#sighs. anyways. sleep maybe now idk.

[vampiremourning]

.

[running-in-the-dark]

okay so I got up.. less than 5 hours ago (yes it was another slept-all-day day)

annnd all I wanna do is go back to bed 🙃

[scattered-winter]

woe another tag vent session be upon ye

[astrxealis]

finally actually working towards fixing my blogs lol 💪

[sludgeguzzler]

i really need to like. step up and start doing art about the stuff that bothers me. i only draw what i think is pretty or looks nice or would be cool to show people. i need to draw something that makes me want to hide my sketchbook. i need to draw something so deeply personal and raw i feel bad about showing it to people. i need to basically vomit whatever i think abiut onto the paper and then call it a day

[seventh-district]

hhhhhhh it is 9pm i just woke up and for the life of me i can’t remember if my dentist appointment is tomorrow or the next day so now i have to get ready tonight Just In Case

[chelseeebe]

just a taste

18+. mdni. smut. kinda perv!eddie x fem!reader. he is a lil freaky in this i'll admit.

a/n: i just love the idea of the citrus six all living together lol idk i think it’s so nice also i have never watched cheers i just googled 1991 american tv shows and picked one at random LMAO ++ for the movie, i thought it’d be a nice lil easter egg for them to watch something with winona in:,)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

eddie doesn’t know who you are or why you’re coming to visit or why exactly it was him that was being made to vacate his room for the two weeks that you were here. 

“c’mon eddie,” robin pleads, nay, demands, “you sleep on the couch most nights anyway, what’s the difference?” 

“uh, maybe because it’s my room? i don’t want some random girl in there touching my stuff,” almost flabbergasted that she’s even asking. 

“she’s not a random girl,” robin frowns, “she’s my friend and she needs somewhere to stay.” 

“tell her there’s a great hotel in town,” rolling his eyes, trying to leave the conversation before she breaks out the puppy dog eyes. "i'll even give her a ride if you ask nicely," no longer interested in entertaining this conversation.

“i’ll give you fifty bucks,” robin deadpans, using her last resort.

this was bribery of the highest order but eddie's not stupid. fifty bucks is fifty bucks.

“now?” 

she sighs, sliding her wallet from her pocket to reluctantly hand over the bill. she stops just before it touches his palm, “promise you’ll clean your room.” 

eddie goes to grab the paper but robin’s faster, jolting her hand into the air, “and change your sheets.” 

“okay,” he huffs, holding his palm outstretched. 

she graciously places the note down, smiling wickedly as she does so before skipping off back to her own room. 

he can only roll his eyes, turning around to the shit hole that was his room, wondering if fifty dollars was worth having to tackle it. 

-

eddie’s sat on the couch when you arrive, barely looking back as robin begins to fuss, talking loudly about your journey. he doesn’t really care enough to involve himself, besides, elvis presley had just given sam a very important message. 

“eddie,” robin hisses, standing in front of the screen, “don’t be rude, say hello,” her hands firmly on her hips like she was his mother or something. 

he looks up at the looming figure by the couch, hoping his eyes hadn’t given his immediate shock away too much. 

you flash him a sheepish smile back, waggling your fingers in a short wave. 

two weeks on the couch didn’t seem so bad now. 

not if you were sleeping in his bed. 

it’s just a shame that he wouldn’t be in there sharing it. 

“hey,” he stands, hoping to indiscreetly catch his breath, “i’m- uh, i’m eddie,” offering his hand out, though he regrets it as soon as it’s done. 

who shakes hands now? christ. he needed to get a grip, and badly. 

“hey,” you reply, your name dripping from your tongue. though you do shake his hand, not bothering to hide your confusion in the process. 

“eddie very kindly said you could have his room,” a bright, big sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“yeah.. no biggie..” christ, he’s almost panting. “do whatever you want in there.. or you know, just- just make yourself at home.” 

his desperate pleas for the earth to split open and swallow him whole go unanswered. instead, robin shoots him a concerned glare before ushering you away from his weird, longing gaze. 

'pull it together loser' she mouths before disappearing, leaving him to reflect upon how utterly hard he had just fumbled that entire situation. 

