you into each other like you’re in middle school. somehow, it worsens everything. not your dynamic, but megumi’s self-consciousness.

he was already so extremely aware of you, but now he’s convinced that some angel above has tied the red string between you both extra tight. megumi looks for you in every crowd, awaits your arrival every day in the classroom and at lunch, and it’s starting to feel pathetic — the lightness in his chest whenever you’re even so much as ten feet away. his heart even beats faster at the anticipation of your text in the group chat, for fuck’s sake.

and then there’s gojo’s birthday party, a surprise orchestrated by the four of you, despite megumi’s reluctance. you’re particularly more radiant than usual. maybe it’s the lighting. maybe it’s the dress you have on.

despite the amount of shots he’s been forced to take in the past hour (three), megumi is still sober enough to feel anxious around you. though, he thinks he might be drunk enough to be lost in your image, fixating on your collarbone and the way your hair falls in your face as you laugh at one of gojo’s stupid jokes. it’s when the two of you lock eyes that megumi feels out of it, because you smile at him. you fucking smile.

if the warmth of the liquor wasn’t currently raising heated blood to his head, he’d deny the sparks that came from the mere sight of your smile, but he was hopeless. you’re mesmerizing. dizzying. he doesn’t know what to do with his face, not when his cheeks are flushing red and his motor skills are slowing down. fuck, maybe he was a lightweight like gojo after all.

he’s clearly out of touch with reality, because the moment fades as soon as it comes. perhaps it wasn’t a moment at all. he watches you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your mouth moving slowly as you mingle with other classmates. he’s fucking fixated on your mouth — your lipstick tonight is a blush red with a shiny gloss reflecting light. megumi has only dreamed of what your lips would taste like once or twice. no more than that. he swears on it.

there’s brief eye contact between the two of you again for half a second. there’s a coy smile on your face as always before you slip out the back door of the house.

there are so many bottles around the place that no one will notice megumi taking an entire bottle of champagne for himself. he scowls at the taste, of sickeningly sweet pears — courtesy of gojo, probably. his head swims and thinks of you.

his momentary peace is rudely interrupted by the sound of nobara’s voice in his ear, asking for you.

“ijichi’s setting up karaoke!”

“there is no way in hell that i’m—”

“i don’t care what you do, emo, but i need her to do a duet!”

megumi heaves a sigh, making his way to the backyard where he finds you sitting on a tree stump. even with the dim fairy lights, he probably would’ve missed you if not for the cherried end of your cigarette.

“fushiguro-kun,” you nod at him.

“megumi,” he rasps. “just… megumi is fine.”

“oh, i get special privileges now? how come?”

there’s no mirth in your tone. you’re teasing him. he doesn’t answer your question.

(the mere act of you teasing him becomes an intimacy in itself — he had never thought that you would be comfortable enough to talk to him in jest. you’d maintained your distance from him fairly well.)

“didn’t know you smoked.”

“only when i drink,” you shrug. “ieiri-san doesn’t make much of an effort to hide her cigarettes, either. don’t tell on me, though.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he doesn’t know where to look. luckily, you’re not looking at him, so he can settle his gaze on your mouth nursing the cigarette. plump. glossy under the moonlight.

megumi is not used to wanting. he had never asked gojo for anything during his adolescence, and refused any gesture of kindness from anyone. he was convinced since childhood that there was no point in desire because disappointment would be on the other end of it either way.

he’d like to be a monk about it. he could control himself and focus on his studies. never spare you a glance again that isn’t platonic. and then a cool december wind blows past the two of you, and he smells your amber perfume.

and when he turns his head, you’re looking at him, eyes bright.

“so… not enjoying the party?”

“i’m not really one for parties.”

“me neither,” you shrug. “that’s why i like to do my little ritual of escaping.”

“we have that in common.”

you hum, a noncommittal noise. you take another drag of your cigarette, which disintegrates slowly.

“what a pair, the two of us.”

megumi can’t pick up any sarcasm from your voice, though he assumes it. it makes his stomach drop even though the statement is harmless. the two of you. together. it makes endless futures bloom in his mind. maybe it’s the prosecco, but it almost makes him want to vomit. to think that he was even good enough to be beside you in your future.

you curse quietly when you pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, realizing it’s dead. megumi gives you a once-over. the jacket you’re wearing is all too familiar. like him, you’re not one to wear very many colors. but this jacket is bright red, varsity style, and oversized on you.

“is that itadori’s jacket?” megumi stammers.

“oh, yeah. i didn’t realize how cold it would be tonight.”

“oh.”

“why?” you give him a curious smile.

“nothing,” he coughs. “are… you two…”

you laugh and it’s like a song to him.

“i think he might be my best friend, s’all. why? you jealous?”

he looks at you again, head-on, your eyes still bright. brighter than fluorescents. there’s something in your irises that is meant to provoke him, but he’s dispensed of his usual cautious nature after he takes another gulp from the bottle.

“more than you can imagine,” he huffs.

“sorry?”

“’m not repeating that.”

“what, you’re not saying you’re like, into me, are you?” you exasperate.

megumi remains silent, cheeks flushed. he thinks that if his head could heat up any more, he’d end up with a migraine.

you breathe the tiniest gasp. if it wasn’t for how close megumi was to you, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“i kind of thought you hated me, you know,” you admit.

“i could never hate you. i don’t think anyone could.”

“you don’t have to pretend,” you sigh. he didn’t notice until now that your cigarette was finished, discarded onto the dirt with your boot to crush it into ash. “i— beyond the politeness, i get it. that i’m not your type or whatever. you don’t even have to be friends with me, fushiguro-kun.”

“megumi,” he emphasizes.

“megumi.”

“i’m not pretending. i… i really fucking like you,” he slurs. “it kind of scares me how much.”

“you’re drunk.”

“i am. i know you heard me say all that shit to kugisaki and itadori, but it’s because they put me on the spot and i was nervous. i don’t know how to… deal with feelings. honestly, if i wasn’t even a little drunk right now, i’d probably have left the party with my tail in between my legs and avoided you for the next fucking week, and you don’t deserve that. you deserve… everything.”

“even you?”

when did you get so close to him? if he sauntered just a few inches in your direction, he could touch your noses together. he can smell your perfume so deeply.

“it’s the other way around,” megumi breathes. “i don’t deserve you. not anything close to you.”

“what if i want you regardless?” your voice is just above a whisper. a prayer, a hymn. a wish to be blown out.

megumi swallows the lump in his throat. he blinks at you, dark indigo luminescent. the world slows down. he may owe it to the liquor and the wine, but he assumes it’s just your presence. your scent, the softness of your hair in between his fingers, your soft breaths.

“what do you want, megumi-kun?”

he remembers something gojo said. that to be a jujutsu sorcerer, he has to be selfish. he’s not sure if that philosophy applies to the situation at hand, but he’d be damned if he let you crawl into bed tonight without knowing how he truly felt about you. so, uncharacteristically, he takes a leap forward.

he unwinds the tension in his body and presses his lips to yours. it’s soft, chaste, innocent. something like a pause. he’s afraid to touch you, but you’ve already reeled him in with arms thrown around his shoulders, fingertips touching the softness of his black hair.

you bump your nose with his, shyly, and he kisses you open-mouthed. tongue in your mouth, meshing the taste of tobacco and prickly pear. the vanilla chapstick that he’d put on before he followed you out to the backyard.

he has one hand caressing your jaw and the other on your shoulder, thumb brushing over your collarbone in a way that makes your entire body shiver. you’re embarrassed at the pool of desire in between your legs.

megumi has never let himself be full of wanting, but at the moment, his veins are surging with it. it’s like a drug to him — your warmth, your scent, the saccharine taste of your mouth. your flesh is so soft, so pliable, from the way you dip towards the cavern of his lanky body, pressed against him chest to chest. letting his hand dig into the fat of your hip. fingertips grazing the skin underneath your shirt.

maybe it’s the liquor, but he’s feeling experimental — he tucks your bottom lip in between his teeth. pulls your hair ever so slightly. you mewl into his mouth quietly and he thinks that he’s never felt anything better than this. you’re wrapped up in all of him. you can quite literally feel the heat on his cheeks and both of you realize how aroused he is, his bulge prodding your thigh.

“fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, and he pulls away. only a few inches are separating you as he takes a moment to breathe. his eyes are blown out wide, black stretching across dark blue. both of you are stunned, panting, and the tension is more palpable than ever.

a rustling of grass makes both of you jump. when he turns, he sees yuuji and nobara staring with wide eyes.

“you owe me 7,000 yen,” yuuji deadpans to nobara.

“seriously, fushiguro? i didn’t think you had it in you!”

“i always had faith in you, fushiguro!” yuuji chimes.

while you giggle, megumi growls under his breath at the new intrusions of dumb and dumber.

“i personally thought you were way out of his league,” nobara tells you.

“eat shit.” megumi seethes with arms crossed, and despite his wrath, he resembles more of an angry kitten to you than any potential threat.

“sheesh, don’t summon a shikigami on them, megumi,” you tease with a pleased grin.

“i—” he stumbles over his words in frustration, grimacing. “what do the two of you want, anyway?”

“gojo-sensei got ijichi to sing doja cat.”

“oh, i’ve gotta see this,” you snort, grabbing megumi by the hand as you begin to usher the crew back inside. his heart leaps at the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his.

despite his inhibitions, megumi’s decided that he could get used to this.

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: ellie williams was a firm follower of the bro code, having loyalty as her all time specialty despite being constantly tempted by the devil, or how others called her: her best friend’s sister.

pairing: bbf!ellie williams x reader

warning: sexual content and jealousy, a little bit of short ellie erasure for the sake of one scene but i am pretty sure that’s all there is to it! i love bbf!ellie i wish my brother had a best friend like her unfortunately life isn’t fair-

She’s enthralled by the videogame, tongue peaking out the side of her lips and eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration, the only things to break her out of trance being your brother’s eventual shit talking and elbow hitting that only made a smirk plaster her face, knowing to be winning, fingers steady on the controls.

“What the fuck” Your brother suddenly exclaims, and though ready to brag on about her streak something in his tone indicates it is not the game he was gagged about. Ellie follows his gaze straight onto a half naked blonde attempting to clothe herself by the kitchen on her way out. She recognized her, as lesbians did, Abby Anderson was on the hockey team of their community college and she wondered how in the world she were to know this house. It took you walking up behind her in somehow even littler clothes for it to dawn on her with a teeth clench.

“Abs, you forgot this” You point out handing her a sweatshirt which the girl accepted in flushed cheeks Ellie had never seen before from someone so infamous for sleeping around.

You weren’t a thing, Ellie knew that, fuck, she was the one who made sure of it, turning down your advances at every opportunity, but there was always something in the back of her mind that assumed you were waiting for her, a stupid thought, now that she thought it over. Her brain went red at the mental images her imagination refused to let go of, your moaning and desperation under somebody else’s touch, your taste in fuckgirl’s Abby Anderson’s tongue. If she were to clutch the videogame controller an ounce harder the metal would crush under her grasp. When you pecked her lips she was done for, distracted, on her way to losing for the next couple of hours while her best friend cursed on and on about how Abigail had been there basically every day that week.

She can practically hear you moaning Abby’s name in her head and it drives her insane. Ever since the first day your brother welcomed Ellie into his home and she set her sights on you it was as though all the breath had been sucked out of her lungs in one quick glance. The most beautiful girl she had ever seen, she concluded after seeing you smile. The most amazing girl she had ever met, she confirmed from all your late night conversations that became a habit from your shared insomnia and your brother’s heavy sleeping, there had been a time she’d ask to sleep over only anticipating your gossip and laughter, perfecting the cheesy dad jokes that were your favorite, attempting to convince herself it would be enough to be the girl that entertained you even if her chest ached in yearning for your lips pressed against hers. You had been distant the last couple of weeks, she felt it, but didn’t know why and you stalled every time when asked. Now she knew. And she hated it way more than anticipated. Like a rock heaving against her chest making it hard to breathe.

It was nighttime now and she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress by the floor, tossing and turning and holding in laughter from her best friend’s loud snores fast asleep in deep slumber. She played with the thought of going to your room as she usually would, but hesitated. It was still playing by her memories, your body in nothing but underwear when you had followed Abby out, every corner and crevasse of your skin looking so soft it made her ache. Her hands twitched as though wanting to reach out to you and only found her clothed pussy. She shook off the idea and stood up. Water, she thought, I’m only gonna go drink some water. But of course you were there too. Oversized t-shirt hiking up your body as you reached towards a tall shelf for a cup. Ellie reached in behind you and helped, settling the glass in your hands.

“Hi, Els” You said softly, shaking yourself loose of her overbearing stance behind you so you could walk towards the fridge for some chocolate milk, pouring it on.

“So, you and Abby. Are you like, a thing now?”

“Don’t start, Ellie. For someone who doesn’t fucking want me you sure are acting like a jealous girlfriend right now”

“For someone who doesn’t want you?” She scoffs in disbelief “Are you fucking stupid or something? Do you seriously not realize? I can’t fucking breathe when I’m around you, no actually screw that, it’s like I can’t fucking breathe when I’m not around you, like every time I make you laugh I’ve been drowning and can finally come up for air thanks to your stupid fucking smile and your stupid fucking sparkling eyes in your stupid fucking gorgeous face and then you parade around the house with stupid fucking Abigail Anderson and there’s a fucking bruise on your neck that I know she left there and I just want to sink my teeth in like a goddamn vampire and make one bigger to hide her claim on you and make it mine and-“

You crashed your lips against hers before she could continue. Her hands moving up to grab your hair, thumb caressing your cheeks and holding your face into place as though any gust of wind would make you fly away and loose her grip, she’s so mesmerized by you and your tongue inside her she moans into your mouth with barely any tension for it. It lasts a few more seconds before she pushes you away against all instincts.

“Stop, stop stop. I can’t. I can’t do this to your brother.”

“Fuck him”

“Baby…”

“Fuck me” You say and that’s enough to cloud all her judgment again. Ellie pushes you up against the kitchen cabinets and kisses you hungrier this time, hands coming up to stroke your exposed thighs before she latches onto them to push you up onto the counter, open mouthed kisses trailing down your neck until it reaches and Abby’s previous hickey and she bites down, a moan echoing from you and stopped by her hand over your mouth as she sucks down the sensitive skin and marks it darker.

“You’re going to be the death of me, fuck” She mumbles against your body, eyes darkening at the sight of the ever growing wet patch in the center of your underwear, she wastes no time to stroke it, harder and faster until she feels the liquid coating her fingers even against the fabric and sets your panties aside, looking up at you for reassurance you give with an enthusiastic nod before she dives her fingers in, moaning herself as she does so, feeling you clench around her hand “Fuck, you’re so pretty, I knew you’d feel so good, so fucking good around my fingers”

“Ellie, please” You beg with your head thrown backwards, eyes pressing shut from the pleasure she gave off circling your clit with her fingers in a way that ached your core “Please I want your mouth, I need it, I’m so fucking close-“

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ellie jumps away from you. She’s suddenly conscious and so are you, at the sight of your brother covering his eyes in disgust by the door.

[campingwiththecharmings]

Insomnia

AN: Sixth and final fic for @moonknight-events' MK Bingo! I wish I'd been able to do the entire board like I wanted but alas. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you to @whatthefishh for looking this over for me ❤️

Steven can't sleep and you, uh, help him out.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, you've been warned) Prompt: Handjobs Words: 1,233 Pairing: Steven Grant x GN!Reader (pretty sure this could be read as GN, please let me know if that's incorrect) Warnings: handjob (as the prompt indicates lol), cursing, kissing, mild biting, praise kink, sub!Steven, please let me know if I missed anything. AO3

——————

Steven can’t sleep. 

He’s tried everything he can think of, his usual tried and true methods (and even some of the old ones), but none of them have worked. 

He chews his lip, glancing over to where you’re asleep beside him. You look so relaxed, so peaceful, your lovely lips quirked in a slight smile. He wonders what you’re dreaming about (was it him?)...wishes he could be dreaming too. The urge to wake you is strong, you’ve told him before that he can when this happens, but he just can’t bring himself to disturb you. 

Steven sighs, turning over on his side. He closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep. 

That doesn’t work either. 

He tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position, one that will finally allow him to fall into the blissful depths of sleep but, no matter what he does, nothing helps. He feels even worse when you begin to stir beside him, whining softly as you’re unwillingly pulled back to consciousness. He stills, trying not to move (or even breathe) in the hopes that you’ll fall back into the abyss. 

“Steven?” you ask, voice still thick with sleep. 

He waits silently for a moment, then sighs, turning slightly to look at you over his shoulder. 

“So sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“S’okay,” you slur, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

You push yourself up into a sitting position, eyes meeting his in the darkness as you reach out to gently push the curls back from his forehead. “Trouble sleeping again?” 

Steven nods, his eyelids fluttering at your touch. 

“How can I help?”  

He smiles tiredly at you. “Not sure you can, love.” 

You stick your bottom lip out in a pout and he chuckles softly, reaching out to thumb at it. “S’alright, I’ll be fine. You should go back to sleep though.” 

You shake your head, settling your back against the headboard. “I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re awake beside me.” 

With a resigned sigh, Steven sits up to join you. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” he says again, taking your hand in his and squeezing it lightly. 

You shush him, effectively dismissing his apologies. “Nothing to be sorry for.” 

Steven just sighs again, his shoulder pressed against yours as he idly runs his thumb over your knuckles. You sit in silence for a moment, just watching him, the meager light in the room softening his sharper features. 

Then it dawns on you, how you can help. 

You lean in slowly, tilting your head to get the right angle. He doesn’t notice how close you are until you’re right there, inches away from his face, and before he can protest, you press your lips to his. Immediately, he melts, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek. You start slow, soft, the pressure gentle, the pace unhurried. After a moment, you brush your tongue along the seam of his lips, his low groan sending a shiver through your body. He’s always so responsive, your Steven, whether it’s a moan or a simple flutter of his eyelashes, he always lets you know how you’re making him feel. 

You kiss him deeper, languidly licking into his mouth, your fingers clenching in the fabric of his t-shirt as his tongue slides against yours. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, in him, in the taste of him, the feel of him—but then you remember why you started this, remember that he needs you. You relax your fingers, allowing your hand to slip slowly down his chest, over his belly, coming to settle at his waist. Your fingers briefly toy with the band of his sleep pants before slipping beneath them and his boxers. 

Steven breaks your kiss with a surprised yelp as you take him in your hand, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp as you begin to gently work your hand over his length. You shush him, whispering soothing words into his skin as you kiss him wherever your lips can reach.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, involuntarily arching into your touch. 

You respond with a whispered plea for him to relax, your thumb sliding over the velvety tip of him, dragging the prettiest moan from his lips. He stops resisting then, losing himself in the pleasure of your touch, rewarding you on every stroke with breathy sighs and groans. 

“So good for me, Steven,” you whisper, the praise drawing a whimper from between his lips. 

You smile at the sound, tracing his collarbones with the tip of your tongue as you twist your wrist just so, dragging another delicious sound from him. He pushes up into your fist, his fingers twisting in the bedding beneath him. You move back up his neck, nipping briefly at his jugular and soothing the area with your tongue. Beside you, Steven’s breathing is erratic, his skin hot, hips thrusting in time with the stroke of your hand. You pull back to gaze at him, admiring his mussed curls, kiss-bitten lips, and glassy eyes—he always was beautiful in the throes. 

You lean in again, sealing your lips over a spot on his neck. He keens when you suck, your hand gently squeezing his cock to mimic the pressure. You move your hand a little faster, increasing the friction, and his breath hitches, hands now fisted in the sheets beneath him. 

“Darling,” he pants, his neck tense with the effort of holding himself back. 

You shush him again, pulling back to meet his gaze. He’s close, so close, his big brown eyes pleading—for you, for your love, for your permission. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him, eyes flickering over his face, drinking him in as your touch pushes him closer and closer to the edge. When you’ve teased him enough, you lean in, nuzzling your nose against his ear. 

“Come for me, Steven.” 

And he does, his body going rigid, as he erupts all over your fist with a choked moan. You keep working him, his body twitching as the pleasure rolls through him. When he finally stills, you release him, whispering your praise as you press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. He’s absolutely wrecked when you pull back, body limp against the headboard, panting like he’s just run a marathon. You smile at him softly, pushing the curls from his damp forehead with your clean hand before slipping off the bed to get a washcloth. 

Once you’ve cleaned both yourself and him up, you settle back in the bed beside him. For a moment, you wonder if he’s already asleep, his eyes closed, breathing (finally) even. He stirs at the movement beside him though, his eyelids heavy as he opens them and smiles at you dreamily. 

“Your turn, Love,” he slurs, reaching out for you despite his inability to keep his eyes open for more than 3 seconds. 

You chuckle softly, shaking your head as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Steven.” 

“But—” 

“Sleep,” you insist, yawning as you pull him down with you beneath the blankets. 

Steven grunts in protest, but doesn’t stop you, his eyes already falling shut again as you snuggle against his side. You smile as his breathing evens out again, the gentle rhythm of it lulling you back to sleep.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[sunboki]

⎯ PAPER PLANES a Kim Seungmin fiction

🛩️ : Kim Seungmin x gn. reader

TROPE. friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff fluff fluff galore

WORD COUNT. 1.5k!!

WARNINGS. cursing

AUG'S NOTES. still crazy about this concept💀 … i wrote this in 30 minutes in complete silence.. the demons have possessed me…

SYNOPSIS. Life in the city has never been as interesting as this. More specifically starting the moment your newest neighborhood, Kim Seungmin, moved in next door.

or alternatively :

It was only a matter of time before those paper airplanes turned into something more.

City nights are your greatest escapade and your worst nightmare. When insomnia plagues you awake, it’s easy to turn off all your fans and just listen.

New York isn’t called the city that never sleeps for no reason.

Whether it’s the faint honking of a car or the nearest nightclubs obnoxiously loud stereo, 24 hours a day almost every day of the year this city’s eyes remain open, and in essence, it makes you feel a tad bit better about those sleepless nights.

There’s the buzz of your surroundings, but as for your apartment complex, things are pretty quiet.

Well, you did intentionally choose a very much elderly-occupied residency after all.

Until somebody else showed up, somebody who didn’t explain to you on a morning basis of how they’re deciding on their casket.

And he sings.

Headed back from work up the elevator was when you ran into him for the first time. A smidge taller than yourself, puffy hair hanging over his forehead.

Neither of you talked apart from the courtesy “Which floor are you going to?” followed by an equally courteous “Five”, and you realizing you were both headed to the same place.

Elevators are a dangerous place. Anything could go wrong, technical issues, you end up trapped, weird strangers, and a myriad of unfortunate events waiting to happen. What’s worse? The conversations.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from the decades worth of elevators you’ve been on is that they’re either a place to never stop talking or never talk.

As for this discovered neighbor of yours, you spend a solid thirty seconds deciding the right course of action.

“So where’d you move from?” You pique, watching the numbers atop the door slowly increase.

“South Korea,” He responds, and out of the corner of your eye you notice him glancing at you, hands stuffed in his puffer coat’s pockets.

Mouth opening to speak, you immediately close it, evidently surprised. To think how hellish the flight must’ve been humbled you instantly, not to mention how he carried no accent when conversing.

But before you could ask any more questions the doors open and he wordlessly slips past you, leaving you to silently follow.

“Wait!” Calling out prior to him walking through the door, he stops, turning to you with a confused expression adorning delicate features.

“What’s your name?” You voice another inquiry, hand also fastened onto the doorknob.

He blinks, the action scarily resembling a puppy dog.

“Seungmin. Kim Seungmin.”

Seungmin.

Cute.

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” Nodding politely his way, he returns the gesture, a sudden unwelcoming awkwardness creeping further into your skin the longer you both stand there, staring at each other.

And of course your genius of a mind decides to open its big fat mouth.

“..I guess we’re neighbors, huh.”