-

when everyone’s home from work and you’ve exchanged niceties and greetings with the rest of the house, robin brightly suggests a movie. 

eddie usually hated movie nights in the house. 

jonathan would want to watch some indie cult classic that no one else had ever heard of, steve wanted to watch some dumb comedy that only he’d find funny and then nancy and robin typically opted for the romance genre. 

leaving eddie and argyle with absolutely no choice but to sit in silence as they bickered. 

tonight it’s different, you get to pick. 

and now he’s not saying that whatever you choose will forever change the way he views you but.. well, that’s actually exactly it. 

you land on edward scissorhands. 

not the worst choice you could’ve made, and hey, his mom used to call him edward when he was in real bad trouble. 

in the end, it doesn’t really matter what you had picked because eddie can’t muster up enough energy to actually care about the film. not while your thighs are peeking out from underneath your oversized shirt. he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around his ears. what previous sounds would fall out of your mouth in response.

at some point during the movie, you stand up and walk out of the room to the kitchen but that doesn’t stop him. staring through the open door, marvelling at the way the hem of your shirt lifts, exposing the tiny shorts you had on underneath. 

he’s practically hanging over the back of the couch to get a look, craning his neck at a ninety degree angle just to get a glimpse of your soft, pillowy skin. pinching himself as he tries to resist the urge to just sink his teeth into your inner thigh.

robin jabs her elbow into his ribcage, drawing his eyes back to the room with a grunt and a harsh glare thrown her way. 

“you’ve been staring at her all night,” she whispers angrily into his ear, “stop it, or next time it’s your balls,” a harsh warning he didn’t find entirely necessary. 

you sidle back into the room, drink in hand and eddie can’t help but let his eyes wander over again, short glances that robin hopefully wouldn’t pick up on. 

he can’t help it, some magnetic force swaying his gaze in your direction. he wishes so badly that he could just crawl out of his head and tell you how much he wanted you. 

unfortunately for eddie, he’d instead spend the night dreaming of your ass and all the ways he could have you if he’d only grow a backbone. 

-

living alongside you is an entirely new feat eddie’s not sure he’ll survive. 

it’s torturous. 

testing the limits of how ridiculously horny one man can get without self-imploding. 

so close and yet so far. each night you’d tuck yourself into his bed, doing god knows what in between his sheets all without eddie getting a look in.

of course he’d made up a hundred different scenarios to fall asleep to each night. 

his favourite being the one where he walks into his bedroom to find you mouth open, legs apart, too encapsulated in your pleasure to notice him. only until you do, inviting him closer, between those supple thighs of yours, a forbidden nirvana he’ll never get to know. 

though more often than not he’s cruelly forced back into reality by robin ripping the curtains open at the ass crack of dawn, blaring sunlight on his face as you slip away from the grapples of his dream land. 

now is his opportunity, the house quiet, bar the muffled giggles of you and robin upstairs. he’s safe for now, he thinks, rather foolishly. it’s late, the rest of them asleep or too busy in their own rooms to catch him in the act. 

eddie’s never done anything like this before. it’s disgusting, perverted to the core. 

good grief, this is prosecutable behaviour. 

tiptoeing down the hall to his room, the door open just a crack, enticing him in further. he can still hear you on the floor above, giving him enough confidence to push it open a little more, edging inside with a quick glance back down the hall, just in case. 

gratefully it seemed that you were just as messy as he was, your clothes strewn across the floor. his eyes immediately turning to the peeking of lace from under the pile. glancing one last time at the cracked door, ensuring that absolutely nobody would see him. 

reaching down to gather the fabric in one quick swoop, bunching them in his palm as he lets out a quick sigh of relief. 

oh fuck. they were so soft, fingers spreading to really get a feel. he wasn't even going to take them, he'd just wanted a little look, something to help his overactive imagination get all the important details right.

“what are you doing?” startling him in this precarious position, the lace of your underwear entangled around his fingertips. 

eddie freezes, he can feel the heat rising through his chest, all the way up to the tips of his ears. scarlet red. 

“uh.. i..i-i don’t know..” he hasn’t done anything like this before, he swears. 

your mouth is open in a sort of half-smirk, half-perplexed gawp, closing the door before he could bolt. 

you move around the mess, creeping closer until he can feel you brushing against his side, peering over into his hand. 

“oh wow..” you remark, breath hot and sweet against his cheek, “what were you gonna do with those?” 

eddie feels sick, trying not to projectile vomit across his room. there’s no way you wouldn’t tell robin. fuck. he could hear you now, voice full of disgust, robin laughing at how pathetic he was. 

“n-nothing i swear..” stumbling through his sentence, “i was just..” excuses fail to come to mind, “i was uhm.. looking for something,” the absolute best his flustered mind to muster up. 

“oh really?” reaching around to untangle them from his hand, “you sure about that?” 

there’s no anger to your voice, but he doesn’t dare turn around to look at your face. afraid of what he’ll find. your eyes pitying, sad that he has to root around your dirty laundry to get off. 

“i’m- i’m sure,” though the crack in his voice gives him away. 

you hum, coming around to stand in front of his gormless face, “so you don’t wanna keep these?” holding the evidence up to his face, the hem just barely grazing his cheek. 

eddie’s knees almost buckle, his breath shuddering as any semblance of composure he had left, floats right out the window. 

“here,” reaching forward to tuck the baby blue fabric into the waistband of his sweatpants, your eyes never once leaving his as you do so. “you keep those.. but next time just ask, okay?” 

he nods like an obedient dog, lapping up the scraps you were throwing him. he could stand here all night long, keeping up the weird little power game you’d started. 

“goodnight eddie,” you smile, giving him a gentle nudge, a sign for him to get the fuck out. 

you were the master, he was just the lap dog, eager to please. 

-

at breakfast the next morning, he struggles to even keep his eyes open. having spent an embarrassingly long amount of time on the couch last night shamelessly sniffing the lace you’d gifted him. 

you don’t even acknowledge it, or him for that matter. happily chatting along with nancy about some news article. 

“oh and eddie,” robin begins, flashing him a stern look, “i don’t appreciate finding your fucking panties in between the couch cushions,” 

he chokes on his mouthful, his knife clattering against the table in shock. a multitude of eyes turn to stare at the spectacle he was making. 

“they’re- they’re not mine,” clearing his throat as he clears his name, though he doesn’t dare look in your direction, terrified that he’d absolutely lose his mind if he did. 

“well whoever’s they are, i don’t care, stop leaving them on the couch.. i’m sure our guest doesn’t want to sit amongst dirty underwear,” she bites, calming down now she had gotten her point across. 

if only she knew. 

eddie must’ve fallen asleep with them still attached to his hand, thanking his lucky stars that no one had walked in on him with them pressed to his nose.  

he keeps his head low, focusing on the plate in front of him. nothing had ever been as mortifying as this. not even the time he had slipped off the dinner table in the middle of the cafeteria. 

cutlery scrapes and clinks against the china, uncomfortable silence until argyle clears his throat, “gnarly meal robin, thanks dude,” seemingly settling the tense atmosphere, for now. 

everybody hums in agreement, getting back to their food without another word. but your eyes peek up, meeting his with an indescribable glint. and really, the worst part is that eddie would sit through this horrific situation a hundred more times, just for one more measly sniff at your panties. 

-

eddie can’t take it anymore. 

he’s never been so pent up in his entire life. and he’s tried to hold on until he could move back into his room but he couldn’t last any longer. 

but he’s careful, waiting for everyone to trundle on off to bed, listening carefully for the muted click of the light switch and even then, waiting another hour to be sure. 

the clock glares an alarming 1:04 by the time his belt clinks and his jeans come down, the first of them would be awake in just a few hours, ready to take you on to the airport. 

he wishes it would’ve played out differently, that he wouldn’t be sat here on the last night of your stay alone. but alas, eddie’s never been particularly brave and especially not in regards to hot women. 

your panties wrapped around his right hand as he spits on his left, wrapping around his stiff cock while his fingertips play with the lace in his other hand. 

“ohh fuck,” he hisses, wanting nothing more than to start hollering the house down. 

robin wouldn’t be too pleased if she ever found out what he’d done. and he can’t really afford to get the entire couch dry-cleaned so he really must be careful. 

thinking quick, he shoves his t-shirt into his mouth, muffling the chorus of grunts and groans threatening to spill over into the dark room. the muted light from the tv illuminates his face, breathing loudly through his nose 

he hadn’t heard the door open or the soft sound of your feet padding down the hall, only made aware of your presence when he reopens his eyes, near enough jumping out of his bones. 

how long had you been there watching him shudder and whine?

“fuck,” he exclaims, fist still wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, too aroused to care about it too much. 

“you want some help with that?” 

eddie looks at his dick, then back at you, mouth hung open in a mixture of awe and confusion. 

it’s not very clear but you move closer anyway, sinking to your knees and nestling in between his spread legs. 

“okay?” maintaining eye contact despite how difficult it was, eyes bright and eager. 

he nods, unable to comprehend what was happening. knowing he’d wake up from this twisted dream to some soggy boxers and a whole lotta shame. 

your palm wraps around the base of his cock, shooing his hands away to make room, smiling as your lips wrap around the already leaking tip. were you a psychopath? were you placed on this earth to goad and tease him?

this isn’t real. this isn’t real. the voice repeats around his head though it’s quickly silenced by your tongue swirling circles around the tip of his cock, readjusting his t-shirt to bite down harshly on the fabric. 

eddie’s hands lay useless on his thighs, twitching to intertwine with your hair, still doubting the reality of the situation. this could all be a dream and the second he touches your hair, you’d disappear from in front of his eyes.

the t-shirt falls from his lips, “fuuck,” grunting into the tense air, gritting his teeth so as to not expose your precarious position to the rest of the house. 

the wet sounds of your lips wrapped tight around his cock make his toes curl, his hands find your hair, not without prompting from you. tugging gently at the tendrils as his head starts to spin. 

when your eyes look up to meet his, eddie thinks he might just cum right down your throat then and there. he can see that troublesome glint in your eye, a roaring fire that he so desperately wants to keep stoking. 

your fingers slide up his thigh, finding his neglected balls and with a slight smirk, you grab ahold, gently fondling them as his brain melts out of his ears. 

no one had ever, ever made him feel so good. collectively losing brain cells when you hum on his cock, getting just as much out of this as he was. 