No shit sherlock, You internally reprimand, wishing oh so badly to leap out of the nearest window.

Sucking his teeth, Seungmin hums agreeably, and you feel like the stupidest person in the world.

“Yeah well, bye!” Panickedly twisted the knob and racing inside to slam the door behind you, you sink to the ground, clutching your head pathetically.

“Y/n…” You whine, addressing yourself like a lunatic. There’s a heavy sigh, a leaning your head back, thumping against the wooden frame.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Nonetheless, the night you first heard his voice pitch through gleaming neon signs was one to remember.

Typing manically on your keyboard while a half-empty glass of watered down coffee occupied the space beside you, you squint, scrutinizing that same sentence at least a dozen times before ripping the headphones off your ears and raising up frustratedly.

This essay is definitely earning a rightful spot on your thirteen reasons why list, a close second to your first impression on Seungmin last week.

Stretching your arms above your head, you hear it. An entrancing, melodic tone sifting beneath your cracked window, decorating your bedroom in a decadent assortment of color.

Carefully tiptoeing to pry open the window fully, you crane, cheek pressed against cold glass.

It’s Seungmin. Face tipped to the side, lips halfway parted. You don’t know if he’s focused on something or what, but you know he’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His vibrato, the way he perfectly slices notes into harmonious rhythm pulls you in like a hummingbird to nectar.

You find yourself aimlessly standing there, rocking back and forth of your heels, savoring the effortlessly sweet relief he fills your exhausted soul with.

Day after day he’d sing, voice never ceasing to calm your senses, as if supernatural, into a lulling drone. No thoughts, just him.

Occasionally it’d be a new tune, one familiar, one not. Over and over and over again you’d routinely wait for him, like a child rushing to see their favorite cartoon.

And as a result, Seungmin became one of your biggest sources of comfort without either of you knowing it.

Today is the day.

Reaching over as far as you can muster with the makeshift paper airplane held tightly, you attempt at reading the wind, trying to decipher the best time to launch this secret weapon of yours.

Well, not really secret (somewhat), and also not a weapon, but you get the picture.

This morning you’d taken tedious measures to ensure your innovative paper airplane note would successfully fly, especially since the note inside was just as innovative.

𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐. Was what it read, and you thought the compliment was pretty appropriate considering how often you’d admire his mellowed tunes in the eve.

Except, the first one was a fail, then the second one, and a third, and by the forth airplane you had paper-cuts all over your hands and a temper teetering on the brink of defeat.

Hey, at least three people today (almost four) would get a “I like your singing” note today.

Whoosh! Your note flies, and just when you begin to lose hope does it switch trajectories, successfully hitting his balcony’s screen door.

To say you shouted was an understatement. Hell, the entirety of New York likely heard your chanting, yelling, and the entourage of oddly proud noises in between.

Noises of which were quickly muted upon said screen door opening, to where you frantically drop down, peering between the chair’s legs to observe his reaction.

Seungmin glances around repeatedly, curiously, prior to peeling back paper folds.

You inhale sharply.

His eyes graze over the sentence, investigating his surroundings again.

No reaction.

You initially deflate, grumbling to yourself defeatedly.

Until a tiny sliver of hope peeks through dark curtains.

Seungmin smiles.

He covers his mouth (an action you don’t understand but start to considering how dazzlingly bright it is), and laughs. A soft laugh that has his shoulders shaking, corner of his eyes wrinkling into charming crescent moons.

You swear there’s a ring of sparkling light outlining him, like something out of a K-Drama.

His smile could (and should) win an award, you’re convinced.

And just like that he disappears back into his apartment, and you chant a nonstop “Oh my god!” a good thirty-six times, unable to contain the feather-light feeling spreading from your fingertips to the very tip of your toes.

Cute. Kim Seungmin was so, so cute.

From the sheepish grins he gives you each time he’s seen you since, you have a hunch he knows it was you who sent the note, but you choose to act oblivious.

Oblivious, before you received a note of your own.

Of course, Kim Seungmin’s paper airplane is perfect, aerodynamic and probably arrived on the first throw unlike your consecutive sacrifices.

Slowly shuffling open the response, you peek through hesitant fingers, slapping a hand over your gaping mouth upon witnessing his obviously perfect handwriting.

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 :) , It reads. Something so mundane and proper there’s no reason you should be losing your mind, but you are, and the rattling of your heartbeat serves the best explanation.

You make sure to hang the note up afterward, right above your laptop.

So over the next few days, the both of you become more daring, more adventurous. Two paper airplanes turn into four, four to eight, eight to eleven. By now there’s not enough room to hang all of them up.

Meaningless conversations. Asking about dinner plans, what you’re currently doing, what your favorite hobbies are, favorite songs. But yet, they mean so much to you.

Your own, childish way of communicating even though the mature, adult reply would be to knock on his door.

Although, he seems to love it as much as you do.

𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? Is scribbled on the airplane he’d sent a few minutes ago.

𝙽𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚢? You write quickly onto one, hands nimbly constructing the shape after sending so many. Routine.

Returning to stirring the pot of boiling water in front of you, a familiar tap alerts you, padding over to grasp his letter.

Strangely, a part of you grows more and more excited, plopping down into your chair to gradually take apart his craftsmanship.

Your legs move before you can even register your own feelings, scrambling outside.

Seungmin’s there, breathtaking smile as brilliant as ever despite such dim lighting.

There’s no need to admit you’ve been sending them now. Especially not from the way he gazed at you, the words inscribed on that paper airplane.

𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

He bites back an even bigger grin, cheeks dusting rosy pink from the cold air.

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[hoseoksluna]

BLACKBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc

genre: smut, angst

word count: 6.1k

summary: opening jungkook's message brought in a blessing and a curse.

pinterest board: blackberries / taglist: join

warnings: breeding kink, raw sex, hobi rubs your clit......., provider!hobi, talks of pregnancy, slight nipple play, oc cries, ruined sex and orgasm, swearing, spanking, talks of punishment, heavy daddy issues

note: i loved every minute of writing this part, so i'm happy to bring it to you, finally. it brought a lot of clarity and direction as i was writing mindlessly all this time. this series will have one or two more parts (probably two more) and then i'll finally be done writing about two members:D. i love you, guys, so much. let me know what you think. i miss you. i hope you like this as much as i do. <3

The morning has spilled in like a friend through the dusky pink curtains, casting a soft light over the place Hobi is focusing on as he’s buried in your femininity, balls-deep. Lingering there as if he was nesting at home. 

You haven’t slept a wink. Neither has he, restless by your sadness-induced insomnia, zapped with consistent life by the threat that lit up your phone when drowsiness asked for your hand, longing to take you to its kingdom. If you were to become a princess, the matter was snatched away from you—or rather tossed back and forth as you drifted in and out of that threshold. Hobi suggested to you to open the attachment sent in the message, rip the skeleton out of the closet and burn it in celebration of your wedding, so you could rest… but you couldn’t. You were fearful and you lacked courage, because you knew that if you were to make your eyes the witness of what regret has forced Jungkook to do, calmness wouldn’t have been the embrace you sought. 

That is, if regret was truly the wave of emotion that swam past those starlit irises of his. You don’t trust your memories anymore—they’ve become a chaos of mist that you get stuck in when you dare to wade in it. And it’s so peculiar that you have to do it willfully, instead of being wholly swallowed by them, instead of being so unfairly and awfully haunted by them that there’s nothing left for you to do but to relive the anguish over and over again. 

To Hobi’s suggestion, you proposed to wait until the morning comes and the new day’s strength and possibilities greet you. You don’t really know where you found this wisp of positivity in you, but you twiddled with it all night, acknowledging yourself with it. The full moon rose up high in the blackness of the sleeping heavens, no cloud covered its magnificent light shining wistfully over the way Hobi spooned you and it gave you the notion, the whim to be as bare as it was. He had marked you with its phase, foreshadowed this flourishment with its crescent likeness on the flesh of your thigh, so you figure it’s only right that you use it when it’s right in front of you—that you complete it, make it full. 

You are going to confront Jungkook. Take the other end of this blanket’s pained darkness and flip it to its other side. Let the moonlight have it as you watch, hands by your side. Let the rays sweep it clean of its thick dust until it resembles its very own face. End the relationship once and for all. 

That means talking to him in a way that doesn’t correspond to the emotional violence that occurred hours ago. That means killing it with kindness, not raising your voice, nor your fists. And you wish to do it alone—without Hobi’s presence. You’re aware that if he were there, it would be proper. And not only that, he would also step in if the situation asked for it, but something tells you that this time… it’s not going to be a fight. 

It’s going to be a calm conversation between two humans that used to be close. 

This notion had been whispered to you the moment the light of your phone died until the sun awakened. Its voice kept you uneasy and fidgety—partly because you don’t know to whom the voice belonged to, partly because you simply don’t trust yourself. Being mean and uncompromising with him served as a shield. You don’t know what’s going to happen once you’re in a room with him all defenseless, but you have to risk it. 

You’ve been feeling very intensely that it’s meant to happen. 

It’s what Hobi has been feeling as well, taking your jitteriness in his grasp and kissing it away. He had begun at the nape of your neck and your shoulder and you encouraged him by closing your hand over his and leading it beneath the duvet, thinking that perhaps if you head into this direction of his holy lust, you’d find answers, you’d find instructions, words you could use later to unravel to Jungkook. You regarded his unfolding responsibility over your emotions as so terribly fatherly—grounding and validating that it aroused you; it soaked your little pajama shorts that he had dressed you in and the low gasp that reached your ears when he discovered it with the guided movement of his fingers… it felt better than any hit of the blackberry vape he bought you. 

Hence why you hushed your disagreement when Hobi shifted, craving to taste you. You wanted the clasp of the connection between you and him fully shut by having him inside you, and so you reached behind yourself, grabbed that intimate part of him to stroke him, to get him fully erect, letting go of him only for a brief moment to drag your shorts and underwear down. You didn’t perceive his hesitancy until he took a hold of your hasty hand, shadowing it with his palm against your knuckles like he had done yesterday in his car. 

His breath trembled before he spoke. “You’re not prepared enough for me.” 

You didn’t find your words until he sank his fingers between yours, another grounding sensation washing over you as he guided your hand to the parts of his manhood that feel the most stimulating for him. The tip of his cock and down his balls, his kids that he had promised that were yours. The essence of it drenched you even more, without him knowing—the perfect picture, greater than any painting you ever saw, of him loosening himself inside of you, the hot spurts, his growls, deepened by the flaring passion, then the clicking of connection, and your belly, full and swollen, carrying a concoction of him and you that will live beyond your death. 

“I can take it like this,” were your truthful words, head turned halfway to him as your side position allowed it to. 

Hobi closed his mouth over your cheek in a slow, deep kiss that you’ve never experienced before. A rising tide of tears flooded your eyes and stayed there, not wanting to pour over. His care, his knowing better, his responsibility, all the principle of his fatherliness. It soothed your body, encouraged the picture in your mind to bloom with more vivid colors. 

It was illogical, plain stupid to think like this within a week of knowing him, but why did it feel so right? Why did it feel like a step that didn’t waver underneath your bare feet, like the soft sand under the stable, still weight of the sea, right as a small, murmuring wave laps at the shore. Why did it feel that way? How come these thoughts never burst forth whenever Jungkook held you down and did everything that made your body call him Daddy? 

Was it because sex with Hobi never felt like a playtime, but something way more serious? Something way more mature, ripened, that had that darkened, tangy flavor of blackberries. A flavor that lasted, didn’t dissipate after swallowing. Something that you’ve strongly begun to believe is able to run the course of your entire life; that has the enigma to break the curse. 

Your attachment to him developed, grew a small pair of wings that curled within his chest, shivering like a newborn child. Not screaming, not crying. Quiet, calm, serene. 

Your tears threatened to pour out, its former decision not to wearing out. Your emotions longed to submit, longed to rest—and you broke open the lock, longing to love yourself back. 

“Let me rub your little clit and get you ready for it, pup. It’s gonna hurt if I don’t and that’s not happening under my watch,” he murmured, dragging his fingernails up your arm, flattening the pads of his fingers on the way down your breast and ribs, rooting at the overspilling pooch of your stomach—the source of your river of tears. He left gooseflesh in his wake as your liquid, freed emotions trickled down your cheeks, one that he warmed by pressing your back flush against his chest, placing the side of your head on top of yours, lips puckered in an eternal, oscillating kiss—the makeshift, heart-shaped sunlight that shines through the surface of your river. 

Overwhelmed by it all, you could only nod. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you strong, you want that?” Hobi continued, hand sneaking down your mound, your feminine flesh until he reached your heat, collecting your nectar, then drifting back up to your clit, stopping there. You writhed, your bum pushing up against him, mewling your agreement. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You parted them and Hobi followed your movement with his palm, guiding you to hook one of your legs behind his, shifting you a little onto your back, giving him more space for the expansion of the eternity of his kisses. He fondled your cheek with his, acknowledging himself with your tears, forcing them to be his when he breathed them in, exhaling with a mournful sigh. 

You had never been mourned before. And the feeling was too great—too, too great. 

“Don’t cry, pup. I’m gonna make it right. Everything.” 

He didn’t wish to fix you; he was determined to fix your life. You began to sob, your fingers finding his temple, sinking into his silky hair. Hobi waited for the halt of your liquidity, thinking it’s sadness, but your emotions didn’t bear its face. They were clothed in thankfulness and wore the face of a bride of felicity, a woman who carried dejection in her arms for her entire life, only to have been gifted joy by a man who saw her, met her and listened to his heart when it asked for her. 

You placed his hand right back, where it belonged. Became aware how his fingertips were the perfect size for the swollenness of your clit, which led you to think it was created for him, for his fingers only; that no one else would ever touch it because there would be no one after him. It has become his until the end of time. 

“I’m not gonna touch you when you’re crying,” Hobi whispered and you shook your head, pressing his middle finger against that sensitive part of you. 

“I’m not sad, baby,” you said in the same hushed tone, which halted your tears. “I’m happy. Those are happy tears. Touch me, please.” 

He used the same hand to turn your chin for his lips to kiss yours, slow and passionate, making you cry out. He sighed against you, breaking the exchange of affection to look at you in the growing, muted light, irises flicking between yours, deep in thought. And when he licked his fingertips and rubbed your clit, you realized he did it in order to watch your reaction because those same irises fluttered back into his head. He hissed, baring his teeth, and you mewled little sounds that almost made him roll them back again. 

“Your clit is so swollen,” Hobi commented, love stretching over his eyes, and your walls clenched, tightly. You knew in that very instant that the love you saw got engraved along those fleshy walls of yours, never to regrow into its former state. 

“My body is asking for you,” you murmured, using the similar words that you did yesterday in his car, when you teased him. 

He moaned. “Oh, yeah?” 

It were your eyes that rolled back and you let him espy your perversely innocent obsession with those two words. Your torso lifted off of the mattress, hips twirling in the rhythm of his circles, your throat emitting the sweetest, most prolonged noises. And he swore, mouth parted. 

“You like when I say that?” 

You nodded, your orgasm quickening in tandem with his motions. The blush that appeared upon his cheeks casted the room in a rosy glow. Even the moon shone differently—more gently, the heavens dressing themselves in the dawn of his warm emotions. It added much to the coming of your climax, the same colors dipping inside, and you yearned for his lips. 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He kissed you with a delicate hunger, burying his nose into your cheek, breathing hard. His other hand had sneaked around your torso when you arched it and as he kissed you, he lifted the hem of your pajama shirt and brushed his palm over your nipples. Streaks of the pinks of his dawn blasted in your dark vision, sizzling once he grabbed both of your breasts in that same hand, and your body gained momentum in its writhing dance, your nubs stimulated. And when his tongue greeted yours, you came.

His fingers glided along your wetness as you fell down from your high, unable to kiss him back. Hobi watched you with enlarged pupils and with reddened, puffy lips, out of which trickled little, rough noises of pleasure. He was pleased to see what he saw, cordially mellow life spreading over you, changing you. You felt it and you were fearful of it abandoning you, clutching it with all your might on the inside and he helped you—sank his fingers inside your heat, stretching you out, desiring to see it blanketing you, perpetually. 

And then he was on top of you, driving his cock up and down your glinting femininity, panting, licking his lips, murmuring something about how he wanted to look at your face when he gave you what you wanted. He held himself steady in his fist, humming with each snap of his hips, his buff figure glistening in sweat. But all that your attention was painted with was the blessed picture of him getting you pregnant. It dizzied your senses, hormones rushing in, overpowering everything else. 

And you didn’t voice it out until he was mid-stroke. 

“I want you to breed me so bad.” 

Hobi growled, gutturally, stomach clenching—making his abdominal muscles more prominent than before. He fucked you hard, stopping after each rock of his hips, your body reverberating. 

“Be quiet or I won’t last.” 

Due to the hormones intoxicating your brain, his rejection saddened you and your mouth rounded in a pout, hands clasping his muscled arms, your manicured fingernails scratching down the skin. Hobi only cooed at your reaction, leaning his weight on one arm, his hand petting your cheek, thumb tracing the half-moon of your mouth, failing to precisely follow the line, quivering as he continued to ram into you. 

He grinned once your expression broke and melted into an angelically lustful one. He gave you the entirety of him, his mound kissing yours, again and again. 

You caught your breath, got used to the overbearing sensation of him rapidly prodding your guts. “Give me your kids, please, please.” 

And your plea didn’t have an ending until he decided. 

“If you say please one more time, I’ll stop.” 

And you did. 

He pulled out, brows shadowing his deepening blush, and he pinned your hands behind your head, leaning his weight on them. His bedewed cock twinkled on the pooch of your tummy and you closed your thighs over it as much as your position allowed you, your legs hanging over his shoulders. 

“Eyes on me,” Hobi commanded and you lifted your gaze, boring it into his. “You make me wanna do bad fucking things to you,” he continued, groaning when you squeezed the muscles of your thighs, affected by his words—your heart quickened, drunk by the dark side of his desire. “Punish you. Ruin you. But I can’t. I can’t when you’re such an angel, when you’re so bite-sized. You deserve nothing but love and gentleness, so don’t fucking tempt me and let me fuck you like you deserve.” 

Maddened by his words, you began to lift your hips, thighs clenched, feeling small, courageous and girlish. Hobi closed his eyes, moaning. Fucked your thighs until he couldn’t take it anymore, holding them steady, staring you down. Then, he pried them apart and made love to them with his mouth, rooting at your stomach, marking it just once—on the skin just beside your belly button. 

“I love your little tummy so much,” he whispered, biting it, biting into your insecurity and chewing it out, making you cry out in pleasure. Took your hands in his, rubbed your knuckles. “Are you gonna be a good pup now?” 

Your femininity drooled for him and you nodded, but he wanted you to use your words. 

“I’m gonna be a good pup now, Hoseok.” 

He swore, kissing you hard on the mouth. “I don’t know what makes me crazy first. Hearing you say your pet name or hearing you say my name. You’re so good. So good to me.”

It was melting, what occurred next. In the same, poetic way the night melted into the morning, Hobi melted into you. He began to fuck you, languidly. No rush, no hastiness. Eye contact, hand holding. Nose to nose. Time might have stopped between you and him, but it went on beyond the atmosphere of the love you felt surrounding it from within. It reminded you of the love that swam past his eyes, of the way it got engraved on the walls of your heat—and with every tranquil stroke, you sensed him etching it deeper. The poem you recited for him, the picture of your swollen belly, the curved lines of his endeared eyes. You’ve gotten lost in it, and so has he—in the cherub pendant of your necklace, sitting proudly on your chest. The rosy light as it longs to look, too, at his studying material. It’s what brings him into the present time, tender eyes flicking to the side, where the light is spilling from, realizing that the morning has come. 

He places his hand flat on your chest, fingers over the cherub. “You’re wearing yourself on your necklace. Little baby angel with pretty, pretty wings.” 

You pucker your mouth, asking for a kiss, heart warmed by the fact he’s mentioning something that’s so dear to you. He gives it to you, chaste and gentle, whimpering against you as he twitches inside your femininity. He begins to move, smoothly, at that same slow pace. Love—that must be the wordless expression of love. You tremble all over.

“What do my wings look like?” you ask, thumb stroking his knuckle as your hands remain intertwined with his. You tighten your hold, stealing some of his stability. 

Hobi doesn’t pause to think; his answer is ready on the tip of his tongue. “You’re golden, pup. From head to toe, but differently. You’re smothered in pink. Gold and pink.” 

His imaginary wings quiver, pink and black. You sigh, pleased, heart thumping. 

“The sun is up,” he says, kissing your neck once. “Are you strong and brave like that angel to open the message?” 

You widen your eyes, mouth parting and drying in shock. “Now?” 

He smiles, lazily, focusing his kisses on your cheek. “Yes, now, pup. So I can make you forget about what you saw right after.” 

A moan escapes you and you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his back. Hobi picks up the speed, whimpering in your ear, hands gripping your waist—grounding you, giving you the notion that nothing bad could ever happen to you when he holds you like this, when he makes those sounds for you and when he’s connected with you like this. You can taste his strength when he nestles himself inside you to the hilt all over again,. And you smack your mouth, loving the tangy flavor of it. 

What a perfect time to open the message. 

“Okay. I can do it.” 

Hobi coos. “That’s my pup.” 

You clench around him and he growls, kissing you, the sound traveling down to your heart, steeling it. Breaking the kiss, he reaches over for your phone and hands it to you. You position it so both of you can see the screen as you tap on the singular notification, your stomach rippling while your heart remains strong. And while it loads, you whisk your gaze to Hobi. 

He’s nibbling his bottom lip. 

Nervous. 

Ache seizes you and you’d say fuck it and fling your phone away, but you’re aware you need to do this. So you and Hobi can have the needed peace. It’s a step towards the confrontation that will follow soon. 

“Can you hold my hand?” you ask, mouth rounded in tender emotion and Hobi doesn’t hesitate to take your hand. Interlacing your fingers with his in his style, he keeps your hand pressed against his chest and you can feel the vibrations of his violent heart. 

Your ache grows. 

The picture has finished loading. 

A canvas is poised behind the sunless background of his floor length windows, illuminated by the faint lights that shone in his living room. You’d focus on the drying art, on its colors, on its vague message, but you know, instinctually, that the message isn’t there. 

It’s right there in the reflection of his window. 

Jungkook is standing there alone, barren down to his manliness. Covering the base of his semi-hard length with a hint of decency, the largeness of his hand only conceals the fine hairs on his mound while the rest is naked to the eye. The glint, perpetuated and divulging his arousal, on the mushroom head of his manhood. The broadness of his chest, the slenderness of his waist, the tattooed sleeve that leads to the part of him that used to bring you so much pleasure. 

Your body betrays you; you clench around Hobi. 

You can feel his gaze upon your face, but it’s not scorching hot. It’s anything but. 

“Who is this person to you?” he asks, calmly, and you swallow with difficulty. The time has come for the truth; you can sense that it’s right, that it’s meant to be, but still you hesitate, try hard to find the bit of strength you have in order to use it to speak. But you discover that it’s all been used up, so you remain silent. Hobi calls you by your name, pressing on the matter, tiny stars of trust flashing in his eyes. “I’m not a boy, you can talk to me. You can tell me who this person is to you without me getting mad, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

It’s not that you’re fearful of his reaction—you just wish this never happened in the first place. You don’t want to deal with this, you don’t want to bring Jungkook into your relationship any more than he already is. But it’s inevitable. You can’t pause it. You can’t delay it. 

You can only face it. 

“He’s my ex,” you whisper, not trusting your own voice, worried that it’ll break and your tears will make an appearance. 

“I thought so, but I wanted to hear it from you. Good.” He licks his lips, eyes descending to your cherub before they fix on your mouth, pecking you. Your chest shudders with emotions. “When did you break up?” 

Your chin quivers. Inevitable. “Almost a month ago.” 

Hobi nods, thinking as he rubs his knuckles on your cheek. “Do you still love him?” 

A tear rolls down your cheek while silence echoes within your mind, body and soul. “I don’t know.” 

He cradles your face with both hands. “You squeezed around me when you looked at him. Got wetter. It’s okay. It’s too soon. I found you too soon.” 

You sob, loudly, uglily. Hobi shushes you, kissing your tears away. Pulls out of you and shifts onto his back, bringing you with him, so you can lie on his chest. Cocoons you in his arms, nose buried in your hair that he pets, breathing steadily while his heart tremors. You cling to him with all your might. Break and break while he keeps the shards of you whole, the sharp edges cutting his skin open. And you’re sorry, terribly, terribly sorry. You sink it into his chest, into his neck—kissing him there with your tears, your sobs and your hands that roam everywhere they can reach in the snugness that little by little find a way to help you voice it out. 

“I’m so sorry, Hobi. I’m so sorry.” 

He rubs your back. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

You disagree. Loathe your body for the way it sang for another man. “But I did. You felt what my body did. I’m so sorry.”

He even grew soft and pulled out of you. A dread courses down your treacherous body at a thought that seizes you—that in most probability this is the last time he showers you in the kindness of attention, that this is the last sun you’ll ever see for the rest of your life. 

Hobi brushes your hair back and gazes down at you, splitting your thoughts in two. “Look at me.” Rays of the heart-shaped sun paint streaks of rose gold in his pearlescent eyes. There must be all sources of light—you’ve never seen such stark luminosity. It pulls you in, tightens your attachment to him, encourages your private desire to be with him, stay with him, live life with him. You drift your fingertips along the softness of his skin on his chest that you’re resting upon, hear its hushed calling for you, but you fear it’s all in your mind. “Your body reacted the way it was supposed to. You spent some time with this person, loved him at some point and it just ended. Your body is still used to him and as much as it pains me, I understand it.” 

The shards in you crumble, staining his skin in crimson. Your fingers begin to itch to claw that accustomedness away, so you can be all new and pure for him. They tremble against his shoulder and like a kitty cat, Hobi rubs his cheek on it, soothing its tremor, soothing its ruination tendencies, and you let him, willfully, gladly. You want him to paint you so anew that you’d have to get to know yourself all over again, that you’d have to wade through heavy, murky waters in order to remember, faintly, your past love. 

You lost all respect for Jungkook—and, vividly, you sense the final conclusion to the chapter of your life with him. 

“I want you, Hobi. No one else,” you whisper, your tears dried upon your cheeks, on his chest, too. 

He lifts your chin. Looks at you for a time that seems centuries-long. “You want me?” 

You nod in his hand. “I want to spend my life with you. Is it also too soon to think that?” 

He laughs, softly, lips curled in a gentle smile. He swipes his thumb under your eyes, over your eyelashes, and he kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry. I said it because I want you all to myself. I also told you I don’t share, remember?” 

Yesterday in his car, when he wasn’t willing to kill the engine and fuck you in your silky dress and thigh-high boots because he didn’t want other people around to hear your sounds of pleasure. His smile reaches your mouth, rightfully, at the memory. You deem it belongs there. Deem these memories should be the only ones living in your mind. Those to come, too. Not the image of Jungkook’s bareness and the unknown canvas you didn’t even glance at. 

Now that you’ve descended to a state of calmness, you think about the matter of ‘soon’, portrayed by his words. You repeat them in your mind—“Too soon. I found you too soon.”—and admiration for him slinks into your heart, growing there into a bush of raspberries that you can strangely taste in your mouth. Every chamber of your weakened heart is perfumed by it the longer that sentence rings in your system. You’re touched by it, by his softness, by his lack of anger that would only be appropriate in this situation. And it means a lot to you, because all that you’ve ever known from the few men in your life, besides indifference, is anger. Your father, your first boyfriend, Jungkook. All of those men showed you that you’re deserving of the scalding, poisonous sting of anger due to your actions. 

Hobi isn’t like that. He regrets the time. His emotions shoot out into the realm, where your footfalls never made an imprint. 

Your sweetened body yearns to give back to him, but you don’t know how to do it in a way that isn’t lustful. 

You lift your torso, propping your forearms on his chest, breasts squished against him. Your hair falls around you, vivifying the beginning bloom of your arousal, the raspberries. And you blow them, against his lips, coaxing an endeared hum out of him. Hobi opens his mouth to speak, but you outrun him, needing to get something out of your chest. 

“Thank you for not being angry with me,” you say and the sunlight rises furthermore, gracing you with a picturesque aura that tightens the thankfulness, laced with the need to pleasure him, within you. “You’re not sharing me with anyone, and you never will. I’m yours and I want your kids. But I’m sorry that you regret it’s too soon. I’m sorry I’m not prepared enough for you. You don’t deserve this.” 

Hobi shakes his head, pressing his lips in a firm line, dimples etched above. You regard them as so beautiful that you trace them with your fingertip. He envelops his arms around you tighter, grasping the nape of your neck, drawing you in to kiss you. And the raspberries burst as he moves his mouth against you, priming your yearning to give back to him. 

A string of saliva keeps you bound to him as he withdraws and it propels you to kiss him again. He lets you, briefly, whimpers when you slip your tongue inside, and he forcefully pulls you away. Needs to say something—his eyes are full of that thumping urgency. 

“I could never be angry at you for something that isn’t your fault,” he breathes out, chest lifting rapidly as he pants, the urgency growing in size and you sense that he really wants you to know this. “And these kids?” He thrusts his hips against you and yours and his smile widens in unison—he’s pressed right against your naked mound and stomach, and the movement caused his balls to softly tap the round, fleshy edges of your bum. “They’re yours as soon as this settles, you hear me?” 

You coo, cradling his face, eyes narrowing in taut, tender emotion. And something of the same urgency spills out of you in similar fashion. “All night I imagined carrying your child. But I’ll start taking my birth control again until—”

“You don’t have to,” he disagrees, seriousness coating his tone, and your mouth parts. “As soon as this settles, you’re having my child, if that’s what you want as well.” 

The words—isn’t it too soon?—almost drips out of your agape mouth, but then your desire stops you. If it weren’t the time for it, would your desire for it still harmonize with your heart? 

Seeing your hesitancy, Hobi continues. “I have a house. A stable job. Money in my bank account. In savings. I’ve wanted a child for a long time and it got to the point that I had to physically stop myself from wanting it. And then I met you—and you wouldn’t stop tempting me with it.” He chuckles and you’re struck with speechlessness, your heart, your lungs swollen with a mania of affection, elation and passion. Merely your hands are able to talk—and you squeeze his cheeks, squishing them, prolonging his sound of joy, planting a flush across them. “You’re the person I was waiting for, pup. And the waiting is over. I have no reason to wait anymore, do I?” 

You kiss him and onto his lips you say: “You don’t.” 

He hums, deeply. Glides his hands down your spine to your bum, kneading it, and it’s instinctual—the way your hips begin to grind against the squishiness of him. In response, his lips latch onto your neck as his hands begin to guide your movement into a kingdom of vigorousness. Delightful pleasure anoints your body in rosy relief, exultation and in a rhapsody of excitement to see, to meet the new, upcoming face of your life. 

Hobi, the curse breaker. The enigma is revealed and your organs flutter, scurry to write a hymn for him. 

It’s what he absolutely, befittingly deserves. 

And more. 

You crawl back down until you straddle his knees, keeping your hands flat on his stomach as you take the softness of him into your mouth. You fail due to how lightweight he is, coaxing a giggle out of you and a determination to try harder to gratify your yearning to give back to him, and Hobi moans, pets your hair, the reverberations of his sighs stimulating your intimate parts. 

You swallow a little bit of him, pausing at his tip, your cheeks hollowed out. He sinks his fingers into your hair, body trembling underneath you, and it feels exhilarating. A question that needs to be voiced out springs in you, spurred from the subtle saltiness of his precum that you devour. 

“So, are you my boyfriend now?” 

Hobi grins, petting you as if you were a puppy—waggling your head as you toy with the tip of his cock, using your tongue, feeling him harden, little by little. “I’m your husband.” Your stomach flips, cheeks redden and Hobi laughs, gently. Your arousal drips down, unabashedly, down your inner thigh. He grabs your jaw, his length plopping out of your mouth. Another trickle of arousal follows the one that stained your flesh. “But yeah, I’m your boyfriend. You wanna mark down this day, pup?” 

You nod, speechless again, your mind a sultry, misty pool of lewdness and the image of your pregnant belly laps past your eyes, drenching you. “The day you stuff me full of your cum… as a boyfriend.”

Hobi rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath as your smile blossoms. He tugs you upwards until your pussy rests against his cock the way it did before, caging you in with one arm around your back while the other squeezes the fleshy part of your hip. 

“Grind your pussy on it, pup. Come on,” he orders and you listen, rolling your hips against his hardening manhood, your dripping essence making it an easy ride. Then, he kneads your ass cheek, descending to the back of your thigh and spanking it once, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you that rapidly stiffens him. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure rooting from your stimulated clit and you want more. 

You’d reach behind yourself and put him inside, if he hadn’t spanked your ass so hard that you cried out. 

“Fuck, Hobi.” 

Your eyes wet with pleasure-filled tears behind closed eyelids and when you open them, you catch the lopsided smile on Hobi’s face straightening into a narrow, firm line. Your heart quivers, the mist in your mind evaporates and you lift yourself onto your hands. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, panic evident in your voice, but it seems as though he can’t hear you—his eyes are lost, unblinking, his being having strayed away to a dark corner of his mind.

It isn’t until you shake his cheek that he flicks his eyes up to yours. Wretchedness dims out their light and it might as well rip out your heart, with its raspberry fragrance and all. 

“The painting,” Hobi says and you furrow your brows, not sure what he means. 

“What painting?” 

He sits up, leaning his back against the pillowed headrest, licking his lips.  “In the picture he sent you,” he explains, his voice dull and low; your lungs constrict. Cold sweat prickles your spine and you can’t breathe. What did Jungkook paint on that canvas? “You didn’t look at the painting?” 

You’re ashamed to admit that you didn’t, so, breaking the eye contact, you shake your head ‘no’, your features drooping. Hobi takes your hands in his, his thumbs in the middle of your palms, and the gesture helps you reconnect the exchange of gazes. Pity floods the indistinct light and your lungs burn.

“He painted you. Bent over… his lap I guess. Your butt was red and it had his handprint.”

The fire of your lungs spreads to the rest of your body and you don’t hesitate before you grab your phone and dial Jungkook’s number. 

Don’t hesitate to burn him with the same fire. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan,

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three

[naomiarai]

Conscious – cbg.

Synopsis : Your best friend's idea for trying to help you stay awake for your finals might be a bit twisted right?

Pairing : beomgyu × afab!reader [non idol au]

Wc : 1.6k

Warnings : dom! gyu, sub!reader, praise, pet names (princess, angel, pretty girl), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

Disclaimer : the lovely anon who sent an drabble on this. it got deleted, but I decided to write a fic on it. [I wrote this in one sitting while I was drunk so..]

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Finals week was up tight for you. You swore you'd fail if you don't stay up all night studying. Hell that's not seeming to work

Luckily, you had someone to pent up with your version of opposite-insomnia. Beomgyu is annoying, but you still want him around. He's probably the only one keeping you sane when you keep falling asleep instead of racing your eyes on words.

You've managed the ones you couldn't avoid and here you are with the last one. Beomgyu seems careless today. He's sprawled up over your living room couch, his legs crossing over yours. Laptop situated on your lap, your eyes kept closing, only something that touched you lightly jolted you awake.

You scream out in frustration, muttering numerous curse words to yourself. Beomgyu jolts up, wide-eyed. A frown forming on his face.

“Your opera made me lose my game!” he says with an annoying tone. “Gyu, that's the least of my worries right now, I keep fucking falling asleep.” you reply back, clenching your teeth. “Don't disrespect your elders now” he says with a grin on his face. Beomgyu was a year older than you, but that doesn't give him a pass to act so entitled to his age when you act up.

“Nothing's working. I stopped taking melatonin, and all tube lights are turned on” you admit in a low voice. “ I don't get how you fall asleep that easy now. You had insomnia level 100 when you were little” he says in a wondering tone. You groan at him, wishing it were the complete opposite now.

"You know, I heard endorphins can keep you awake” he blurts out randomly. You turn your head towards him, with a small frown on your face. "Endorphins?” you ask. “Yeah, they keep some people awake”. Why did he sound so suspicious? “They're found in chocolate, laughing, listening to music...sex..”

You choked on air as you heard his last word. Sex? Now that's a fact. You haven't had sex in quite some time now...

Beomgyu looks at your bewildered face and scoffs. “What? It's true” he says. He thinks for a split second before he asks “Speaking of sex, when was your last time?” How did he sound so casual? "W-..why are you even asking?, i had two boyfriends in the past soo..” you randomly cut of, going into thought.

“Right, the first guy, who was it? Ah- Jaehoon! An asshole if you ask me” he sounded annoyed saying it even though it didn't look like it. You could tell. But why? “second..was Sunghyun? I didn't like him either” he says as he puts his fingers underneath his chin.

“Why the fuck are you going over my history of boyfriends? ” you ask. Also, he sounded weird talking about Sunghyun as well. He replies after a pause, “Which one actually made you cum?” you froze at his words. Does he actually know what he's saying? “Beomgyu!” you scream, “Why would you even ask?!”

“Oh, so none of them did?” he asks curiously. “Nevermind, ________ just tell me”. You think on his words, the only thing you never told Beomgyu was about your sex life. It's not like he asked anyway. "I-..I've had sex like twice...?” you mumble. He looked puzzled, “Don't tell you've only that two times of sex in only one relationship that lasted like, two and half years..? He got his answer, just because you didn't say anything.

He scoffs out laughing, “Did you cum at least?” he asks with a sigh. You pause for sometime.. was it really that embarrassing? “N-no”. You get back to your senses, getting angrier by the second. “But what does that have to do with me falling asleep?” you retort. “Absolutely nothing!”.

He has that shit-eating grin on his face. God, you just want to wipe it off with a kiss. Wait. What were you thinking? No.

“I'm just saying you know, it works like this, you overwork and start falling asleep too easy then I tell you that sex produces endorphins and they help you stay awake, anddd, he adds, dragging the d sound, you haven't had proper sex”

You roll your eyes at his explanation like it didn't mean anything. It doesn't. ”You're acting like I could go get dick just because I keep falling asleep” you reply back. “It's not like I have a boyfriend now, Gyu” you add on.

“But I'm right here”. He says ever so slowly. You're taken aback, frozen still in your place. “What the fuck are you even saying?” you say, almost whispering. His face and tone remain nonchalant, contradictory to yours. “You say you have no boyfriends, right?, and I'm probably the only guy you talk to”

Should you say yes? It's once and he'll probably never ask again. And he's kind of cute. You'd date him. But you would never tell him this. No, but you did get braver at the moment.

“Is this your excuse at asking if you could fuck me?” you ask calming yourself down with a laugh laced in your voice. He seems to take your presence in for a moment. “Did it work?” he asks with a sly smirk.

“If you want it to” you say quickly before you could do anymore pausing. His grin grows bigger; he slides the laptop off your lap and places it on the transparent coffee table with a soft thud. Connecting his lips with yours, you moan into the kiss at the sudden feeling. His arms wrap around your waist as you sit straight up. “Strawberry?” he asks tasting your chapstick. You simply nod, cupping his cheeks to resume the kiss. “Woah, looks who's actually eager here” he laughs.

He picks you up without breaking the kiss, having your legs on his both his sides. You break the kiss saying, “Not on the bed, I don't have new sheets ready” He chuckles at your prediction. “Who said it had to be on the bed?” He sits back down, with you still straddling his lap. His hands slip underneath your shirt, cold hands caressing your warm body. “I didn't expect you to agree so easily” he asks continuing to kiss your neck. “W-...well you did something about those endorphins...” you whisper. He laughs at you, quite obvious he hadn't bought it.

You sit up straight on his lap for a second, thinking. “But won't we make a mess on the couch?” you ask expendentaly. “If you let me go inside..?” he asks with a smirk. You slap his chest multiple times, his idea has some structural value to not making a mess but won't it.... leak out? God, no you should never think dirty. At least you won't have to change the bed sheets.

He claims your lips again in passionate kiss, hands going down to remove your sweatpants. Your left in a crop top and panties. What a sight. He breaks the kiss to lay you down on the couch. “I'll make you cum, astonishing you never have after you had sex twice” he says dramatically. You roll your eyes at him, to which he scoffed at in a high pitched voice. “Just wait, I'll make you roll your eyes for a valid reason” he says before undoing his belt and discarding his jeans and boxers.

You tried to look away. He had a pretty dick. But will it even fit? “Don't look away at the man who's going to fuck you now” he says playfully, hovering above you. You stare at him for a couple seconds, taking in his features. He moves your panties to the side, taking a look at your glistening pussy. “Need to prep you, angel” he says. Taking his fingers closer, he slips in a finger, extremely tight unsurprisingly. “You groan at the sudden feeling, he adds another finger stretching your walls out, you feel pleasure slowly forming from the slight pain. He continue s to stretch you out, with you letting out loud moans form time to time. He retrieves his fingers back just when you're legs shook. You look at him confused.

“I'm only having you cum on my cock” he says before slipping his hands underneath your shirt and removing your bra. He starts to play with your hardened nipples with slick covered fingers, to which you would scold him for, but it felt too good.

He pulls his hands back, spreading your legs open and removing your panties whole. “Ready princess?” he asks softly to which you nod slowly. He enters you with ease,, still going slowly. You feel so so full. He groans out loud, he mutters a 'so tight' before slowly thrusting in and out. “Mmnh–ngh fuck–” you moan out, the pads of his fingers rubbing your clit, making your roll your eyes back. His pace gets faster, so as his grunts and your moans. “Shit–pretty–you feel s-so good” he grunts. The sound of skin slapping against skin takes over your senses, raw pleasure filling you. “Don't stop! nngh– so s-so good!”

The wet and lewd sounds of his dick going in and out get louder, as he slowed down, dick starting to twitch slightly inside of you. You felt a firework inside your stomach, like a coil so desperate to burst. You think you're about to cum. “G-gyu, think I'm gonna cum fuck—!” you moan. “Yeah? cum for me princess, g-good girl aren't you? cream all over my cock-!” You feel his cockhead slowly hitbyour cervix with each slow thrust as you feel the coil in your stomach collapse, coming all over his cock.

He came after you, filling you up, and it leaked out onto the couch. “That was great” he blurts out tired. You slowly recover form your orgasm, getting back to your senses. “Is this going to be a one time thing or—” You're cut off with a kiss, him saying “Absolutely not. I'm keeping you angel” you simply smile at him.

“But gyu didn't you tell sex kind of helps you stay awake, I really don't think that's for me..?” He takes in your words, “It is for some people...” he says before his eyes light up with a grin plastered on hif face. “So round two?”

[ash5monster01]

Hi, can I request cuddling and falling asleep with Randall pink Floyd?❤️🖤

Only Comfort

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, insomnia, anxiety, mentions of drugs/alcohol, friends to lovers

Summary: It’s not unknown to your friends that you struggle to sleep, insomnia being your biggest curse and the number one reason you’re the most fun to party with. Yet one night spent with Pink you discover he just might be the key to getting some rest.

word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

You couldn’t believe it. It was your senior year, a Friday night, but suddenly all your friends were too tired to party. As much as you understood where they were coming from, how you all had been doing the same thing every weekend, a part of you still wished they’d agree to go out. Mainly because it was the only time your nights weren’t so lonely. Sleep never coming to you in the late hours and emptiness filling the void. Weekends with nights that never ended was where you thrived so the idea of a Friday night spent home alone was the worst form of torture to you. A nightmare to be exact.

Pink doesn’t miss the panic on your face, how an anxious hand reaches to pick at the rips in your jeans. You’re uneasy all because no one felt like hanging out tonight. He knew you struggled with sleep, pretty much everyone did, considering that even when they got tired you were still ready to go. He just didn’t know it bothered you so much, made you this nervous to not be surrounded by a little life. So he jumps to attention before you spiral too hard.

“I’ll hang out with you, we can let these guys get their beauty sleep” Pink says, hand clasping over your shoulder and he can feel how you immediately relax at his recovery. You offer him a thankful smile and Pink decides it’s worth it to lose a little more sleep.

That’s how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Pinks El Camino after football practice. His hair was still damp from the locker room shower but he looked so soft in this light. The sun setting and caressing his golden skin. It was no surprise all the girls fell for a boy like Pink. Kind, handsome, charming, he checked all the boxes. Thing was, with everyone taking a break from partying, not a single soul was out tonight. Not even Wooderson had made an appearance and it almost made you double check if it was a full moon. The entire earth off its axis, something had to be explanatory for the quiet weekend.

“We can just go to my place and watch a movie?” Pink offers as you pass the Emporium for a third time just to see there was still only two cars in the parking lot.

“You sure?” you question, not wanting to feel like you’re overstepping but Pink just flashes a smile, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, why not. Apparently we don’t have anything better to do” he says and you can’t help the wide smile that crosses your face as he pulls into the Top Notch for supplies.

You make it back to Pinks house in no time, juggling some milkshakes, fries, onion rings, and whatever other grease filled food you could get your hands on. It wasn’t your first time at Pinks before, having done the long trek up to the attic space that had become his own. The room is in a slight disarray but you don’t mind as you move to set the food on the small trunk used as a coffee table in front of his couch. There was something homey about it, how everything here had been passed down and worn in. Patches covering old holes in the couch and blankets tucked around cushions Slater had accidentally burned. His bed covered in a homemade quilt and mismatching pillows. It was Pink, in the simplest terms, and no other way to describe it.

“Any particular movie in mind?” he asks, clicking on the small television set, an old T-shirt hanging off the side. You smile around a bite of french fry as you slip off your shoes and begin to settle in.

“Not at all, something good” you tell him and he laughs before grabbing a VHS of American Graffiti and popping it into the TV. It’s not long until the boy has joined your side, the couch dipping you into him with the added weight. You accept it and settle in as the tape begins to play.

In no time, majority of the food has disappeared, and you’ve both been sucked into the movie. You lasted only ten minutes before wrapping a blanket around your form and maybe thirty before you rested your head against Pinks shoulder. He doesn’t mind, actually quite content with the situation he’s found himself in. He doesn’t question any of it but after the better part of an hour you’ve rolled against him, arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him tight, which makes him freeze. Dropping his eye-line he spots your closed eyelids, the soft breaths falling softly out in an even pace. You’re asleep and the idea makes him freeze because you never sleep. Not once in front of him at least, and he’s spent over 48 hours with you before.

The movie had been over for twenty minutes but Pink doesn’t dare move a muscle, knowing how much you need this, even if you hadn’t meant to curl against him. So slowly and carefully he begins to adjust you both on the couch. Turning to lay back against the cushions and lower you down with his chest. Once you’re tucked safely between him and the back of the couch, he pulls the blanket over you both, the wrapping his arms around your form and getting comfortable against your side. Allowing sleep to overcome him as well.

When you wake the next morning you’re more than confused, having not remembered falling asleep last night. It had been a long time since you felt so rested, so blissful, and so delirious. The room you open your eyes to is not your own, and the pillow beneath you is not a pillow but instead rises and falls with a breath. Eyes darting upward you find Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd evenly breathing and dreaming away, soft golden sunlight framing his face that peaks through the sides of his mismatch curtains. It’s then you feel the firm grip he has around you and realize your own. You must’ve fallen asleep during the movie but what was more unsettling about the predicament you were in, was how easily you had.

Breaking your thoughts, Pink lets out a soft groan, shifting in his sleep and rolling into you. You freeze as he snuggles closer, knee nudging between your own and tangling you whole. It’s then you realize you had only fallen asleep due to how comfortable you had been. Pink and this room had offered you something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The idea nearly brings tears to your eyes because he made you feel safe. Safe enough to fall asleep here and feel protected. He allowed you to get some real rest that you desperately needed, wanted more than anything. As you look at the long lashes that graze his cheekbones and his soft pink lips, your heart swoons. Pink was worshipped by every girl but in this moment you swear you love him. So you hug him close before kissing his cheek, soft yet firm.

When he doesn’t wake you kiss his other cheek before peppering him in kisses anywhere you can. Forehead, eye lids, chin, nose, and when your lips finally grace the corner of his own his eyes slowly flutter open. You watch as he processes the sight in front of him, you in his arms, and kissing his face. A dramatic turn around from the friendly and teasing relationship you had shared before this. “Hi”

“Morning Pink” you reply, hoping he doesn’t move from his hold on you. If you could stay like this forever now you would, sleeping right here peacefully in his arms.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, a small crease forming between his brows as he realizes he has no idea why you’d be kissing him the way you were.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say thank you” you say, throat already tightening as you use your hand to push some hair away from his face. That way he was easier to see.

“Thank you for what?” he questions, trying not to shiver from your touch. Mind reeling in how soft and warm you were against him. How beautiful you looked in the morning.

“I haven’t slept through a whole night in a very long time. It’s the one thing in life that makes me the most uneasy. So thank you for making me feel comfortable enough to finally sleep” tears fill your eyes and Pink notices, one slipping out and over the bridge of your nose due to your shared horizontal position. Quickly he reaches to brush them away before hugging you close.

“Of course, yes of course. Anytime” he mutters into your hair and you smile through your tears, feeling so much adoration and love for the boy beside you.

“I can leave though, I understand that I’ve probably overstayed my welcome” you say, beginning to lift yourself from between him and the couch but his hold tightens on you. Dragging you down and close.

“You have not overstayed, in fact you can’t leave until you tell me what all that kissing was about” he states and you blush cherry red, having realized that your joy for him had prompted some spontaneous action.

“I was just excited that I slept through a whole night. It was a thank you” you answer, unable to look him in the eye and he snorts.

“Really, that’s it?” and you groan, the blush darkening as you drop your head to his chest.

“Fine, I may or may not have been a little charmed by you. Couldn’t help myself” you offer and Pink chuckles, hand tucking under you to lift your chin. You allow him to pull your gaze back into his eye-line.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a few more thank you’s” he whispers, lips close to your own and you gulp nervously. Feeling that magnetic pull and the thrumming of your heart that beat just for him in this moment.

When you’re sure you’ll combust you finally press your lips against his own, hands tangling in the chocolate strands of his signature hair, holding him close. Pink kisses back just as eagerly, unknowingly nudging his knee up more between your legs. His kiss is everything you imagined and when his tongue grazed along the seam of your lips you allow him entrance. Whining softly at the taste of him and how his tongue meets your own. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, wanting nothing more than to keep kissing you. In this moment you wish to keep him, not just for the comfort of sleep but for everything in between and after. You never want to stop thanking him.

“How was that for thank you?” you ask when you pull away for air and his grins, lips swollen and red from your own. He’s even prettier than before and when he tucks your hair behind your ear you know he’s meant to be yours.

“I don’t know, maybe we should try again” and you snort in laughter, hitting his chest lightly, but he draws you near again. When his lips brush against your own you stop fighting him and allow him back into a kiss.

Perfectly content with kissing him all day and sleeping in his arms all night.

[swanimagines]

SLEEP THIEF | MORPHEUS

Summary: You, being plagued by a sleep thief called insomnia, managed to free Dream a few months back. Now he wants to pay you back by finding a cure for your insomnia - and maybe because he has developed feelings for you.

Once, in the realm of dreams, where reality bends and imagination takes shape, Dream of the Endless found himself trying to help a mortal, who suffered from a condition that prevented her to visit his kingdom.

Insomnia. That relentless thief of sleep that plagued your every night. Despite always being tired, having eyebags and looking old beyond your years, you were always kind to Dream. Somehow you had sensed he was a vital part in the world, and in little, tiny gestures over two years, you helped him with every way you could. “Accidentally” swiping your feet over the summoning ring. Guards hadn’t slept well, so they fell to sleep after drinking your special tea. Little things - and eventually, your constant, diligent effort was worth it and Dream got himself out. You didn’t know what had been the thing that made the trick, but his glass prison was shattered and the guards didn’t remember much - it was concluded the summoning ring had weakened over time and Dream could finally push through it.

You got fired from the mansion with the rest of the workers after Mr. Burgess was cursed with eternal nightmares and your services weren’t needed anymore - and within the first week of you tossing and turning in the bedroom of your new apartment, you got a visitor - startled by a man with glowing eyes standing in the corner of the room, almost letting out a scream before you recognised him and turned on your bedside lamp with a smile.

“Dream? Is it… really you? I thought you were gone, that I would never see you again,” you mumbled, beaming as you sat up properly. “I… I knew you got out, but I thought you’d be busy to get the world rolling again.”

Dream smiled softly, taking a step towards you. Then he spoke, with a deep voice - to be honest, you hadn’t expected him to sound like that. “Yes, it is I. I have returned to express my gratitude for the compassion and help you offered me when I needed it the most. The world is on its track again, and you are to thank for that.”

You smiled back bashfully, looking at your hands fiddling with your blanket. “It was a human thing to do. I knew your captivity was a reason why the world was messed up. I’m happy you popped by, it’s good to see you’re alright.”

Dream was quiet for a moment, studying you. Then he spoke again. “I wish to grant you the gift of sleep. You have suffered from the lack of it for so long, and a mortal like you does not deserve such a fate. It is not caused by my absence, but I want to help you with it.”

You frowned, looking up to him. “I’ve always had it. Sleeping pills help somewhat, but even they might not let me sleep throughout the whole night. Are you sure that- I mean, I know you can do it, you’re the king of dreams, after all. But are you sure your help will last? I read it may originate from the way brains are built, and I don’t know if you’re able to change it. You can’t have time to guard my sleep every night, can you?”

Dream was quiet for a moment. “I will do everything I can in my power to ensure you will be able to sleep your nights without struggle. For tonight, my sand will have to do.”

And with that, he took out his pouch and you, knowing what he was about to do, settled under your covers. You looked at Dream as he placed the sand on the palm of his hand and the last thing you saw was him blowing the powder-like sand on your face, and you fell asleep on that very moment.

—

“Are you sure about this, Dream?” Matthew asked as he flew by his master, settling onto one of the many chairs in the library. “Humans and Endless rarely mix well. You know it could be dangerous. The potential consquences could be destructive.”

Dream didn’t even look up to his companion as he read one of the many books he owned. “She showed me kindness during my captivity. It is time for me to repay that debt.”

Matthew was quiet and used the time to ponder his next words to groom himself. Then he tilted his head, studying his friend. “Are you planning to act on your feelings?”

Dream paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on the cover of the book. Then he finally looked up to his friend. “I understand your concerns, Matthew. But should we deny ourselves happiness only because the risk of heartbreak it may involve?”

Matthew sighed. “I suppose not.”

Lucienne emerged from behind the corner. “Your devotion for her is undeniable. And your wish to help her through her condition is noble - but remember the consequences what could happen if she starts to dwell in dreams and forget to live. You may get blindsided about what will lie ahead if you let your feelings overwhelm your senses.”

“I am aware, Lucienne,” Dream said, lowering his eyes back down and tracing his finger across the page of the book. “I do not know if she feels the same way. It may be she does not return my feelings for her.”

Matthew and Lucienne exchanged a glance, before the librarian handed a book to Dream. “I believe this book will help with her condition. Just… be careful, my lord.”

Dream’s eyes flickered up again, and he nodded slightly. “Thank you, Lucienne.”

And so, Matthew and Lucienne left Dream alone - he would find a cure for you, let you visit his Kingdom. And even if it would never be anything more than friendship, Dream would enjoy having you around in his Kingdom every night, walking with you through the field and listen to you telling about your day. 

It had been a while since he had had a mortal human friend - Hob being immortal - but he had a feeling that you could be one of his greatest friends who have ever lived.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[wakacreations]

Zevlor HC

I will format this better later when my new laptop arrives. Anyways here is some of my thoughts of the Hellrider.

Before the Descent:

He was a orphan when he joined the Hellriders

Parents died during the vampire siege of Elturel

Was a brawler and picked fights with his fellow Hellriders and commanding officers

He would turn a blind eye to whatever pranks and sneaking out of the barracks that would go on. He would join in as well.

He was a thrill seeker in his youth. Doing any dangerous stunts for easy coin was worth it.

Zevlor and the Hellriders under his commander were the most revered in Elturel.

He was the most feared commander when it came to new hard headed recruits.

During sparring sessions against the Hellrider, he would make his opponents kneel by the end.

It became a legend in the barracks if a recruit never falls to the Zevlorian kneel you will reach the status of Highrider of the Hellriders.

Tilses is Zevlor’s first and last private he had before the Descent.

Zevlor would have Tilses keep watch over any orphaned tieflings in the city and report back to him about how they're fairing. Rolan being one of them.

After the Descent:

Zevlor lost his oath after returning from Avernus when he fought his fellow Hellriders and the Elturians who casted them out. He threw hands with them.

When the city reached Faerun, Zevlor became Doni's guardian till he goes missing in the Shadow-cursed Lands.

He would take turns with Asharak with training the tiefling children.

I am of the mind that Rolan and his siblings take Zevlor as a part of their family.

Tilses, Rolan and Dammon go around explaining to the rest of the tieflings what happened to him.

General Facts:

Zevlor doesn't enjoy singing and dancing as much as he used to. In those moments he's reminding of his Hellrider days of those he wished were with him and the feeling of betrayal of those who joined with casting his kin out.

When it came to drinking, he is a lightweight. He would participate in drinking contests against other Hellriders. He won of course. He is competitive. There was a lot of slight of hand involved and being good friends with the bar keeps.

He has night terrors and insomnia, Halsin before getting captured would give him medicinal herbs and teas to help him sleep. He still takes them once in awhile after the fall of the Netherbrain.

The Hellrider would start singing songs as they traveled on the road to boost everyone's morale. He would sometimes sing, hum and whistle to himself when he's alone.

At the grove at night, he would sing a lullaby to the children as they drifted off to sleep. The same as he done in Avernus or just any children that fell into his care.

Zevlor isn't fond of sweets but does enjoy chocolates as a treat to himself.

He did not particularly enjoy eating pears but he eventually came around to them. A bite of a pear was reexperiencing his childhood. When the fruits were ripe and he would have to pluck them from the tree in his family's garden.

As much as he tries to remain stoic, his ears give away whatever emotions he's feeling. They unconsciously flop when he's upset, perk up when in interest and flap when happy.

Occasionally he'll perform stunts for the kids. A backflip, a cartwheel, juggle daggers and etc. Whenever Okta needs a break from watching over the little ones or she doesn't want to be disturbed.

[syuga-s]

who do you blame?

w.c. 11.9k pairing. Yoongi x fem!reader, Taehyung x fem!reader genre. hello again ANGST, slight smut, romance a/n. NSFW MDNI !!! curse words, alcohol, sexual content (just fingering this time),, i may or may not have a second part to this fic 😼 ENJOY pookies <3

Don’t know if I can call it insomnia if I literally sleep at this hour all the time.

I want to dye my hair black again.

But this restlessness feels different.

Maybe that third cup of coffee’s doing its thing.

I was so close to having a panic attack; I did cry, though. And I still want to for a variety of reasons.

I’ve been thinking about a lot of things this week. I really want to see Yoongi like, right now. That’s how I know I’m not doing well.

Lately, I’ve been pondering the idea of resentment and how it means that envy is the emotion you’re feeling. At first, I dismissed it because how do you go from one emotion to a completely different one? But hell maybe they’re right.

I may envy people and their ability to forget how someone else made them feel. Or how they’re able to just overlook someone’s actions. Because I can’t do that. I take everything to heart.

How can you not when those actions were directed at you? Even though I’m used to excusing them and saying, “maybe they’re going through something big, and I just got the short end of the stick,” “maybe they didn’t actually mean it,” or the great, “maybe you’re not the only one that they treated like that, don’t feel so special.”

Alright, but why does it have to happen? Is it that tough to be considerate of someone’s feelings?

Good thing I haven’t texted Yoongi. I’m pretty sure I’m having a weak moment.

Do I want to keep up with that mess? Because that’s what it is.

I just can’t stop thinking about him. I think I miss him. But I refuse to be the one that reaches out for him this time. I’m still pondering if I genuinely miss him or if I’m just fucking lonely again.

Pretty sure it’s the second one.

At the same time, I wish he would grow up more and be ready for something serious.

“Sooooo… I dyed my hair again last night,” you confessed to Gemma on the phone. She was on her way to your house to pick you up because tonight you two were attending a concert.

Your best friend sighed, and you could practically imagine them rolling their eyes. “What color is it this time?” Gemma sounded exasperated, but she wasn’t; it didn’t even surprise her anymore. All her concerns were how you managed to not fry your hair whenever you wanted another makeover.

“I guess it looks kind of black?” You muttered and pressed your lips while you waited for your friend to say something.

“UGH, I can’t wait to see you!,” “you better be ready too because I’m hungry, and you know our pho place closes early!”

“I know, I know. Surprisingly, I AM ready; I’m just looking for my keys.”

This was your and Gemma’s ritual almost every Friday or Saturday night, depending on your plans. Tonight, it was Friday, and you had your usual king size pho, talking about work, your hair on this occasion, and most importantly, the band you were going to watch in a few hours.

You forgot to mention how you’ve been feeling about Yoongi. You thought that conversation could be saved for another time.

As soon as you arrived at the venue, the band came out.

It was one of these L.A. indie bands that both of you discovered this same year. Whenever Gemma was over at your place, you always ended up watching their music videos, fawning over the vocalist. So, when you found out they were doing a concert soon, you knew you had to be there.

It lasted around an hour, which was a little underwhelming compared to the other concerts you’ve attended. Still, all was forgotten because that damn vocalist was as dreamy as you imagined.

When the concert ended, Gemma and you found yourselves a table to keep talking over drinks. You didn’t count on Sam, one of your other friends, calling and telling you she was coming over.

You didn’t usually mixed your plans, but it felt kind of inevitable tonight.

You also thought the place felt kind of dead and guessed it wouldn’t hurt to have more people with you.

Sam arrived with her brother’s girlfriend. Before anything else could be said, they both said, “This place is dead.”

“What were you doing in here?”

You laughed at the confused expression your friend had on her face. She knew you were at a concert, but you then explained you were just sitting and drinking, nothing special.

“We should go somewhere else! What do you say about going downtown?” The brother’s girlfriend addressed you.

You pursed your lips and turned to look at Gemma to ask her what she wanted to do. “I’m staying over with you, so I’m giving you the privilege of deciding.” You smiled at your friend and thought about it. You wanted to keep drinking; it was barely 11 p.m.

You turned to Sam to tell her it was okay, but before you opened your mouth, she tried to convince you, “Come on, let’s just go for a while; Hoseok’s over there with some friends!”

Hoseok is Sam’s brother.

Hoseok is Yoongi’s best friend.

It’s pretty evident that wherever Hoseok was, Yoongi was there too.

Fuck, did I manifest this?

“Let’s go then.”

What a miracle, what a coincidence.

A kiss on the cheek. All kind. Warm greetings—the kind that makes you want to kill whoever invented manners. You see each other from time to time, often at random places and gatherings like tonight.

You haven’t seen Yoongi in over ten months.

You haven’t seen him since that last date you had. If you can call it that.

Last year, life was kicking your ass, and Yoongi was everything you had. You truly needed someone, and he stayed with you throughout the messiest months of your life. He was your everything.

You were perfectly aware he was never going to be serious about you. He’s been in your life for eight years, and both of you have left the other countless times before. You two were just a bad joke. You never understood why he always insisted on coming back to your life just for him to treat you like always. Never something special. Never been the exception, always the rule.

But for those seven months, he acted like the person you always wanted him to be. You knew you were both a joke, but you always liked what “us” meant with him.

Last Christmas was the first time you spent a holiday together. It felt so important to you back then as if life was finally going your way.

You never expected what he had to say to you right on that day.

“First of all, Merry Christmas, honey”. He smiled as he looked at you. “You know I’ll always wish for you and your family to be healthy. I know this is important to you, but I’m sure you can rest a bit about that matter from now on.”

“I’m really happy you’re spending these days with me. You know I’m not fond of the holidays, but I want you to know this feels important to me.”

“I genuinely, truly, really want to keep you with me and for us to go out as much as we can, if you want to, of course. Because to be honest, if it were up to me, we would be doing a bunch of stuff together all the time, but it’s not just a matter of me wanting, so I hope you’d like that too.”

With his words, you went through all the emotions known to mankind. It’s been the first time you’ve heard something like that coming from him, and you felt strange. Thinking how you may have wanted that for years, now when it’s actually happening, you feel so disconnected from yourself, you start to think, “What can he possibly like in me? I’ve only shown him chaos these past months.”

But as soon as that thought crossed your mind, your heart told you, “Yet, he’s still here.”

He made you feel safe, so you committed to being the best version of yourself once again. After all you’ve been through, he’s never stopped being so good and patient with you.

He’s always going to have a piece of your heart.

Then came the inevitable change of heart one of you had every time.

This time, it happened to him. Of course.

You were supposed to go out one night, but you ended up going home in the middle of the “date.”

It’s like you weren’t talking to Yoongi anymore. He was acting cold, apathetic, indifferent, you name it.

You felt awful on your way home. You didn’t even want to think about the reason for his attitude towards you.

You wanted to feel hopeful, happy, and even in love, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. You wanted to trust in what Yoongi had told you just a few weeks ago. Maybe it was just something you wanted to hear, but you didn’t catch on to the intentions behind his words.

I actually fell for it this time.

There have been multiple times when you told yourself there was no future for you two. Why do you keep staying? It just makes you feel like shit in the end.

I just keep building unrealistic expectations, as if there was actually someone who could save me from my own problems1.

This time, you were hoping he was tired of you and would finally choose not to be with you anymore.

Farewell comes. Once again, you bury memories deep in the deepest ocean. Then it comes back and floats up.

There were eight people sitting close together at a little round table, and to your luck, you ended up facing Yoongi.

Beer never stopped coming to your table.

You had an impressive way of acting as if everything was normal. You were always like this. Of course, Yoongi made you angry, but you’ve never resented him for something. Acting full of hostility in front of both of your friends would never be one of your goals.

On some other occasion, maybe you would’ve ignored him and his glances, but you can’t deny that you’ve wanted to see and talk to him for the past few weeks.

Your friends weren’t fond of your “relationship,” yet they were always curious about how you two treated each other whenever you saw each other after a while. Everyone always knew when you two were together and how many months you had spent without talking.

You can’t tell if that’s good or not, but everyone knew it was just a matter of time before you started seeing each other again.

Tonight was going well. You haven’t seen Hoseok or the other guys in a while. Aside from whatever you had with Yoongi, they were your friends, too. Not too long ago, you always went out on weekends to bars, parties, and the occasional concerts.

Ever since you distanced yourself from them a little, they got into relationships. It wasn’t until today that you actually spent time with them and their partners and got to know them a little.

Jimin was sitting on your right, and eventually, you found yourselves talking apart from the others. He started telling you about his partner and how he got in a little fight with them over whether it’s right or not to look at other people at the gym.

Later, the others were all over that topic, arguing whether it was socially acceptable or not to look at someone else at the gym while your partner was there with you. All the alcohol you’ve drank made itself present. Your overall volume rose with each minute, with everyone voicing their opinions.

You had already told tipsy Jimin your point of view, so you got fed up with the subject when it turned into an actual discussion between Hoseok and his partner.

Sam and Gemma were still talking with Jimin over what he did, his partner’s words, and whatnot. So you found your chance to get up and go to the jukebox.

It took less than two minutes of you looking through the catalog when you suddenly saw a tall figure standing by your side.

“Hi,” he said.

You turned to look straight into his eyes. “Hi.”

“You look radiant, better than before.”

You bit your smile back and answered, “can’t complain.” Still searching for a song.

He came closer to you, “we meet again.”

A smile escaped from you. “It’s been almost a year, huh.”

Now they’re walking on ice. To see who slips first. No strings intertwined. They were never anything, but there was always something.

“I know, it’s crazy.” He wasn’t going to waste any more time. “Can we meet later?”

There was something.

“My friend is staying over.” You had already picked two songs but still had three more credits.

“I can come by.”

You were thinking hard about which songs to pick, but Yoongi was making it really hard to concentrate.

Of course, I want you to come over. Yet, I still want to hang on to the small remains of my pride.

“I think it would be better if we go out sometime this week if you want.”

Filled with anxiety over what you were arranging, you started tapping your fingers against the machine, not remembering which artist you were looking for in the first place.

“I thought you no longer wanted to see me.”

You lifted your chin to look at him and gave him a smirk. “Well,” you said with a nervous laugh, “I did, but I can’t lie to you; I’ve been thinking about you for days.”

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean why?”

“I don’t know, I thought you were done with me.”

“Yoongi, we can’t talk about that here.”

You were finally searching for the last song. “Well, I’ll see you at your house later.”

Again, you turned to look at him but gave him an annoyed expression. You kept going through Pink Floyd’s songs, your distress not letting you find your favorite song by them.

“Can I? Just for a while. I want to talk to you.”

“Talk about what Yoongi?”

Finally, <The Great Gig in the Sky>.

“About why you left like that back then.”

You finally turned your whole body to answer him, “Alright then, you can come by later.” And with that, you returned to your seat at the table. Everyone asked what took you so long, and while you explained that you couldn’t find the songs you wanted, Yoongi came back to his seat, too. All eyes were on you, his included.

It actually got you happy that he talked to you first.

Untethered intertwining. They were never anything, but there was always something.

Sam, Hoseok, and his girlfriend left around 2 a.m., but the rest of you kept finding things to talk about.

You never stopped drinking, but you weren’t feeling drunk yet. In one of your trips to the bathroom, Gemma told you she liked Yoongi for the first time, and it got you all giddy. As you were walking back, you and Yoongi couldn’t take your eyes off of each other. Both of you were getting impatient to finally be alone again.

You’re both talking to your friends, and you’re laughing, and you look across the table. You’re not even far apart, but you catch each other’s eyes, and it’s this secret that exists right there, unnoticed, and no one else knows about it, no one else but you and Yoongi.

The rest of your friends were already drunk, so he told you, “We should go.”

“Come on, I’ll take you both home.”

Gemma hopped in the back of his car, and you got yourself in the passenger seat.

All your actions were too familiar for someone who hasn’t seen this guy in over ten months.

The next thing you knew, your phone connected automatically to his car, and he urged you to put some music on.

It was until this moment, on your way to your house, that you realized you were very drunk. You don’t even remember which playlist or songs you played.

When you arrived home, you gathered all your might to get Gemma inside. (Yoongi helped you open all the doors and, most importantly, carry Gemma to your room).

You got Gemma into your bed, changed her clothes, and left her a glass of water on your bedside table. You also used the moment to gulp a glass of water yourself. Meanwhile, Yoongi was already settled in your living room, his eyes not leaving you. Lying on your couch, recognizing when you were feeling more than tipsy. “Are you drunk?”

His voice scared you for a second. You did not realize he was still there or that he was watching your every move. Your smile gave away that you were indeed feeling a little drunk.

“A little? Maybe?”

The way he laughs always gets you. It has this cute yet manly note that you’ve always loved so much.

You curled up on your couch next to Yoongi, facing him. You truly wanted to hear what he wanted to talk about, but this newfound comfort of being on your couch made you sleepy. At the same time, the way he was looking at you was letting the alcohol in your system wear out.

His heavy gaze no longer made you think about talking with him. All you wanted was for him to hold you and kiss you like he used to as if he couldn’t wait any longer to press his lips on yours, to interrupt you while you were saying something with a kiss filled with the desire you both had for the other.

“Are you dating someone else?” His question shocked you. You looked at him wide-eyed. Yoongi looked directly at your eyes like they were the only thing in the room, fearing that if he looked somewhere else, he’d miss the truth coming from your eyes.

Your face turned into a frown, and drinking in his words confused you. You sat straight to ask your first question, but he beat you to it. “Is that why you left me?” The blood drained from your face.

Is he serious? Is he genuinely clueless? Or is he just being stupid?

“Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve been dating around?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that you disappeared again; if you wanted me to go to hell, you could’ve said so.”

“What are you even saying, Yoongi?”

“I thought you were dating someone.” He let out what must have been a bitter laugh.

“Well, I’m not… I don’t have time to go out with ‘people’.”

Do you even know why it’s so goddamn impossible for me to let you go? Because every song, every moment, and every person reminds me of you.

Why did you even want to see him this time around? Have you ever thought about that? It didn’t even matter because it was always the same. You suddenly forget how you feel or whatever you wanted to say as soon as you’re in front of him. Even if you said something, he wasn’t going to listen. He never does.

“Are you dating someone?”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about. I need to know why you left me that night.”

“So, you are dating someone...”

“Just tell me why you left me.”

“Fine, I bet I won’t even remember this in the morning,” you laugh softly, maybe in preparation for what you would say next.

You collapse back onto your couch, sighing as your head sinks into the soft cushions. Your eyes drift upward, fixating on the blank expanse of the ceiling above you.

“It’s just that… I don’t know; that day, you were acting so strange toward me, and I truly thought you weren’t my Yoongi anymore. It’s like you were dying to get out of there, and I figured it would be better if I was the one who left first”. You smiled, but everyone could have seen the bitterness behind it. “I trust- no, I hoped… that what you told me that you wanted for us was true, but I couldn’t see a trace of that in you anymore. I didn’t want to turn into an anxious mess and think about you non-stop or… try to find out why you acted like that, so yeah, I left you again.”

He felt a tightness in his chest when he heard you say, “My Yoongi.” It wasn’t helping that your words sounded so real to him at that moment. This was easily the third time he’d seen you somewhat vulnerable. He was going to regret talking about this.

“Do you want me to ask you what was going on with you that day?” Your head was still on the couch, but it was now turned to get a better look at his face. You were still smiling.

He thought, Why is she smiling? Why is she always smiling?

“But you said you weren’t gonna remember this in the morning.” There goes his sweet laugh again.

“We can try.”

“Can we try with a kiss instead?”

Only the sound of cars driving by could be heard.

You don’t even remember that kiss anymore.

That should have been a dead giveaway that everything was bound to turn out very wrong after that night.

The following days were even worse. Your conversations over text were boring and awkward. You felt that he was being an ass on purpose, as if he was making you pay for what you “put” him through. Sick and tired. That’s how you were beginning to feel towards this ongoing joke. Over the week, you started remembering the first thing you wrote about him. It was the first time you’d drifted apart.

“I want to see you. I want to be with you now. I hate feeling this needy. I like you so much that I don’t know what to do with all these emotions. Remember that night when we kissed for the first time? Our lips touched, and I think my heart lost its rhythm for a few minutes. It’s okay if you don’t remember it the way I do. But I want you to know that I’ll never forget how you made me feel that night. I think I fell in love with you since then. I’ve missed you almost every day since you left. I realized that I look pretty when I’m sad, but I look prettier when somebody says your name, and I smile uncontrollably. I wish I could explain the physical pain I feel inside my chest when I think about you. And I wish that pain could be erased if we’re being honest. I don’t know what’s wrong with us. I’m running out of ideas to make this work, and I feel like if I don’t do something to save us, you won’t do it either; even though I know you care, I know you’re just going to stand there, arms crossed watching everything drift away. I can’t get out of my head that time you said that you felt that you were hurting me instead of making me feel good, and I said that sometimes I think I hate you. I swear I didn’t mean it. It’s just that I’m too scared of losing you for good because I have this feeling that I won’t feel like this ever again; I’m afraid I’ll have to lose this part of myself that feels genuinely in love with someone. I thought we were made for each other. I thought you were one of my soulmates. I still think we are. But we keep fucking it up every single time. I won’t lie; I’m fine some days, but the smallest things break me. I know it’s not your fault that I’m so damn sensitive, but my feelings have always been this intense, this is who I am, and I was hoping that you would learn to love the whole mess that I am just as much as I love yours. It’s not that I can’t be with someone else and forget about you—I know I can—but I don’t want to be without you. I don’t know what it is about this day, but my head feels so much heavier when we’re having problems. I feel mad at you, and I bet you’re mad at me, too. Have I always been this hard? Or are you just realizing that being with me is a lot of work and I’m not worth it? I’m not ready to let you go. You’re the only guy I’ve ever wanted to keep around. You treat me so well when we’re together. I love when you take my hand in yours. I love every time it’s just you and me, and we talk about life. There’s no one for me but you. You’re the only face I can see. I hope you know I’m only pretending to hate you when I love you so much. After all, I’ll always hope it’s you and me in the end. I’m happy if I get to be with you.”

That was seven fucking years ago. Funny huh?

It was never supposed to turn out like this. Who would’ve thought that someone could pull you down like this under the guise of love? Was it really only an individual’s fault?

Did it keep going because no one wanted to be the bad guy? If we didn’t have feelings for each other, if we didn’t think of each other, would we have dragged it on like this?

Those words played over and over again in your head. Whenever you came to be together again, that was eventually all you wondered about.

That first letter was born when the first layer that was blinding you was uncovered. It was as if something was finally letting you see the shape of the person Yoongi was—or at least the person he was with you.

Next year. The second “letter” came.

“Everything’s been so weird lately. I don’t get you. You didn’t talk to me for three days, yet you still think I’ll say yes when you want to see me late at night when you finally feel like it? Seriously? I’m angry at you, but mostly, I’m angry at myself. How can I be so blind to not realize that nothing will ever happen between us? Why am I still here? I know it’s because I want to be with someone, but maybe that person is not you. Because if you wanted to, we would be something by now. I know you won’t ever change because it’s been 2 years since this started, and you’re still the same. Maybe I fell in love with the hope and longing. All I did was imagine myself with you, I thought I was being patient about us. I can’t help but be a hopeless romantic, that’s all I’ve been my whole life. Occasionally, I find myself doing dumb shit all the time, like apologizing to the stars on behalf of both of us for not keeping our promises. I’ve been thinking about how sad I have been lately. Telling myself I’m stupid for loving you after all you’ve made me go through, how useless I feel, and how painful every day gets, honestly, this love I feel for you is making me crazy. But I shouldn’t be worrying about this. I know it may seem complicated to live with a broken heart, crying until your tears make you blind. I keep saying to myself, “It’s time you get yourself together, fall in love with yourself again, and forgive yourself for thinking you were stupid when you only acted out of love for someone who couldn’t see all you were.” But let’s be honest, being aware of all this still doesn’t make it any easier. I still feel so lost. And confused. I wish I knew how to stop loving you. I miss my peace of mind. I know what I’m supposed to do but don’t know where to start. I know that one day we’ll cross paths again, and I won’t feel a thing anymore, but until then, I’ll keep trying to convince myself that I don’t want you anymore. What have you done to me? What have I done to myself? What is it about you that ended up putting me through this hell? For the past few months, we barely saw each other. I still remember the last words we exchanged, and I feel sick, I keep wishing you would’ve done something else, hoping you would’ve said something different, but wishing for this doesn’t matter anymore, I’ll just keep hurting myself if I keep thinking about this version of you that I kept romanticizing. I’m tired now. All this was too much for me. But let me tell you one thing. I never even thought for a second that I was wasting my time with you. Not even when all my friends told me so. I took pride in myself for “knowing” when a guy doesn’t want you, but you were so confusing. You used to always be there. You knew exactly what to do and what to say so I could keep my love alive, making me think that maybe one day we would be together, but now I’m truly fed up with you. I’m angry. I know I can live without talking to you, but I don’t think I can be in the same room with you and not feel a thing. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand me. I want us to end on good terms because I know it’ll be impossible for us to stop seeing each other. So please help me, because this won’t be easy for me. I still care about you. I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to keep crying, but understand me, I’m not crying for you. It’s just that I have so much inside me that I could never say to you. I know now that I was too much for you.”

In the span of two years, all that relationship lay before your eyes, yet somehow you didn’t want to see it. You decided to keep your hope alive even if it hurt you.

Several breakups between the two of you. A few relationships with other people in the middle of it all. Countless times you wanted to run to him just one more time. The occasional texts came from him, asking how you were and if you wanted to meet again.

You tried to be strong most of the time. You even felt you had gotten over Yoongi on every period where you’d stopped running into him. Those were the times when it was easy. But it was also quite embarrassing how quickly you’d fall into his trap once he got into your head again.

So yeah, you caved in after that kiss from last night.

You were letting this happen. You wanted this on this occasion.

It should be fine, right?

Eventually, after a few weeks, both of you started sorting out your emotions and everything felt pretty normal again.

Why do I make things so complicated when there’s no need to?

You can’t help but doubt yourself and doubt him. You want to know what’s in his head, yet you know it should be enough for you that he wants to keep seeing you.

All these doubts made you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re treating this in the same way you would’ve years ago.

Just focus on the now.

Aside from that…

You like him very much. He can talk about a bunch of things with you. He can be cute when he wants to be. You used to have a lot in common in terms of music. You like his style. And let’s not get started on his tattoos. ON TOP OF THAT, HIS ARMS. For some weird reason, I always forget he has dimples.

Ultimately, years pass and you always run back to him. You genuinely enjoy being in the same room as him.

No one has gotten close to how he makes you feel. Every time you see him again, everything feels the same. Your feelings towards him haven’t changed.

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle but never break.

A month later

Ah, shit.

You were having a relatively good weekend. It was the 4th of July. You spent it with your family and now it was almost midnight but you were still texting with your best friend. She was at a party with Sam, Jess, and all the guys. You were experiencing a mild fomo, but you had a deal with your parents, so you had to pass that party this time.

Even Jungkook texted you earlier asking why you weren’t there. But that’s another story.

Your best friend was getting drunker with every text she sent, but she had put herself on the task of updating you with all of Yoongi’s whereabouts and doings.

I mean go ahead I guess. It makes me feel like it’s my fault for not showing enough interest again. This is making me uneasy. Because I like him but turns out he doesn’t like me enough? I WANT TO SCREAM.

I shouldn’t be angry because it’s my fault. I know so. I’m not trying enough, and maybe this was bound to happen. I can’t ask him to just talk to me. He needs to live his life too, he’s human, and he gets tired of waiting for someone who doesn’t seem “invested” in him. FUCK.

He ended up coming to your place around 1 a.m.

And this time, you actually talked. You were worried he’d drank too much, but he showed to be as sober as one can be.

Before he got there, you were extremely nervous, but once you sat with him on your couch, all your tension and fears calmed down. You valued that he was able to make you feel that way.

Your feelings went on a rollercoaster in a matter of a few hours, it was so fucking strange to read those words. To paint yourself a picture of what Yoongi was doing with you.

“Why weren’t you at the party?”

“I spent the whole weekend with my parents, so I couldn’t go.” “I wanted to, though.”

“It would’ve been cool if you had gone, everyone was asking about you.”

A smirk appeared on your face. “And what did you tell ’em?”

“That you didn’t want to see me,” He joked.

You started playing with him.

“That’s sliiightly true,”

After that, he laughed but got closer to you. He even got a lot more talkative, narrating to you everything he and your friends did earlier on. You were pretty entranced in him. It’s risky when you love to hear someone just talk. He took in the way you were gazing at him and figured there was no point in wasting more time. It was obvious Yoongi only went to your place to see if he was getting lucky tonight.

You realized his face was inching closer to yours. Your eyes scanning his own. Him doing the same, with the occasional glance at your lips. You weren’t gonna kiss him. Still, you let him get close enough so your lips could brush each other.

Then you smiled.

You weren’t gonna miss the chance to let him try to explain to you what the hell was going on, so you thought you’d go straight to the point.

“Can I ask you something?”

He returned your smile.

“Wait, let me guess”- “You want to know if I have a girlfriend”.

Motherfucker.

Your smile faltered slightly at him guessing the question, but he maintained eye contact with you. “Yeah, I figured that’s what you wanted to ask,” he replied. His tone is a mix of playfulness and seriousness. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The way his mind immediately went there. We’ll worry about that later.

Yoongi’s words echoed in your ears, you couldn’t help but believe him. There was something about his voice, his gaze, that made you blindly trust his every word.

Yoongi’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering. “I want you to know that I’m being genuine right now. I don’t have a girlfriend, I’m not seeing anybody formally, romantically, emotionally, or whatever you imagined. I want to give us a chance to make things right for you.”

You clung to the hope that this time he was telling the truth.

A sense of relief washed over you as you leaned closer to Yoongi. Ignoring the cautionary whispers in the back of your mind, you let yourself be swept away by his intoxicating presence.

His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, and for a moment, it felt like all your doubts and worries faded away.

Days turned into weeks, and you reveled in the blissful illusion of having Yoongi in your life once again. Yoongi seemed attentive, caring, and utterly devoted to you. He showered you with affection, making you believe that you were his only one this time.

Over the next months, your interactions with Yoongi were limited to texts. There were no dates or visits to your house or his place, for that matter. It’s like he was growing bored. But that’s nothing new anymore.

You started to grow tired of his refusal to let you go, even if he didn’t like you the way you liked him. You knew it was time to move on and find someone who would honestly reciprocate your feelings.

And then, on a spontaneous note, one day, you stumbled upon someone through Instagram.

thv replied to your story.

It started with you two sending each other songs for a few days.

Then, when you got to actually talk to him. You realized he was funny, his music taste almost immaculate, he was extremely nice to you, and he cared about what you had to say. You basically had the same interests. And hands down, you enjoyed talking to him a lot.

Ever since you started talking to this new guy, called Taehyung, you felt like something had shifted in your life. And it’s only been 3 days since then.

This time, it turned out you were wrong. Wrong about everything.

I can’t regret anything, because I tried, I wholeheartedly tried. I don’t plan to try and understand him anymore.

Yoongi had been lying through his teeth the whole time. He did have a girlfriend, and he reveled in his power over you. He enjoyed playing with your emotions, relishing in his control over you.

You found out a few days ago, and you struggled to know what to do. You weren’t going to just ghost him. You couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be passive-aggressive toward him, and it showed in your texts.

But you weren’t counting on that he was even more of a cynic than you. And you were getting angrier that he wouldn’t accept anything and refused to let the conversation die.

So yeah, it took 3 days.

It took you that long to get yourself way ahead of everything. About Taehyung specifically.

You don’t remember having met him before.

If only you knew that he remembers the first time he saw you in college and several parties after that.

He’d grown attracted to you every time he saw you. However, you never once seemed to acknowledge his presence.

And don’t get him wrong. He didn’t mind. You were just a platonic interest. Somehow he knew you weren’t exactly available even if he never saw you with a guy before.

He just took his chance a few days ago, not expecting anything. Just with the simple excuse of finally getting to know you.

He was a good listener, interested in your thoughts. With each message exchanged, your connection grew extremely fast.

This got you scared. You had barely talked to him and were already getting VERY INTERESTED.

On the fourth day, he invited you to the movies, but ended up going out to two bars and then dancing.

You shared even more stories, talked about your dreams, and even found yourselves discussing your insecurities in your love life.

Taehyung made you feel seen, heard, and valued – something you hadn’t felt in a long time. He was patient and understood your reservations.

On the cab, in the way back to your place, you rested your head on his shoulder, hand in hand, you truly felt so calm, it had been the nicest date ever.

Hell, you haven’t even had a proper date in years. So, no one can blame you when you finally let yourself be vulnerable for once.

Taehyung knew he’d like you, but never to this extent. He wasn’t scared when he realized he was falling in love with you. All he wanted was to see you every single day from now on. He took the initiative to plan a date next week, but you went out of town to visit your cousin.

So Monday it is. There was only one thing that you had to take care of. Before you let yourself move on to the next step in your love life.

Dealing with Yoongi was getting tiring, so it finally happened. The long overdue conversation occurred. Over texts, but it happened.

For once, you didn’t see the point in continuing. You and Yoongi have been through this road way too many times, and nothing has changed.

You decided to cut ties with Yoongi for good on that Monday. From now on, Taehyung could be the only one in your head.

As you were getting ready for your date with Taehyung, you couldn’t help but think about your conversation with Yoongi just a few hours ago. It was strange how life presented you with new opportunities right on the heels of letting go of the past. The decision to leave Yoongi was still fresh in your mind, but you hoped that this date with Taehyung would make you feel different, as bad as it could sound, but a distraction to that awful bit.

Taehyung took you to the movies, and from the moment the film began, your hands found each other’s, fingers intertwining. The dimly lit theater provided the perfect backdrop for this quiet display of affection. The movie itself was fun at times, but it was almost a blur of scenes and dialogue because your attention was elsewhere. You didn’t realize that Taehyung also spent that entire hour and a half not watching the movie, but watching you. He observed the way your eyes lit up at the funny parts, the sound of your laughter made his heart skip a beat. It was as if he had his own private screening of your reactions, and to him, it was the most captivating thing in the world.

The next stop on your adventure was an arcade, a place filled with flashing lights and the noise of all the games you can imagine. You couldn’t resist the air hockey table, and without hesitation, you both grabbed the paddles. As the puck glided across the smooth surface, it was evident that both of you were really good at it. Soon, a couple of small kids had gathered around, their eyes wide with fascination as they watched you play.

Taehyung, multitasking effortlessly, started chatting with them while maintaining his competitive spirit. A little girl, no older than seven, stood beside you, her eyes sparkling with innocence. She looked up at you with a hopeful smile and asked, “Are you going to beat your boyfriend?” Her question caught you off guard, and you burst into laughter at her adorable bluntness. Taehyung, engrossed in his conversation with the other kids, didn’t hear the question. All he could see was how your laughter sounded like the sweetest melody in the world.

Distracted by your laugh, Taehyung lost to you in the game. The little kids erupted in cheers, celebrating your victory as if you had just won a championship. They eagerly lined up to give you high-fives, momentarily forgetting that Taehyung even existed. That was until he, still keen on entertaining the kids, asked if they knew how to play. The result was an excited chorus of enthusiastic and loud ‘yes’s’.

It was an endearing sight as Taehyung listened attentively to the kids. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but smile at how easily he connected with them.

“Okay, guys, what’s the next game we should play?” Taehyung asked, genuinely intrigued by their suggestions.

The kids seemed to have a dozen ideas at once, and it was all a jumble of arcade classics, from racing games to shooting hoops. One girl, with a mischievous glint in her eye, pointed at the dance machine in the corner.

“Can we try that dance game?” she asked, her excitement infectious.

Taehyung exchanged a playful glance with you, and you both agreed, despite the potential embarrassment that awaited you. The music blared from the machine, and you gave it your all, dancing like nobody was watching (except a group of kids, of course). Taehyung joined in nervously, even though his dancing skills were almost too good.

The kids burst into laughter at everyone’s dance moves, cheering you on with each step. It was one of those moments where embarrassment turned into pure joy, and you couldn’t have cared less about who was watching.

It was heartwarming to see him engage with them, making sure each child had a good time. After making sure the kids had enough tokens to keep playing, Taehyung gently took your hand, and together you wandered through the arcade. The place was a riot of flashing lights and game sounds, but it all faded into the background as you explored hand in hand.

Eventually, you came across the game involving knocking down rows of clown figures. You both paused, taking in the challenge. With the timer ticking down, Taehyung turned to you. His eyes sparkled with affection, and amidst the blinking lights and arcade tunes, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

You paused for a moment, your heart racing as you looked into Taehyung’s eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him - far from it. In fact, you felt a strong pull towards him, a connection that seemed to grow with every passing second. Even more so, after the side of him you saw today.

But there was something holding you back, a nagging doubt that whispered in the back of your mind. You had just met Taehyung, and even though the chemistry between you two was sweet, you wanted to take things slow. You didn’t want to rush into anything, not after what you’d been through with Yoongi.

So, with a soft smile, you gently shook your head and replied, “Not yet.” It was a response that carried a promise, a promise that there would be time for kisses and more in the future, once you were both ready to take that step. Taehyung nodded understandingly, his smile mirroring your own, and you continued your adventure to a bar, still hand in hand.

As you settled into a cozy corner of the bar, the atmosphere shifted, becoming more intimate. The soft hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and mellow jazz music in the background created the perfect backdrop for a meaningful conversation.

You started by talking about your time at the arcade, laughing about how the kids had cheered for you when you won the game. Taehyung joined in, sharing his amusement at their excitement. It was a light and joyful conversation that made you feel even closer to him.

Taehyung was genuinely interested in getting to know you better. He asked about your family, and you shared stories about your parents and siblings. In turn, he spoke fondly about his own family, reminiscing about childhood memories and you noticed how much he loved them.

Work became the next topic of discussion. You both talked about your careers, your aspirations, and the challenges you faced in life. Taehyung’s dedication and passion for his job shone through, and you found yourself admiring his determination.

As the night wore on, the conversation deepened. You talked about life, dreams, and the things that truly mattered to you. It was a conversation that left you feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You realized that this was different from anything you had with Yoongi, something that was still scary to you.

As the night progressed and the conversation with Taehyung deepened, you couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between him and Yoongi. Taehyung’s genuine interest in getting to know you, his kindness, and his openness were like a breath of fresh air compared to the complexity and uncertainty of your history with Yoongi.

The realization that this connection with Taehyung was different, something new and potentially beautiful, both excited and scared you. It was scary because it meant stepping out of your comfort zone, venturing into unfamiliar territory, and leaving behind the emotional rollercoaster that had defined your relationship with Yoongi.

But that fear didn’t deter you. In fact, it fueled a sense of courage you hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe you were ready to embrace something real, something stable, and something built on honesty and trust. It was a daunting prospect, but for the first time in a while, it might be worth taking that leap into the unknown.

The night had stretched on longer than you had initially planned, but you didn’t mind one bit. In fact, you didn’t want it to end.

As Taehyung’s car pulled up to your place, reality seemed to rush back in. With the engine turned off and the night’s silence settling around you, you both remained seated in the car. It was one of those moments where time felt suspended, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to say goodbye.

You gazed into Taehyung’s eyes, his warm and sincere gaze locked onto yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness. You knew what you wanted, and in this moment, you felt a surge of courage you hadn’t experienced before.

Taehyung’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as he said, “I had a really great time tonight.”

You smiled, your heart racing. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice equally hushed.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Finally, you took a deep breath, your nervousness mingling with excitement. “Taehyung, can I ask you something?”

His eyes were curious. “Of course.”

Without overthinking it, you leaned in, closing the gap between you and Taehyung. In the dimly lit car, your lips finally met a gentle and electrifying connection that seemed to seal the promise of something new, something real.

As you pulled away, your foreheads touching, you whispered, “I’ve actually been wanting to do that all night.”

Taehyung chuckled, feeling a newfound hope. “Me too.”

Unable to resist kissing him way longer, you reached out again. The kiss started slow, a tantalizing exploration of each other’s lips. Your mouth was warm and inviting, and Taehyung couldn’t resist the urge to deepen the kiss.

Your lips moved together with a fiery passion, tongues dancing in a tango. There were no more words, just the intoxicating taste of each other. Your hands roamed, tracing all of his torso, igniting a fiery desire within both of you.

Taehyung bit your lower lip, sending shivers down your spine, and you responded with a soft moan. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more fervent. It was a hunger that had been building all night, and now it was impossible to contain.

The kiss was wild, a passionate exchange, a language of desire and longing. You explored every inch of each other’s mouths, savoring the taste of your newfound connection.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless, lips swollen and hearts pounding. Taehyung’s eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that matched the fiery kiss you had just shared.

He whispered, his voice husky, “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you.”

You grinned, your own desire burning bright. “I’m glad we finally did.”

As you entered your home, the soft glow of your phone illuminated the room. You couldn’t help but smile as you saw a series of texts from Taehyung, sent with an urgency that mirrored the fiery passion of your kiss.

From that moment on, there wasn’t a single time of day when you weren’t texting each other. The connection between you two was electric, and it seemed like every message, every word, only deepened your bond. It didn’t take long for Taehyung to invite you again on a date, and he chose a taproom for the occasion.

Taehyung arrived the following Saturday at your doorstep around 7 p.m., his charming smile lighting up the evening. Dressed casually but looking effortlessly handsome, he greeted you warmly.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice a pleasant melody. “Ready for our night out?”

With a nod and an excited smile, you locked the door behind you and joined him. The short drive to the taproom was filled with easy conversation and soft laughs. When you arrived, you were greeted not just by the cozy atmosphere of the taproom but also by some of Taehyung’s friends who had already gathered there.

Taehyung couldn’t contain his excitement about introducing you to his friends. He made the rounds, enthusiastically presenting you to each one of them, his introductions filled with admiration. As the evening went on, his friends couldn’t help but tease you both when they knew you weren’t officially a couple.

However, that made them gush about Taehyung. They spoke of his kindness, his sense of humor, and his unwavering loyalty. They assured you that you’d found someone truly special, and it was clear they thought he’d done the same in finding you.

Throughout the night, amidst the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging. Taehyung’s friends were welcoming, and their approval only added to the unique feeling of the evening.

As the night continued, the connection between you and Taehyung deepened. Your hands naturally gravitated towards each other, fingers interlacing as if they had always belonged together. There was a palpable comfort in being so close, and the world around you seemed to fade into the background.

In the midst of this enchanting evening, a message from Sam popped up on your phone. She was suggesting a plan for tomorrow - a baseball game. Without a moment’s hesitation, you enthusiastically said yes.

But what made your heart race, even more, was the eagerness to include Taehyung in your plans. You turned to him, a radiant smile on your face, and said, “Hey, my friends just invited me to a baseball game tomorrow. Do you want to join us? It’d be amazing if you’d come with me.”

His eyes lit up with delight at the invitation, and he nodded, “yeah, I’d love to be there with you.”

It felt like a natural step, merging your separate worlds and bringing Taehyung closer to your heart.

In your world, your friends were your anchors, your family, and the people who knew you best. If someone couldn’t fit into that crucial part of your life, it was often a telling sign that the relationship might not make it.

As you looked forward to the baseball game the next day, there was a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You believed in Taehyung and the genuine connection you shared, but there was always that sliver of doubt. Would he mesh well with your friends? Would they see what you saw in him?

But deep down, you had a feeling that this was a significant step. If Taehyung could seamlessly become a part of your world, it would be a powerful confirmation of your relationship.

Thoughts of tomorrow’s baseball game, and the potential changes it might bring, had temporarily vanished. All you craved at that moment were the hugs, kisses, and the warmth of holding Taehyung’s hand.

The atmosphere seemed to hum with your love surge, an electric charge that coursed through you, making every moment feel like a heart-pounding adventure. As you bid farewell to Taehyung’s friends, you couldn’t wait to be alone with him, to dance again at the same bar where your love story began.

Tonight, something was different. Your excitement was on an all-time high. The tension that had built up between you over the last dates, the unspoken desires and emotions, were now rising to the surface. The connection between you two was undeniable, and your touches were igniting sparks that seemed to intensify with each passing second.

In the dimly lit bar, the pulsating beat of the music coursed through your veins, syncing with your every move. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, and as you moved to the rhythm, your dance became a sensual invitation. Your body swayed and undulated in harmony with the music, your hips swiveling provocatively to the seductive melodies.

Taehyung watched you with desire burning in his eyes, unable to resist the magnetic pull you had on him. Your dance was a mesmerizing display of confidence and allure. Your hands moved sensually across your own body, tracing the curves and contours that begged for his touch.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Taehyung stepped closer, his hands finding their way to your hips. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, pulling you closer to him as he succumbed to the same fiery rhythm.

Your bodies moved together, pressed intimately against each other. The heat between you grew with every tantalizing sway, and the world around you faded into obscurity. In that moment, there was only the two of you, lost in the lights of desire and passion, each movement drawing you closer to an inevitable collision of lips and bodies.

As the night at the bar wore on, the two of you shared more than just dances. After one particularly intense moment, you found yourself with your back pressed against Taehyung’s chest, the thumping bass of the music reverberating through both of you. His breath was warm against your ear, sending delightful shivers down your spine. In that space, with his arms wrapped around your waist, it felt as if the world had disappeared, leaving only the sensation of his closeness and the rhythmic beating of your hearts in unison.

Between dances, you took breaks to calm yourselves with a beer or whatever drink you saw first at the bar. Each moment spent apart only seemed to fuel the intensity of your attraction. With every sip of your drink, you couldn’t help but glance back at Taehyung, a magnetic pull drawing you together once more. The atmosphere was heady with desire, and your chemistry was through the roof. Each dance, each stolen moment, was a step closer to something neither of you could resist any longer.

After those couple of hours of dancing that left you slightly breathless, you decided to seek refuge in one of the dimly lit booths at the corner of the bar. It provided a temporary sanctuary from the dance floor, allowing you to catch your breath and collect your thoughts amidst the lust that was echoing in your ears. The low hum of laughter and conversation from people around you provided a calming backdrop as you settled in, your heart still racing from the intimate moment with Taehyung, who had managed to stir emotions you hadn’t felt in quite some time.

He slid into the seat opposite you, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers through your body. In the closeness that the booth offered, you could feel something deeper between you. It was as though the music, which had once enveloped you in its intoxicating embrace, was reduced to a mere murmur in the back.

With a playful grin, Taehyung finally broke the silence that had settled between you. “You know,” he began, his voice a low, seductive murmur, “I think we might just be causing a lot of jealous looks in here.”

You chuckled, the sound husky and filled with desire. “I noticed.”

His fingers traced patterns on the table, drawing invisible lines as he continued, “It’s not just about dancing, though. I’ve been imagining being with you like this since the first time I laid eyes on you, and it’s been killing me all night.”

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your ears as you whispered, “Since the first time you saw me?” Not trusting yourself enough to say what you were really thinking, so you mirrored his words.

Taehyung’s hand reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. “I can’t keep my composure anymore,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking about more than this all week.”

He paused, his gaze locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity. “You know,” he added with a sultry smile, “seeing you getting along so well with my best friends earlier, it just… made me so hard.”

The anticipation hung in the air like a charged current, a palpable magnetism drawing you closer together. It was a sensation you couldn’t ignore, a magnetic pull that seemed destined to ignite into something more profound.

You bit your lip, your pupils were blown, unable to contain the emotions surging within you. “Taehyung,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “if you keep this up, I think I might fall in love with you.”

His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and affection as he leaned in closer. “Is that so?” he murmured, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

Moments later, Taehyung led you to his apartment.

“I’m glad that we can finally be together like this.” He said with a sincere smile, his hand moving lower to cup your ass. He couldn’t resist anymore; he had to have you right then and there.

He slid his hand under your skirt, feeling the smoothness of your skin against his fingertips. Traced the outline of your panties through the fabric of your bottom. Taehyung felt a wave of arousal wash over him as he painted himself a picture of what lay beneath. Slowly, he slid his hands up your legs until he reached the hem of your panties. With a gentle tug, he pulled them down, revealing your wetness to him.

The sudden exposure caused you to blush slightly, but it only fueled his desire further. You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of what came next “*Aren’t you going to see how wet I got because you?”

He leaned in and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek, then gently placed his hand on your inner thigh. As he did so, he whispered in your ear. “Do you really want me to do this?”

“I want this, trust me.”

He slid his hand up higher, feeling the warmth and dampness of your cunt. He could hear your soft gasps and moans as he touched your pussy. He continued to stroke you gently, feeling your muscles tighten around his fingers.

He heard your moans and started to become even more aroused. He could feel his own hard on growing in his pants, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before you both got carried away. He slowly pulled back from you and looked into your eyes, his face flushed red with desire. You could tell that he was just as affected as you were.

You nodded, your eyes locked with his as desire coursed through your veins. You breathed, “I want you to touch me. I need your hands in me.”

A low growl rumbled in Taehyung’s throat as he gave you a hungry look, his fingers inching closer to your dripping core. “Fuck,” he muttered, unable to contain his own need. “I’ve been dreaming about this for days. About burying myself deep inside you.”

The raw desire in his words sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing second. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, desperate for his touch.

His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasingly avoiding direct contact with where you needed him most. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you fought to maintain a hint of control.

“Please, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “don’t make me wait.”

A wolfish grin tugged at the corners of Taehyung’s lips as he finally gave in to both of your desires. His fingers dipped into your wet heat, eliciting a moan from deep within your throat.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned, his voice rough with lust. “Did I make you this way? Did I make that pretty little pussy of yours ache for me?”

All coherent thought flew out the window as Taehyung pumped his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots that made pleasure surge through every nerve ending in your body. You could only manage to nod and let out a desperate moan in response.

He wrapped his other hand around your neck, pulling you closer to him. He could feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers, and he knew that you were enjoying this a lot.

He started to apply pressure to your neck, feeling your body respond to his touch. You let out a small gasp of air, and as he continued to choke you, he leaned in closer to your ear and whispered. “Do you like this, baby? Is this what you wanted?”

His thumb found its way to your clit, circling the swollen bud and sending jolts of electricity straight to where you needed it most. The pleasure was overwhelming, bordering on blissful torture, as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me, baby,” Taehyung whispered, his hot breath fanning across your ear. “I want to feel you cum around my fingers.”

His words were all it took to push you over the edge. The coil of pleasure that had been building inside of you snapped, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through your body. You clung to him as you rode out your orgasm, his touch the only anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of sensations.

As the last tremors of pleasure receded, Taehyung pulled his hand away and brought it up to his lips, sucking your taste off his fingers with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.

After a few hours spent in tangled in touches, the clock ticked its way to 4 a.m., signaling the impending end of the night’s bliss. Despite the energy that was bubbling up between you, the evening hadn’t ventured beyond the boundaries of those lewd touches, leaving something else lingering in the air. As the minutes kept passing, a sense of reality nudged its way back into the forefront of your mind.

“You’re even sweeter than I imagined,” Taehyung’s voice, thick with desire, caressed the dimly lit room, echoing the sentiments of the night.

With a hazed smile playing on your lips, you gently disentangled yourself from Taehyung’s embrace, the need for rest tugging at your consciousness. “I have to go home, Taehyung,” you murmured softly, your words tinged with regret at the thought of parting, “I should get some actual sleep if we want to spend the whole day together again.”

Your fingers traced soothing circles along his shoulders, a silent reassurance of your affection. “You are coming with me tomorrow, right?” you queried, hope flickering in your eyes as you awaited his response.

In the hazy glow of his room, Taehyung’s gaze met yours, a promise dancing in his eyes. “Absolutely,” he affirmed, his voice laced with determination, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With a final exchange of tender kisses and lingering glances, you reluctantly bid farewell to Taehyung’s warm embrace, bracing yourself for your way home.

Despite the lingering effects of last night’s alcohol roaming your body, a surge of adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you rolled out of bed, battling against the persistent fog of a very hungover you. With each groggy step towards the bathroom, the anticipation of the day ahead infused your weary limbs with energy, overriding the dull ache in your head.

As you splashed cool water on your face, the mirror reflected a mix of exhaustion and excitement in your eyes. Today was the day you’d introduce Taehyung to your best friends, a prospect that filled you with nerves. The thought of seeing their reactions, of sharing this part of your life with them, ignited a spark within you.

After downing a much-needed glass of water and popping a couple of painkillers to combat the lingering headache, you set about getting ready for the day. Despite the persistent throb at your temples, you couldn’t help but hum a tune under your breath, the thrill of today’s plan chasing away the last traces of drowsiness.

With each minute, the excitement grew, the clock ticking in slow motion as you counted down the moments until Taehyung went to pick you up. Finally, the sound of the doorbell shattered the quiet of the morning, heralding the arrival of your lover boy.

With a quick glance in the mirror to ensure you looked somewhat presentable despite feeling like shit, you hurried to answer the door, a smile of genuine delight spreading across your face at the sight of Taehyung standing on your doorstep, two large cups of coffee in hand and a grin that mirrored your own excitement.

“There we have my pretty and hungover girl,” he greeted you warmly, his eyes alight with anticipation, “are we all set for the big day?”

With a nod and a grin, you took the cup he handed you, the aroma wafting up to greet your senses. “Definitely”.

As you and Taehyung arrived at the stadium, the vibrant atmosphere of the bustling crowd greeted you with a wave of excitement. Sam, Gemma, and Jin were already waiting for you near the entrance, their infectious laughter echoing in the air as they exchanged playful banter.

“Hey, look who finally decided to show up!” Sam exclaimed, her grin widening as she caught sight of you and Taehyung approaching. “And who’s this handsome stranger you’ve brought along?”

lmk if you're up for reading the second part of this mess 🤭 bonus. just a little jungkookie for fun

[bloodhoundluke]

you, forever —❦ luke hemmings

pairing: luke hemmings x ex! reader

description: y/n seems to be finally over luke, but what does she do when he shows up declaring his love for her in the pouring rain? this was requested with the prompts #4 "Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry” & #2 “Don’t do this to me” from my prompt list.

warnings: luke being a shitty boyfriend, a break up. angst. slight mentions of insomnia and disordered eating. cursing. a happy ending.

word count: 3,5k.

a/n: now that i am happy with this fic, it's time to publish it! the beginning of this story was heavily inspired by the song ‘moment i knew’ by taylor swift. i hope you like this one! ❤️‍🩹

The broken promises, the events unattended. His lame excuses. They grew a dagger in your heart, which stung time and time again. Your 23rd birthday was no exception. 

You hosted a party to celebrate your birthday. You never threw any parties, they weren’t really your scene. Luke was supposed to be there with you, his hands around your waist, wishing you a happy birthday. Against your wishes and his promises, he wasn’t there. Not on time, anyway.  Somehow you thought it’d be different this time. Did he even love you like he claimed he did? Did he even care about you? Hell, you even wondered if he was sleeping with someone behind your back. 

You tried to have fun, you really did. But as the night dragged on and you chugged down way too many tequilas, you bursted into tears in your bathroom. How could someone, your sorry excuse of a boyfriend, make you feel like this on your god-damn birthday?

It was 4am when Luke showed up behind your front door, and you foolishly opened the door for him. The party was over, and you couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. It was the same old story, I am so sorry baby, we had to work around a few things in the studio. I love you, let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll do better next time. 

You didn’t say a single thing to him as you let him in. Luke went to the bathroom, and as soon as he was out of your sight, tears began streaming down your face. You stood in your kitchen, and looked around. The alcohol-stained balloons, empty beer cans and the remains of confetti reminded you of your relationship with Luke. Sad, broken, bruised.

You sobbed and sobbed, hard enough not to notice Luke walking next to you.

"Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry”, he offered you his embrace, which you swore once was warm. And which was something you once wanted more than anything in the world. 

You sobbed against his chest. This was the last straw, you promised yourself. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You had turned a blind eye to his mistakes, always holding onto some tiny glimmer of hope he would change. You defended him time and time again to your friends and family. You loved him more than you loved yourself, and that seemed to be your greatest mistake. 

“Don’t do this to me”, you whimpered under his touch, still feeling the endless rivers building up in your eyes.  “Do what?”, he proposed the question as if he didn’t have a clue what was going on. His eyebrows frowned, and he bit his bottom lip. You couldn’t believe it really had come to this. You receded from his embrace, breaking the skin contact. 

“Pretend everything’s fine. Pretend we’ll be okay”, you swept your tears away, and saw the mascara stains on your hands. You swept them away with the helm of your dress, and wondered what was going through Luke’s mind. Did he even feel bad for missing your birthday party? Did he even understand how terribly he treated you?

“Y/N…”., he enunciated your name as if it was a warning, if there was some line you couldn’t cross.

“You knew this was doomed from the start. You played me along, Luke. I mean, fuck! I thought everything would change. I thought you loved me enough not to miss my own fuckin’ birthday!”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it”.

“I’m sorry too”, you avoided direct eye contact with him, and left the kitchen with nothing but disappointment and anger. He didn’t even bother to come after you. 

And that was the moment you knew. 

—❦

The morning approached, and you executed your usual morning routines, only this time with a quicker pace. You could do this, you told yourself. You’ll be okay.

Luke was still sleeping, and you gathered his things from your apartment. The spare t-shirts and underwear. His toothbrush, his Vespa mug. Everything. You wanted to make this as smooth as possible. Not necessarily for him, but for you. You didn’t want him to stay around any longer than necessary. Sleeping with him last night was a mistake, even if you took all the anger into bed with you. You hated and loved him at the same time.

So, when you heard him shuffling in bed, you entered the room and leant against the door with a coffee mug in your hand. 

“Hey darling”, he smirked. The man had no idea. You forced a smile, and waited until he was decent and in his Pink Floyd t-shirt and black sweatpants. 

“Luke?”.

“Hmmm?”.

“I packed up your things, they are waitin’ for you in the hallway. I want you gone. Out of my life”.

—❦ 

The beginning was the hardest. The silent screams in the pillow, the loss of appetite. Your sobs echoed through every room in your apartment. There was no escaping him. His eyes, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever witnessed, haunted you wherever you went. Even the god-damn Rainbow Krispies yelled out his name. 

You carried his silent optimism with you, his voice reminding you everything would work out just fine. You begged the voice to stop time and time again, but it persisted, clung onto you tightly. 

For the first three months you couldn’t even say his name out loud, yet alone hear it coming from someone else’s mouth. It sounded wrong, the way they said it. Luke was supposed to come from your mouth, with your accent, with your tone of voice.

Slowly but surely, you started to see the world through realism-infused glasses. You didn’t think about him the first thing in the morning and the last thing before going to bed. You were okay. You didn’t need his love. Instead, you needed your own. A glimpse of hope was staring at you, you just hadn’t seen it before. 

—❦ 

The past few years had treated you well, and you had gotten the job of your dreams. Everything was moving smoothly, and you were excited for what the future held for you. You were still living in the same apartment, but you had renovated it to look more like you. The white living room walls were now replaced with the beautiful shade of juniper, and your decor had shifted from a Scandinavian style to a more earthly and antique-appreciating English countryside.

You had stayed out of relationships. Sure, you had gone to a few dates, but you never wanted to build anything serious with them. You considered them more like irregular hook-ups, not official dates. You decided to be on your own. You had everything you needed; friends, family and a job you enjoyed.

You were returning from work, and it was pouring rain. You held an umbrella over your head whilst Bon Iver was blasting through your AirPods. Thankfully it was a short walk to your apartment from the metro station.

A figure of a man, supposedly, sat in front of your apartment complex. Maybe he was lost. Maybe he forgot his keys inside. Maybe he was a creep. Shit. You grabbed your umbrella tighter as you reached him. 

And then you understood. Dark pants. A worn out leather jacket. Converse. Light, curly hair. A beautiful face, sculpted by the gods, was staring at you. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be.

Luke.

It really was him.

You glared at him, and took your earphones off in shock, placing them in their case. Luke got up from the staircase, and you both stared at each other for a while. 

The rain was pouring down, and the man hadn't even bothered to bring an umbrella with him. He pulled his soaking wet hair back with his hands and you couldn't understand why your ex-boyfriend was voluntarily hanging out in front of your apartment complex, in a weather like this.

“What are you doing here?”, you quivered and held your bag tightly against your body.

“I’m here to get my girl back”, he shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets, and studied your face with a somewhat melancholic smile on his face.

“What are you talkin’ about?”, you asked, your tone nonchalant.

“I’m here to get you back. Or attempt it, I don’t know. I fucked up, Y/N, big time. And many times. And-”

Didn't he think it was a bit too late for that? “Luke, stop”, you interrupted him. You didn’t want to hear it, he had smashed your heart into pieces. He didn’t get to apologize to you. You didn’t want him to have any power over you. And it wasn’t fair how he showed up and reminded of his existence, just now when you were finally ready to open your heart to someone new. 

“Y/N, please? Hear me out”.

“Fuck you”, you cursed at him, and pondered walking away from him. But you stood in your place, hoping he could see the hurt on your face. 

“Okay, I deserved that. Is there more?”, he tilted his head slightly, and his eyes bored into yours.

“What do you mean?”, you gritted your teeth.

“Just fuckin’ yell at me, get it out of your system. Curse at me, tell me the things you hate about me”.

“If you came here for this, leave…please”, you begged. 

“No, no, no, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Shit. Uh…just give me a second, hear me out”.

“Okay”. You’d hear what he had to say, and then you’d leave him in the pouring rain. And you wouldn’t see him ever again. That was the plan.

“I, I know this might not mean anything to you, after I treated you, but it has always been you, Y/N. After all these years, you are the only one I have ever truly loved. Hell, I still love you. I still remember your favorite songs and the way you like your tea. How you like your eggs in the morning, and how you hate almond milk…And shit, I just, I need to get this off my chest. I am, still, so foolishly in love with you it’s unbearable. I want you, I want us back”.

You looked at him with sorrow in your eyes. When you tried to say something, the words escaped your lips, leaving you powerless.

As tumultuous your and Luke’s relationship was and despite the times you convinced yourself you hated him, you still caught yourself missing him and the relationship sometimes. But this…this felt a bit too much for you to handle right now.

“Say something, please….Anything”.

“I don’t know Luke. I mean, you hurt me. Time and time again. I don’t know if I want to go through that pain again”.

“I know”, he sighed. “Do you still love me?”.

“Despite everything, yes”, you sighed.

“So isn’t it obvious? If you love me, and I love you? Doesn’t that mean we should give it another go?”.

“But sometimes love isn’t enough, Luke. Love doesn’t fix everything, I thought you knew that”.

“I know you are cautious, and I don’t blame you. I put you through hell, I know. And if this makes me sound like a broken record, so be it… I fuckin’ love you, Y/N. I have always loved you. Just you. Nothing will change that. Not even the years in between that I haven’t seen you. Not even the fact that I am not the same person who I was those years ago, when I treated you like shit. When I made you cry every night. I remember it well, Y/N, I haven’t forgotten. It seems you are impossible to forget”.

“I think you are impossible to forget too, Luke”, you sighed again. “I just….I don’t really know what to say to you. I don’t even know what’s going inside my head right now. I…I need a moment to figure everything out”.

“I’ll wait for you”, he promised.

You took quick glances at each other in the rain, and a small smile crept upon Luke’s lips. You were soaking wet, and wanted to go inside. Against all your instincts, you invited him into your apartment.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yeah”.

“Really?”.

“Come on in before I change my mind”.

—❦

Luke hadn't been in your apartment in three years, and his sudden presence in your own space felt a bit nerve-wracking. Only if he saw that you had kept the mugs he once bought you. And his Blink-182 shirt that you never bothered to give him back. And the necklace hanging on the bathroom shelf that he had bought you on your 2nd anniversary.

You had changed to a dry set of clothes, and offered Luke a towel to dry himself up.

Luke sat next to you on your living room couch, as far as he could on the limited space of the two-seater. The silence was unbearable, it was eating you up. You had rehearsed every little thing you would say to him when you’d see him, but now it felt like the thoughts you once had escaped you the very moment you tried to reach them. 

You had offered him tea, and were drinking some chamomile tea yourself. A few candles were burning on the top of your coffee table, next to a pile of books and the coffee mug you had left there this morning. 

Would you really go through this with him again? Was it worth the try? Was it foolish that a small part of you thought it could work out this time? Did he really mean everything he said? Could he support his words with his actions?

“When you said you aren’t the same person you were before, did you mean it?”, you asked, and blew the tea slightly before drinking it. 

“I did”.

“What did you mean by it?”, you placed the tea mug at the top of the coffee table. You looked at the candle burning beside it whilst Luke talked.

“That I’ve grown. I am not a stupid 24 year old anymore, Y/N. I know what’s important in life. I know what kind of man I want to be, and I am trying to reach that everyday”, he explained with a certain softness in his voice. This Luke was patient, calm; not like the passive-aggressive Luke you once knew.

“So growing up has changed you, huh?”, you frowned your eyebrows, and studied his hair, which had been bleached. You liked this look on him, he looked refreshed. And more mature.

“And losing you”.

Your lips parted slightly at the comment and you noticed how he was fiddling with his ring that adorned his left index finger. He still did that. 

“Luke…”, he looked up to you as he heard his name, and you continued, “why didn’t you fight for me?”.

The narrative in your head that you had created through the years was that he didn’t love or care about you enough. That he had lied to you every time you went to bed, when he whispered those three little words to you. 

“Because I knew you deserved something better. It was the right thing for me to do'', he offered you a sad smile.

You swallowed loudly, his words getting a hold of you. You were fighting off the tears, not wanting to show Luke how much it was still hurting. 

“But now, I know, or fuckin’ desperately hope I am the man you deserve”.

“Do you really think it could work out this time? Us?”.

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”.

“‘Cause I am a stupidly huge hopeless romantic, I suppose”, he let out a small chuckle. Your lips curved into a smile, “And let me guess, you’re stupidly, hopelessly in love with me?”.

“You took the words out of my mouth”, he chuckled as you chuckled along with him. You had missed this. Hearing his adorable laughter. And laughing with him, hearing the sounds of your laughter blending in together like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“If we do this, hypothetically, of course, we should take it slow. Like extra slow?”.

”Yeah, of course. We wouldn’t want to rush a good thing, would we?”.

You smiled at his words, pleased with the fact he was on the same page as you. You would have never guessed, not even in a million years, that you’d discuss rekindling your old flame with the man that once tore up your heart. And that something inside you told you to trust him this time around. 

”Luke?”.

”Tell me”.

”I’ve missed you”, you confessed as if it was a sin, something you shouldn’t say out loud. Something that you could be punished for. 

”I’ve missed you too, Y/N”.

Something in you, some unimaginable force, wanted to throw yourself into his arms, and kiss him like you had never been apart. 

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes, and as you looked how soft and angelic Luke looked next to you, the tears began to stream down your face.

”Hey, hey… what’s going on, sweetheart?”, he inched towards you, and like a magnetic pull, you closed the gap between you. The proximity didn’t make you nervous, it felt like something that was bound to happen.

”I just..uh, fuck… I don’t know”, you managed to answer through the tears, ”Can you… hold me?”. He nodded, opened his arms and you placed your head against his beating chest. He wrapped his arms around you and your sobs grew more silent. He fondled your arm with his other hand, and you felt his face squished against your shoulder.

”Feeling better?”.

”Yeah. I’m sorry, I was just a bit overwhelmed, I guess”.

”Don’t worry about it. I get it”, he still stroked your arm gently, comforting you just the way you needed.

It all started to make sense. His light stubble against your bare shoulder, your black tank top perfectly matching with his, your steadily beating heart. 

You backed away from his embrace, the sides of your legs still touching one another. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, your fingers playing along with his, until Luke cleared his throat. 

”My mom asked about you the other day, by the way. Well, she didn’t really ask, I suppose, but she wished you were doing good. She loves you, y’know. You always knew how to make her laugh. And she loved how you used to watch The Bachelor with her, now no one wants to do it. And gosh, she never stops complaining about that, I mean -”

You pressed your tear-infused lips on Luke’s, and it took him a while to figure out what hell was going on, and when did, he brushed his lips softly against yours. His hands moved to hold your face and you placed your own behind the back of his neck. You started to grin into the kiss, you couldn’t help it, and soon realized Luke was doing the same as your teeth clashed along with his. A few giggles escaped both of your mouths, and you could practically feel the blood rushing through your veins. Luke closed the small gap between your lips, and for a while, you sat there in each other’s proximity.

”I want to try again, Luke”, you looked deeply into his baby blue eyes and found a sense of comfort in them.

”I want to do that too.. not like it was obvious or something”, he giggled. You loved his sudden nervousness, it was adorable. A large grin spread across your face, and faded as soon as you remembered the reality of your and Luke’s situation. Like you said it yourself, love doesn’t fix anything, not on its own. Did you and Luke have what it takes to make your relationship work again?

”How do we do… this?”.

”I don’t think there’s a manual for this, but we’ll figure it out together”, he kissed your temple.

So you promised each other you’d do everything in your power to make your relationship work again. That night you made up for the lost time, and talked about everything that had been going on in each other’s lives. You babbled about your work, and he listened to you like your voice was his favorite sound. He showed you his tattoos which he had gotten, and the lotus quickly became your favorite. You shared your traveling stories, and he told you what it was like to be on tour. And when you got emotional about missing him for so long, he got emotional too. And suddenly you were sobbing against each other, your legs entangled with his and his lips brushing over yours.

And when you woke up the next morning, with Luke’s arm hanging around your torso, you knew you had made the right choice.

© 2023 bloodhoundluke.

[pimosworld]

The ties that bind

Pairing- Dave York x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary-Dave is a private investigator who tracks down soulmates. He’s tasked to find Frankie’s, but what happens when he finds you and he wants you to himself?

CW-18+,MDNI, Angst,Fluff,Eventual Smut,Hurt, Comfort,MMF dynamics. General warnings for each chapter. Anything sensitive will be added to individual chapters.

WK-5.5K

A/N-This starts out angsty but I don’t write sad endings so keep that in mind going forward. Reader has a best friend very near and dear to my heart.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter I

Dave looks over the file on his desk again before he makes the call. He reviewed it the night before and was going to contact the client until he realized not everyone holds the same weird hours as he does. Insomnia. 

  He takes a sip of his coffee as he dials the number with a Florida area code. At least he would get to enjoy some nice weather this time. The last soulmate he tracked down mid winter lived in Buffalo New York, he wasted weeks trying to find him only to find out he was happily married and had no intention of leaving his current wife. The woman who hired him was devastated but…devastated doesn’t pay the bills so she was out twenty grand, and went back to being single a few states over. 

  They don’t always end in misery but he’s used to it now. He wonders why he still does it, maybe helping these people will erase the thought of killing someone’s soulmate when he’s contracted for his other job. He can’t think about that one too much. 

  “Hello Santiago speaking.” Dave glances down at the file once more to be sure. 

  “Ugh yes I’m Dave York calling to reach Francisco Morales?” He hears a low curse on the other end and some apologies. 

  “Oh ya, just give me a second.” He can hear ruffling and the sound of a sliding door. My patience is already wearing thin. 

  “Thanks for returning my call. I’m actually hiring you on behalf of my friend Francisco.” 

  This wouldn’t be the first time he was contracted to find someone’s soulmate because some friend or family member couldn’t keep their nose where it belonged. There would most certainly be drama and resistance. Two things Dave did not handle well. 

  “That’s very generous of you. Is Francisco eager to find his soulmate?” 

  “He ugh…well…yes, yes he is.” Fat chance

  “I would need to meet him of course to go through with this, you understand?” 

  “Of course, that won’t be a problem at all. I sent you the details of when and where we can meet and provided you with the deposit.” At least he means business, either way Dave doesn’t care about the in’s and outs of why people do it. He knows it’s important… or at least he did. 

  He finishes going over the rules with Santiago that will hopefully get relaid to Frankie. He’ll find your soulmate and set up a meeting. If the person does not wish to pursue the relationship he will relay that to you to avoid any in person embarrassment. No stalking or harassment involved. If he can’t find them within 30 days you get your money back. 

  Some people frowned upon what he did. Purists thought you should meet your soulmate organically. They were rarely alone for more than a few years before they found theirs so he didn’t like listening to what they had to say. 

  He wasted years trying to find his love. When he did find her…it was already too late. Those six months were the best and worst of his life. Knowing he’s found his soulmate and gets to spend every waking moment with her only to have it ripped from his grasp. 

  If he had to spend the rest of his tortured life helping others not waste time then he would. 

  ****

  Why the hell did Will make them wear bow ties? This must be Amanda’s suggestion, there’s no way he decided they should all be this uncomfortable on his wedding day. 

  Frankie looks over at Ben and Will having some brotherly talk as if the younger miller has some wise words of advice having been married for all of six months. He loved rubbing it in that he was able to tie the knot before the rest of them of course excluding Tom who got married years ago when they were all in basic. 

  He tries really hard not to be bitter on these days but he can’t help himself. Of course he ran that risk when he married someone who was not his soulmate. He loved Sophia so much it didn’t matter to him. It’s worked out for plenty of other people and it worked for him…until it didn’t. 

  He didn’t try very hard to find his soulmate. Between being in the military, not being able to put down roots for so long and the fact that his soulmate probably hated him for all his scars and tattoos he can’t say he put much of an effort into finding them. 

  The hummingbird tattoo on his wrist practically taunted him his entire marriage. He pretended he didn’t care and so did she. She always told him they would try for kids when she was ready and he never pushed. He thought she was finally ready when she told him they needed to talk. Never in a million years did he expect her to say she found her soulmate and she was leaving him. 

  Their baby boy should be a year old by now, Sophia was pregnant within a month of the divorce being finalized. This was information Santiago insisted despite the others protests that he needed to know so that he could move on. 

  He can’t put the blame all on her. He left for Colombia to bring home money so they could start a family and he came home with nothing but news that her best friend's husband was dead. 

  It must be some kind of fucked up karma that they went back for the money and now he’s alone. If he’s really being honest with himself, he knows they never really loved each other. It was convenient for both of them. Frankie doesn’t like being honest with himself so he'd rather continue on painting her as the villain in his story. 

  “Hermano, you need some help with that tie.” Santiago starts fidgeting before he can even answer no. He slaps his hands away and Santi backs away with his hands up in surrender. 

  “Why are you being so nice?” 

  “I’m always nice.” Frankie scoffs at that. Santiago was never nice unless he wanted something from you. 

  “You picked up my tux, gave me a ride here and now you’re offering to fix my tie?!” He gives him a look and Santi knows it’s only a matter of time. 

  “I have a surprise for you.” He resumes fixing his tie despite Frankie’s protests. 

  “The last time you surprised me someone died.” Santi clears his throat but doesn’t protest, it must be bad. 

  “I hired a PI to find your soulmate.” That last part is rushed out but Frankie hears him clear as day. 

  He shoves him back a few steps which draws the attention of Ben and Will. “Why the fuck would you do that?” 

  “Chill out Fish, what’s your problem?” Ben steps between the two of them as Frankie looks as though he could spit fire. 

  “I told him about the PI.” Ben whips around to Santi. 

  “I thought we were gonna wait until tomorrow.” Frankie looks over at Will in disbelief. 

  “You fucking knew about this?” He can see it in their eyes and how no one will look at him directly.

  “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? I’m getting married in an hour.” 

  Sure he’ll talk tomorrow, they can all talk about staying out of his life and meddling in his business. Pope can call off the PI and they can all go back to being happy with their soulmates and Santiago can go fuck off somewhere in another country as he always does, leaving Frankie to mope alone with his thoughts. 

  “Ya we’ll talk tomorrow.” Ben comes over to fix his tie and Frankie clenches his fists at his side. 

  This is going to be a long day. 

  ****

  The new Mr.& Mrs. Miller do look very in love on the dance floor as Frankie enjoys his second piece of cake. Cake never betrayed him…his ex wife and his best friends maybe but never cake. 

  Ben dips his wife and it sorely reminds him of his wedding day when he and Sophia ended up with calloused feet from dancing all night. 

  His chest tightens at the sight of Molly dancing with her girls. She stayed so strong through it all and she looks so happy, maybe it’s just a front or maybe she’s choosing not to be a miserable sap like him. She lost her soulmate and never once judged them for what they did. She knew how Tom could be. Frankie doesn’t know how someone could treat their soulmate the way Tom treated Molly. He’s better off alone than with a soulmate who doesn’t love him back. 

  Santiago makes his way over to the table and gestures to the seat next to Frankie. He nods his head for him to sit down while he watches the dance floor. They sit in silence for a moment and Frankie thinks about how selfish he is for being so petulant about the whole thing. 

  Santiago never cared about finding his soulmate, maybe because of their line of work or maybe it was the nature of his being. He’ll never forget the look on his face when his tattoo’s disappeared. He told the guys it was fine but they could hear him trying to muffle his cries in his bunk. 

  “I’ll do it Pope.” Santiago looks at him with a mixture of shock and excitement. 

  “I came ready for an argument.” He slides Frankie’s plate closer to him to steal a bite of cake. “We meet him tomorrow.” 

  “Jesus what if I said no?” Frankie slides the plate back to himself, not ready to let go of his precious dessert. 

  “You might want to lay off the cake if you’re going to meet your soulmate soon.” Frankie flips him off as Santi grabs the plate and saunters off to the dance floor. 

  ****

  Dave’s always early to meet a client, but never this early. He couldn’t find a lot of information on Francisco Morales but he did find out he was Delta Force and so was the man that hired him on his behalf. He always met potential clients in a public place of their choosing to get an idea of who they are. There's no doubt in his mind that this coffee shop holds no significance to the two men and will most certainly not help him figure out anything about Francisco. 

  He knows it’s their military training that they will never seem to break free from. It doesn’t make it easy for your soulmate to find you when you're as mysterious as Francisco Morales. No social media, no parking tickets, no convictions. A minor hiccup with his pilot's license but his record was scrubbed clean a few years ago. It takes a lot of money to completely wipe your record. 

  Their trip to Colombia wasn’t as off the books as they thought. With Dave’s connections he can find out a lot more about the average person than they think. It’s true he is paid to find your soulmate but he has a duty to uphold to not put said person in harm's way. Frankie’s sketchy past and interesting finances make him a little wary to just introduce him to the person he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. He doesn’t know the circumstances behind his wife leaving him and that also has his guard up. Who just up and leaves after 8 years? 

  He pauses his thoughts momentarily as he notices an old Jeep pull into the parking lot of the cafe. He hasn’t seen a Jeep like that in years. His suspicions are correct when two men around his age step out. Still relatively in military shape, the shorter of the two in a black t-shirt much too tight for him and black jeans. The taller one in an open flannel and blue jeans donning a dirty cap and aviators…that must be Francisco. 

  They both survey the area as if it’s their first time here and that confirms his other notion that these men wanted to meet somewhere not near their home. Probably thirty minutes to an hour outside of where they actually live if he would guess. Fifteen minutes early to be safe but still not earlier than him. 

  “I should’ve worn something nicer.” Frankie smooths his hands down the front of his worn flannel as they approach the coffee shop. This was his nice flannel but maybe he could’ve taken an iron to it or something. 

  “Relax hermano, he didn’t bring your soulmate to the meeting.” 

  “You vetted this guy?” Frankie couldn’t find much information on David York, which worried him a little. 

  “As much as I could.” Frankie holds the door open for Santiago as they enter and head straight for the counter. Coffee is much needed after imbibing too much at the wedding. He’s grateful in hindsight that he chose this location just outside of town. 

  “Corner,black suit.” 

  Frankie glances up, hopefully shielded by his sunglasses. “He looks smug.” 

  “Don’t start.” Santi hisses under his breath as he steps up to place their order. “ Two black coffees please.” 

  Best case scenario, this guy finds his soulmate and Frankie can’t even wrap his head around what he would do with that information. It scares him to even think about it. 

  Worst case scenario, Pope is out some money that he didn’t ask him to spend in the first place and he can go back to whatever semblance of a life he was living before all this. 

  Way to be positive Frankie

  ****

  Introductions are awkward to say the least. Frankie and Santi seated at the small cafe table across from Dave who has set a notepad down next to his small coffee. The silence is deafening as he scribbled down a few things after giving them a once over. 

  “So I’m sure you have some questions for me. If you don’t mind holding those until I’ve gone over everything.” He’s not really asking and Frankie already had his hackles up at the grim outlook of the man in front of him. 

  He always hated ‘suits’ . This guy is obviously ex-government and he’s not really sure how someone like him ended up in the line of work of finding someone’s soulmate. Besides the obvious monetary aspect there is a lot of love and emotion involved and the man seated before him doesn’t strike him as the romantic type. 

  “Why did you decide to hire me to find your soulmate?” I didn’t hire you. Frankie looks over at Santiago hoping he’ll help him out a little. 

  “Well ugh…I actually didn’t.” Dave raises his eyebrows at that but lets him continue. “My friend here was kind enough to give me a push in the right direction.” After too many drinks and a lot of talking he reconciled with Santi that this was something he should at least try to pursue. 

  Everything seems pretty straightforward once he starts going over his normal way of doing things. Frankie understands after the initial round of uncomfortable questions that Dave needs to make sure he’s not some weirdo. He opted to return a few peoples initial deposit upon meeting them and not deeming them safe enough or sane enough to track down their soulmate and uproot their lives. 

  Frankie’s thankful he doesn’t pry too much into his reason for divorcing. Dave mostly wanted to make sure that he was not still legally married because he won’t set anyone up for heartbreak. 

  Dave has a thirty day guarantee, if he doesn’t find them in that time frame you get a full refund. Frankie is a little shocked at his confidence. People spend their entire lives trying to find their soulmate and he can somehow guarantee it. 

  “So, now that I’ve gone over all the logistics. Do you have any questions for me?” Frankie looks to Santiago who’s been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this meeting. Maybe out of courtesy for Frankie or perhaps he’s sizing him up. Either way, Frankie really only has one thing he is curious about. 

  “Why do you do it?” 

  Dave takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee. It’s pretty bad if he’s being honest but he needs a moment. He always needs a moment when this question is brought up. It’s usually one of the only questions he hates answering. Truthfully answering would require to let people in ‘strangers’. 

  These same strangers trust him enough to do this so as uncomfortable as it is he provides enough of an answer to suit both parties. 

  “I hate to say that it pays well, but I have to state the obvious.” For the first time during the meeting Frankie can see his hard exterior crack a little. The first time where he seems nervous and unsure of what he’s going to say. 

  “Also…I wish I had met my wife sooner. I may have had more time with her.” 

  Santiago excuses himself from the table. He doesn’t do well with emotions. Frankie knows that probably stung a little. He’s not sure if it’s worse that Santi never got to meet them or if meeting them briefly makes it all that more painful. 

  “I appreciate your honesty Dave.” He sends him a tight lip smile that doesn’t meet the eyes. 

  “If that’s all you have for me I’ll be in touch in the next few days hopefully with an update.” 

  Frankie shakes his hand, a firm handshake he notes to himself. Dave has a nice build, he’s not sure why he makes a note of that as well. 

  Frankie finished the rest of his coffee and headed outside. Santi leans against the back of the Jeep scrolling idly on his phone. He looks up at him but says nothing as they both get in, Frankie in the driver's seat. 

  “I just needed some air.” Santiago looks out the passenger window seemingly fixated on the passing cars. 

  “I know hermano.” He doesn’t need to say anything more. 

  Neither of them speak for a while, too many thoughts on their minds as they ponder the meeting and what all of it means. Seeing Santiago still struggling with losing his soulmate makes Frankie want to give this his all. 

  ****

  Santi can’t shake the thought of Dave doing all this because he didn’t have enough time with his soulmate. At least he got to spend some time with them. He's lied to himself all these years after his tattoos and scars of his soulmate were long gone. This was not about him though, this is about helping his friend move on and be happy. That’s all he wants for them after the chaos he caused in Colombia. He has to make things right for him. Frankie may not see it as his fault but Santiago can’t help but think maybe Sophia would’ve stayed if things hadn’t gone so poorly. 

  Santiago would never know that things started to sour in their relationship long before that Ill fated trip to steal someone else’s money. 

  Frankie was the one who had it all together. A real job he could be proud of , a wife he loved , a house for their future family. Things quickly fell apart for him after they returned and he was no longer the one that they looked to for guidance. 

  Santiago made it his mission to help Frankie get back on his feet after they went back for the money. Frankie got his license back, he bought a home that didn’t remind him of all his memories with his ex wife, now all he needed to do was find love. 

  Santi rubs his hands across his jeans trying to shake himself from the trance. Frankie eyes him cautiously from the driver’s seat. 

  Santiago leans forward to turn the radio down. “So how are you feeling about all this?” 

  “Considering he has a guarantee, a little better than I felt going in.” 

  He doesn't want to get his hopes up too much but he’s starting to get that feeling like things may be taking a turn for the better. 

  Frankie pulls up to Santi’s house and puts the car in park. 

  “I know what you’re gonna say, I’ll be fine I promise and I’ll call you later after I sleep off this hangover.” Frankie smiles at that,Santiago only lets a select few into his world and he won’t push it any further. 

  “I just want to say thanks Pope. This really means a lot.” Santi waves him off and hops out, he knows how much it means but he’s not gonna get any more emotions out of this day. 

  “Love you hermano, this time next year we’ll be planning your wedding.” Santi calls out over his shoulder before he enters his house. Frankie wants to roll his eyes at that but he secretly hopes that he’s right. 

  ****

  “Alicia! We’re gonna be late.” You stand in your bedroom in front of the floor length mirror putting the finishing touches on your makeup. The modest yellow sundress and strappy heels you bought ages ago are finally getting some use. 

  “I can’t decide on what to wear.” You faintly hear her yell from her bedroom. 

  You’re not particularly excited about this singles event she signed you up for but you certainly didn’t want to walk in late and have all eyes on you. She’s your best friend so you agreed to accompany her on one of her many schemes to get you back on the dating scene. 

  You cross the hall to her room and find a mountain of clothes on her bed and more clothes flying out of her closet. 

  “Let me see what you’re wearing.” She emerges from her closet in a slinky black dress to match her long black hair. She was a bombshell in anything she wore so you aren’t sure what the hold up is. 

  “Alicia that looks hot, wear that.” She gives herself a once over in the mirror as she smooths her hands down the front. 

  “You don’t think this is sending the wrong message?” 

  “Babe you said yourself you need to get laid.” You glance down at the time on your phone. “Shit we’re gonna be really late.”

  “You’re right, I did say that. Thanks for talking me off a ledge.” She grabs her phone from the nightstand as you follow her out of the room. 

  “You’re gonna need to pretend my room is yours if you bring someone home though.” You gesture towards the disaster she left on her bed. 

  She turns to you, grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. “Only a true friend would let me defile her bed for the sake of a hookup.”

  You laugh as you shoo her along out the door. “That’s what friends are for.”

  ****

  The bad news, you were indeed late. The good news is no one seems to notice as you both enter the hotel lounge for the event. Everyone is talking and mingling amongst themselves so you and Alicia have an opportunity to grab a drink and settle in. 

  You haven’t been on a proper date in years so she thought this would be a nice way to ease back into things. No pressure or obligations and no awkward first date etiquette. People were just here to simply talk and get to know each other. If you made a connection that was great but if you just didn’t like someone then there were no hard feelings. 

  “Cute guy at twelve o'clock is checking you out.” You try to do a subtle scan of the room as you sip your fruity drink. 

  “Alicia I don’t know what that means…Wait how do you know he wasn’t checking you out?” She steps in front of you to slightly block your view. 

  “He’s in the gray button down on my right .” She half whispers as she attempts a head nod. “Do you see him?” 

  “Oh shit he’s coming over here.” You both do your best worst to act casual as a tall and very attractive…distractingly attractive man walks over. 

  “I do have to say yellow is definitely your color.” 

  “Told you.” Alicia says under her breath as she leaves you at the bar with this stranger. 

  You thank him politely for his compliment and introduce yourself as you try to ignore the lewd gestures your best friend is making with her hands behind his back. Thankfully she’s interrupted by a man with a tap on her shoulder. He’s noticeably not the type she goes for. He’s much too tall for her…she prefers to tower over her love interests ‘it makes me feel powerful’ in her words. 

  Jeff was nice enough as he engaged you in conversation. He mostly droned on about his job in finance and his hobbies, his five year goals and now come to think of it…you didn’t really get a chance to talk about yourself. He excused himself from the conversation when he saw someone he knew in the crowd, leaving you in your comfortable silence once again. 

  Your moment of reprieve is short lived when a woman approaches you. You actually enjoy talking to her and you can tell she’s listening intently. She’s beautiful, funny and smart. Perhaps another time you would be interested but she mentioned she just got out of a long term relationship and you don’t have the energy to be someone’s rebound. You’ve spent years repairing your broken heart and if this is your one attempt at trying to find love again it just wouldn’t be fair to either of you. 

  You still exchanged numbers after she’d said how nice it was to meet you. Your eyes immediately find Alicia’s across the room with a man who could be her grandfather. He doesn’t seem to notice her look of save me etched across her face. You take this moment to tease her a bit, making the same hand motions she did earlier. An older woman looks on in shock when you realize a little too late that you’ve caught the attention of others in the room. 

  After offering an apologetic smile, you gather yourself and join her across the room. 

  “Sorry to interrupt, Alicia, can I borrow you for a moment.”

   She loops her arm in yours pulling you close to her side. “It was nice to meet you Irving.”

  “The pleasure is all mine dear.” He takes her free hand, planting a sloppy wet kiss on the top. You bite your cheek to stifle a laugh as she waves him off. You can feel her eyes on you as you exit the lounge. 

  If looks could kill you’d be a goner. 

  “Irving seemed nice.”

  “Shut up.” 

  You both burst into a fit of giggles as you make it safely to the hotel lobby out of sight of anyone trying to vy for your attention. 

  These were the moments you lived for with your best friend. The reason you were able to get back on your feet when you moved across the country to start your life over. She took you in like a stray cat, no questions asked when you replied to her ad looking for a roommate. You didn’t find out until later on that she didn’t need the money, she just hated living alone. 

  She came from a wealthy family and traveled the world before settling in Naples Florida. She never had a soulmate…it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to go their entire lives without so much as a mark or tattoo. It makes you wonder if the universe chooses at random or if people are destined for that path. She is such a free spirit it almost makes sense why she can’t be tied down to just one person. Her biggest problem is making sure her current interests aren't only after her for money. 

  “So…what’s the plan for the rest of the evening babe?” You both step out still arm in arm. It’s a beautiful sunset starting just over the tops of the buildings downtown. You could walk down to the beach or drab a drink at another bar. 

  You can feel your dress starting to cling to your back from the humidity and you made a huge mistake wearing heels that weren’t broken in yet. Alicia looks at you and then pulls out her phone to call a car to come get you. “Let’s go home and eat ice cream while we discuss what a train wreck that was.” 

  You let out a sigh of relief as you push back trying to stand on the heels of your feet. “That sounds like a perfect night.” 

  ****

  “At one point he actually took his dentures out to show me.” Alicia buries her head in the pillow as you make a disgusted face. 

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” You’re laughing to the point of a stomach ache. 

  “Ya, you sound really sorry.” She throws the pillow at you on the other end of the couch. “So tell me about the girl. You were talking to her for a while.” She raises one eyebrow at you as she reaches down to the coffee table for the carton of rocky road. 

  “She was nice.” You lean forward grabbing the carton from her hands. “She was more than nice actually…but she just got out of a serious relationship.” 

  “Ugh…no one wants to be a rebound.” 

  Your thoughts exactly. 

  You swear sometimes you share a brain, or maybe you have just spent so much time with each other that you can’t help but think alike. 

  “I’m glad we went, I needed to break the ice. It’s not like the love of my life is gonna waltz into the record store.” You loved your job, you always had a love for music. There was something so special about the medium of records standing the test of time. That’s the kind of love you wanted. 

  “Let’s just marry each other if this dating thing doesn’t work out.” She holds out her pinky as you wrap yours around hers. 

  “Deal.” 

  “Deal.” 

  You raise from the couch gathering your plush blankets. “I’m gonna turn in for the night, love you leesh.” 

  “Love you too hon’, get some sleep.”

  ****

  Sleep

  That was a joke in its own right. The problem with having anxiety is the one time where your brain should quiet down is when it wants to be the most active. 

  You brush your thumb along the etched roses on your ring finger. It’s such a fine and delicate tattoo, the line work is beautiful and the stem of it perfectly curls around coming to a point at the end of your finger. 

  You hate to assume, but it’s always felt feminine in nature. It doesn’t seem like a drunken mistake or a rushed decision. The tattoo feels intentional. You had a lot of tattoos in a short amount of time when you were in college. These tattoos were overtly masculine. A small Blackhawk tattoo on your left wrist, almost mirroring your hummingbird. A gun of some kind on your left ankle…you weren’t familiar with firearms. A tiny elephant on the inside of your left thigh, by far the most adorable of the set. 

  In short succession they all adorned your body before you graduated from the California Institute of the Arts with a minor in arts management and a major in music history. Your step mother always said it was a waste and your father couldn’t be bothered to defend you. Your mother would have been proud though. 

  It was years before the roses showed up on your finger one beautiful spring day. It was so unlike the others it turned your world upside down. 

  The reason you moved across the country to escape the control and the pressure of someone who couldn’t love you with those scars and tattoos. Resenting you more and more each day knowing that you belonged to someone else. 

  It’s those thoughts that keep you up at night. The nightmares and horrible things that only your mind thinks up. As much as you try to push those thoughts away, you know deep down someone is out there. Made for you. 

  We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses. 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Taglist- @missladym1981 @legendary-pink-dot @brittmb115 @christinamadsen @heavennumber2 @anoverwhelmingdin @guelyury @hannahkatharine

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[hopepetal]

Masterlist

Read on AO3!

Part Five! Warning for brief, likely medically inaccurate, non-descriptive mentions of stitches.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

“You can’t do something like that again.”

Grian looked up at Pearl, his hands pausing from their task of preening his wings. “Huh?” 

Pearl set down her hairbrush, sighing heavily. “You know what I mean,” she began, “earlier today. With Impulse.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “You’re looking too deep and forgetting that, whatever is in there…” She gestured vaguely with her hairbrush. “...it’s not as important as Impulse is.”

“I just…” Grian grumbled softly, running his hands over his feathers, “I don’t know what to do, Pearl. I don’t even know what we’re going up against, other than it’s…”

“Wrong,” Pearl finished his sentence, nodding. “I know. I don’t really…” A yawn interrupted her, and she set aside her hairbrush. “I’m scared, Grian,” she admitted, leaning against him. “I don’t know what to do.”

Carefully wrapping his wing around her, Grian sighed. “I’m scared, too. But we have to do something, before whatever’s going on with Impulse gets really bad.”

The two sat in silence for a bit, taking comfort in each other’s company. In the space of silence, their thoughts had plenty of room to make noise.

What they knew was this: Impulse had been cursed. Or something of the sort. Whatever had been done to him was draining his life force, or at least had been. When it originally let up, Pearl and Grian had been skeptical but relieved. Given the burns on Impulse’s hand, they’d figured that he’d paid the price and let it go, but still remained wary. 

But today…

“It must’ve come back,” Grian muttered, “or maybe it never really left.”

“It’s strong enough to almost completely cloak its presence,” Pearl added, “so there’s always a chance we try to do something about it and it just hides from us, and then we’re back at square one.” She let out a worried sound, her wings fluttering slightly. “What if this isn’t something we can fix, Grian?”

Grian reached out and gently took her hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over the back of her hands. “Whatever it is, we’ll find a way. I promise you, everything will be alright.”

Pearl gave him a weary smile. “I’m gonna trust you on this one. Don’t let me down, now.”

Grian smiled back. “I won’t. It’s getting late,” he added after a moment, “and you look exhausted. We should get some rest and come back to this tomorrow.”

Pearl pulled away from Grian. “Yeah, you’re right. Try to get some sleep, at least.”

Grian stood, carefully stepping out of the tent before stretching his wings and folding them behind his back. “G’night, Pearl.”

She gave him a little wave goodbye. “Good night, Griba.” 

Glancing up at the sky, Grian was relieved to see that it was mostly clear. The stars were bright, and that made him feel a little better. A small grin appeared on his face as he slowly walked over to his tent, thinking of the children’s story he’d grown up believing. That stars were actually the souls of courageous heroes, who died valiantly in battle. He didn't really believe it anymore, but it was a small comfort to the part of him that still made wishes when blowing dandelions. 

He settled into his tent with a satisfied trill and took a moment to finish preening his wings, having only a small section left over from his chat with Pearl. Having already changed into his night clothes, it was just a few minutes before he was ready for bed. 

Grian settled down on his stomach, spreading his wings out to either side of him until he was comfortable. Tucking an arm beneath his pillow, he shifted a couple times to find the perfect position before closing his eyes. 

For once, his exhaustion bested his insomnia, and Grian fell into sleep. 

–

The sun beat down on his skin as Grian held the body of his dearest friend close. Blood the same colour as his feathers coated his hands and the sand around them, and tears flowed in a constant stream down his sunburnt cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he keened, grief twisting his cries into a mournful birdsong, “oh Scar, I’m so sorry. It should’ve–” It should’ve been me.

He gently set his friend down, laying him to rest in the warm sand. Standing up, Grian extended his wings– broken, flightless, stained with the blood of his friends and enemies alike.

“One more life to go,” he murmured, and the voice of the sole survivor echoed across the land.

The flightless bird took one last desperate reach for the sky. 

And Grian

fell.

–

Grian woke with a strangled gasp, the memories of a red desert already fading as he was struck with a feeling of danger like he had never felt before. And it wasn’t just danger– no, a feeling of pure bloodlust emanated from just outside the tent, someone was outside his tent, someone was in camp and wanted to kill him.

Grian instantly rolled out of bed, grabbing his dagger from the side table. Before whatever outside was given the chance to break in, he shot out of the tent and turned to face his would-be murderer head-on. His wings mantled themselves behind his back, feathers puffed up threateningly as he held the dagger out in front of him.

His eyes adjusted to the low light of the night, and Grian realized that he knew that silhouette. 

Impulse stood in front of him, blinking away the red glow that had just been in his eyes, confused and slightly alarmed. “...Grian?” he asked, voice still groggy from what had been effectively a forced sleepwalking, “what are you…?”

“You’re not Impulse,” Grian hissed, his grip on the dagger tightening. “I saw you– I saw you!” His voice slowly rose from a whisper to a shout. “Let him go!”

Impulse took a few steps back, confused and now even more alarmed than before. “Grian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m myself, I– I’m right here, just calm down…”

“I’m not going to calm down!” Grian snapped, his eyes fixated on where the red had lingered in Impulse’s eyes. He shifted back, preparing to strike. “I see you. I know you’re there.” He no longer saw Impulse– in his eyes, there was only whatever curse had befallen his friend. He knew one thing, and one thing only. 

Grian had to get rid of the evil that had hidden itself deep in Impulse’s mind.

Time seemed to slow down. At the same time, it all happened so fast.

Pearl had sensed the initial bloodlust, though not as strong as it hadn’t been directed toward her, and woken up. Upon hearing the shouting, she– dazed and still half-asleep– had stumbled from her tent and realized exactly what was happening as Impulse scrambled back.

“You’re looking too deep and forgetting that, whatever is in there…”

Pearl ran towards the fight, shouting for Grian to stop, knowing he wouldn’t.

“...it’s not as important as Impulse is.”

She threw herself in front of Impulse, pushing him to the ground just in time for the blade to slice through her wing.

Pearl screamed.

A distant howl answered her cry, and the camp exploded into chaos. 

Grian’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he dropped his dagger and staggered back. Horror shone on his face, especially when his gaze landed on Pearl’s damaged wing. Impulse shot up, eyes wide as he looked between Pearl and Grian, unsure of what to do and still terrified.

Scar burst out from the swaggon, his hair shining pure white and faint wings glowing behind him. “What’s happening?!” he called, stepping toward the gathered knights. 

Mumbo stumbled out of his own tent, holding his rocket launcher and looking a bit taller than he had been before bed. His hair was clearly longer as well, and the way that the sprout on his head had shot up would’ve been comical had it not been for the situation.

Tilly burst into the camp, sprinting over to where Pearl was kneeling on the ground and pressing herself against Pearl’s side, whimpering softly. Pearl took in a sharp, shaky breath. “I’m alright, baby. I’m okay, Tilly girl.” She wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck, taking a moment to calm herself down.

“I don’t…” Grian cut himself off, shaking his head. “I… what was I doing, oh my gosh, what…” He stared at his hands as though he expected to see blood staining them red. “Pearl, Impulse, I’m so sorry.”

Impulse gave him a weak smile. “I don’t really know what happened either. One minute I was asleep, the next I was outside your tent. And then…”

Pearl slowly stood, glancing back at her wings and trying to extend them. While her uninjured one opened with ease, the other could only open slightly before sending sharp pain through her. “I think,” she started, trying to take deep breaths and keep her voice from shaking, “I think I’m going to need stitches.” 

Grian looked absolutely devastated. “Pearl, I–”

She shook her head. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to need your help.”

Mumbo looked concerned, though he slowly lowered his rocket launcher. “Are you okay?” he asked, “I mean, uh, obviously not, but…”

Pearl gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be alright. Don’t think I’ll be able to fly for a little while, but it’ll heal. It was just an unfortunate accident.” She sighed. “You should all get back to bed. Grian, come with me.” She gave Tilly a soft pat and whispered something, and the dog padded away.

Slowly, everyone began to disperse, Scar’s hair regaining its colour and his wings fading away as he walked back to the swaggon. Mumbo seemed to realize that he had accidentally shapeshifted from the scare and changed himself back before disappearing into his tent. Impulse lingered a moment longer, his face unreadable but his body language giving away his anxiety.

“I’m sorry you got hurt, Pearl,” he said sincerely, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” With that, he left, and the two were alone.

“Pearl–” Grian began, but she cut him off.

“Not here. Not now.” Pearl sounded… angry. Of course, she had every right to be, Grian was angry at himself, but still… oh, he hated when people were angry at him. It made him feel so small. 

Nevertheless, Grian dutifully followed Pearl to her tent, where she went straight to a specific chest and pulled out her medical kit. “You know what to do?” she asked as she handed him the kit, but it wasn’t really a question.

Grian nodded, and Pearl carefully lit a lantern, putting it on a stable surface. She sat down, and Grian sat behind her, silently preparing the tools. “Aren’t you taking pain medicine?” he asked, his voice almost swallowed up by the silence.

Pearl shook her head. “After.”

“Doesn't it hurt?” Grian pressed as he finished preparing the tools and carefully prepping the injured area. 

Pearl’s voice became slightly more strained. “About as much as you’d think it would,” she answered tersely, and Grian stopped talking.

He began to carefully stitch Pearl’s wing, falling into the repetitive motion after a moment. He wasn’t given long to sit in silence, as Pearl only waited a moment to get used to the feeling before speaking up.

“What happened?” she asked, and the anger in her voice made Grian wince.

“I… I’m sorry Pearl, I wasn’t–”

“Thinking?” she finished for him. “Yeah. You usually don’t.”

“Pearl, I…”

“What would've happened had you hurt Impulse and suddenly made whatever was happening to him worse? We don't know what he's going through. We don't know the full extent of what's happening. We can't act without thinking, Grian, especially when it's our friend's life on the line.” Pearl’s hands were shaking, and she clenched them into fists. “I told you. I told you that you couldn’t just laser focus on the curse. Even if you had managed to get it out of Impulse, what if that had hurt him? What if that killed him? What if the curse had jumped to you after you pulled it from Impulse? What if–?” And she had to stop here, to take in a breath. “What if you had died?”

Grian frowned. “Pearl, that won’t happen. I won’t let it–”

“We’re not invincible, Grian!” she cried, “tonight is a wonderful example of that, actually!” For a moment, there was silence. “We may be Watchers, but we can still bleed. We can still die. And even if we don’t, I…” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.” She slowly placed her hands back in her lap. “I’m still angry at you, though,” she added on. “What you did wasn’t okay. I know you’re hard headed and stubborn and you don’t think things through, but we can’t just solve every single problem with… enthusiastic violence.”

Grian nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I… you’re right, Pearl. I really don’t… it was like all I could see was that thing, and it made me so angry and I just…” He took a moment to focus on the stitching before continuing. “I don’t have an excuse. I acted on instinct and I hurt you and I could’ve– it could’ve ended up so much worse, and I’m so, so sorry.” He had to bite back tears as he spoke, pausing in his stitches so he wouldn’t mess up because of crying. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

The anger had faded from Pearl’s voice, though it still sounded a little strained from the pain she was in. “I know, Grian.” Most of all, she sounded tired. “I know.”

Grian finished up the stitches and carefully bandaged the area, before Pearl took a very generous dose of the pain medicine. He gave her a slightly concerned look, and she’d returned that with a deadpan stare.

“Has it been too long since your last wing injury?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “have you forgotten how incredibly painful it is?”

Grian shook his head, holding his hands up. “No, ma’am,” he answered weakly, earning a small laugh from his sister. “No judgement here, none at all.”

Pearl carefully sorted her medical kit’s supplies before placing it back into the place it had been earlier. For a moment, both sat in silence again. 

Grian started to stand. “I should probably head back to my tent…”

Pearl placed a hand on his arm, interrupting him. “Can you stay here instead?” she asked, a soft vulnerability hidden in the plea. “I just…”

Grian nodded, almost too eagerly, and sat back down. “No, I…” he trailed off. “...I think I need it too,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “If you don’t mind.”

Pearl smiled– an exhausted, pained smile, but one of relief all the same– and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and Grian hummed softly in response.

It took a few extra blankets and pillows for them both to get comfortable, but eventually the two siblings drifted off to sleep. Grian’s wing rested gently over Pearl, a comforting and protective gesture all at once. 

Times would get difficult. Bonds would be tested, friendships would be strained. But no matter what, they would heal. Things would get better, and they would be stronger for it. 

Pearl fell asleep, and dreamed of falling stars.

[drenix004]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘━━━ 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐙𝐀

-> part 1

❝𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲︙It was the candy she needed to cope with the life of danger and death she had willingly gotten herself into.❞

❛Her sweet, natural attitude reminded him of honey, and her peculiar amber eyes reaffirmed this❜

warnings: mention of alcohol, drugs, death, obsession, swear words, curses, among others, if you are not comfortable, don't read it !

rating: 18+

pairings: Valeria Garza x female Oc

WC: 1,2k

¡English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, don’t hesitate to correct me.!

¡para las personas que hablan español, actualizo primero la historia en wattpad :) (for spanish speakers, I update the story on wattpad first!)

Link de wattpad-> Honey

━━━━━━━━》❈《 ━━━━━━━

Her screams and unrestrained pounding on the door echoed throughout the room. She had been doing the same thing for three days, she hadn't even taken off her bloodstained dress, her makeup was smeared and her hair was tangled.

-Let me out, dammit! -she shouted again as she kicked the door. But, again her screams had been ignored-they'll kill them all if I don't come back, please. -she whispered at the door before breaking away.

He walked over to the bed in the room and used it as a support as he sat down on the floor, and laid his back on one of the sides.

The room was a mess, everything was destroyed due to the fits of anger and irritability she was having due to withdrawal.

Jérémie controlled her with sedatives and other drugs in combination, which is why she was never able to escape. Now she only suffered the consequences of her system not receiving these substances; excessive sweating made her feel clammy, nausea and anxiety had only increased since the second day.

She had slight cuts on her hands when she broke the glass things in the room, the insomnia and the muscle and joint pains made her tired, she just wished it would be over.

-They're going to kill them," she whispered again, looking at her hands almost on the verge of collapse. Despite her state, she kept thinking about the women who were still trapped in that place.

They would kill them like cattle to erase all evidence, if she was alive they would kill the others.

Her energy was running out, maybe, and only maybe, she could sleep without feeling the Frenchman's hands on her body, she could rest for a moment, even if only.

-Ese vestido se te ve de la verga-She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't hear the door open, she didn't hear anyone come in.

-Valeria? -Her tired eyes fell on her person; the woman with short black hair had blood splattered on her face, as well as on her hands.

Valeria gave the room a general glance before looking back at her.

-Disaster will cost me dearly-the contratia thought he was going to approach her, but walked past her toward the bathroom. He heard there would be a faucet, surely he was going to wash off the blood. -But, it's a small thing really. -He came out of the bathroom with a clean face and hands. She walked over and knelt down in front of her. -I have to get all the crap off you-he carefully touched her face, being careful with her split lip. -Lace doesn't even go with you, Laurie.

Valeria hated the appearance of the female from the first moment she saw her in that church, that was not her Laurie.

But she would take it upon herself to fix everything the French son of a bitch had changed.

-What's going on? -the contrarian barely asks -you were missing, how come…?

-The questions will come later, sweetie,- he interrupts her as he caresses her cheeks, -Let's give you a bath.

Valeria helps her up carefully, putting a hand around her waist to get a better grip as he helps her walk.

She sits her on the toilet and turns off the faucet she had left on to fill the tub.

Laurie lets herself be undressed by Valeria's delicate hands, she had missed her touch for a long time.

She felt her pause; most likely at the sight of the bruises and needle scars on her body, heard her curse under her breath as she resumed the action.

she did not look at her out of embarrassment, and Valeria didn't ask anything about it either, which she was grateful for, it wasn't necessary to know what had happened for her to have such marks on her skin.

Carefully she was put into the bathtub, and for the first time in 5 years, she relaxed at the feel of warm water and not cold as she had been made to get used to. Valeria's hands were soft and light as she bathed her and toweled off her smudged makeup.

-Lo haces bien, Dulce-The short-haired girl carefully untangled his hair, as it had knots in it, and she knew how much it hurt to remove those knots, especially if it was in curly hair.

-They'll kill them, Valeria- Laurie says after a long time, Valeria stops momentarily before continuing- they're going to kill them for me- guilt escapes in her tone of voice, her conscience blames her for what's going to happen to those poor women. -I have to go back, if I do they won't do anything to them.

-You're not going back, Laurie,-Valeria's voice becomes cold, authoritative. Contrary to the one a moment ago. Laurie looked at her on the verge of tears.

-I can't leave them, I can't abandon them. -Her trembling hand grabbed one of the Mexican woman's wrists, -Please.

Valeria stared at her before sighing, the woman had plans to destroy everything that belonged to the Frenchman, the man had dared to touch something that was rightfully hers, and she never let things go.

she didn't answer him, but Laurie knew he would think about it, he knew her so well. They were forty-five minutes in the bathroom, they took Laurie out and changed her into new, comfortable clothes, clothes they had brought while they were both in the bathroom .

The bed had even been made up and Valeria had not hesitated to put her in the middle as she snuggled her to her chest, not without first taking off her vest.

Laurie, on the verge of falling asleep said something to her that would unconsciously grow the business Valeria had illegally.

-In the laptop I have information about that place-Valeria frowns as she watches her fall asleep.

Place? had she saved information, and what kind?

Valeria barely had her in her arms after several years and she already had more work to do, including the idiot she had been torturing for hours.

Careful not to wake the woman, Valeria took her cell phone out of her back pants pocket and dialed the first number she had registered; it was only enough to ring once for them to answer.

-I am not going to repeat what I am going to say, you better listen well; look for the laptop that is in room 503 of the surgical residency dormitories in the south wing of the Sorbonne University. I don't want any mistakes, mas les vale no estar chingando.

He hung up the call and settled better on the bed, his head was scheming new plans for everything to go smoothly, plus they had to keep a low profile after the massacre he had committed a few days ago, the authorities were already getting involved, he had to end everything quickly and return to Mexico.

He had business to finish regarding his territory, and the constant problems with the Vaqueros was a loose end he could not leave loose, at least not for long. They were a plague that he had to at least get under control.

It would be a long week; full of stress and tension, plus there would be bloodshed… maybe it was good that he made himself known to the French.

It could stir up a hornet's nest.

Chapters: teaser, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...