“oh yeah, fuck- shit fuck, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming,” eddie’s mouth rushes, louder than he ever should’ve been. bright flashes of light fill his peripheral, using your scalp as leverage to keep himself on the couch. 

his hips stutter, thrusting into your mouth with his fingers tight in your hair, yanking harshly in an effort to get your lips off of him before he came everywhere. 

you don’t budge, nails digging into his thigh as his release seeps down your throat, his eyes squeezing shut as his fist instinctively comes up to muffle his mouth, moaning into his clammy palm instead of alerting the entire house. 

eddie’s other hand lets go of his strong hold on your hair, allowing you to get off of his dick, panting happily as you sit up between his knees and with lips glistening with his release, you kiss him. all soft and gentle while his brain fails to compute. 

it should be gross. but eddie just can’t find it in himself to care, because in reality, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened in his measly little life. 

“please let me taste you,” he begs between kisses, grasping desperately at your waist, the fabric of your shirt slipping between his desperate fingers.

you giggle, pulling back to look at him through the dimmed light, “not now,” you hover just above, constantly teasing and unobtainable

“well when?" jutting his bottom lip out in hopes it'd convince you to change your mind.

"when i'm back," letting him down gently. eddie'd count the seconds till you came back if that was what it took to get even a tiny glimpse of your pussy.

“what time do you leave?” he pants, chasing your lips. eddie was nothing if not a chancer, though if it hadn't happened already, there's a miniscule chance of it happening now.

“seven,” whispering back, a hint of annoyance that this build up had only crescendoed now, just as you were about to leave. he'll blame robin for that, poking her nose in and trying to turn him off. it shouldn't have worked. he should've been braver.

“but it’s your turn,” an awful sadness and regret overcoming him. someone better, someone like steve, would've had you pinned to that couch by now, his head between your thighs and your slick dripping down his chin.  

“next time,” only repeating yourself, smiling coyly before you plant one last kiss to his longing lips before standing fully upright and disappearing back off to his room, leaving him reeling with a story nobody else would ever believe.

[filo-academia]

[vent in the tags]

[writersblockedx]

Hi. I am sorry if that this is not your thing, so you can just ignore it.

I love some pervert Spencer Reid (I am so sorry, it is a guilty pleasure). Things like very inappropriate daydreams about his female friend and some admiration for her lingerie (maybe even stolen a few and feeling guilty about that, but at the same time, it turns him on).

If he got a peek of her nud form or just seeing a few spice pictures of her... idk

What's the Harm? / S.R.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader Summary - When Spencer accidentally walks in on Y/n getting changed, he can't seem to think about anything else. Warnings - Perv Spence, like soft smut, nothing in depth x Words - 1.2K

A/n - This is probably the closest I'll come to writing smut but I hope you enjoyed it anyway? <3

Masterlist

Spencer had always thought of Y/n as pretty, nice...lovely. But his thoughts have never delved any deeper. He was never one to dare let his mind go deep enough to wander about sensual thoughts - never mind such thoughts being about her. He was too himself, the idea of a woman even kissing him made the boy nervous.

And then something snapped in him.

He knew the culprit. It was something so innocent. In his logical mind, Spencer knew the girl hadn't done it on purpose, but gosh a part of him yearned that it had been. That she had just so happened to be left in her bra in the changing room for him to walk in on. That she had been waiting for the very moment he wandered in to grab his FBI vest too.

Y/n had her shirt and FBI vest laid out in front of her as she adjusted her bra straps. The boy was practically drooling. "Oh...uh...erm..." Were the only words he could muster as he walked in.

The girl jumped, grasping her shirt close to her chest before sending him an easy smile as she realised it was only Spencer who had walked in on her. "Oh, it's just you." She breathed out a sigh, worrisome one of the cops or god forbid Hotch had been the one to walk in. But it was just Spencer - what harm could he have done in taking in such a sight?

That day Spencer had muttered a, "Sorry, I'll erm-" And proceeded to leave without another word. But his mind was left marked as if the girl had just carved that very image of her in a lacy yet practical bra into the forefront of her mind.

It started on the jet ride back. Spencer was in the seat facing her, a book laid across her chest as her forehead nuzzled into the seat further, like she was sinking into the comfort of her own dreams. But as Spencer gazed over at her, his eyes wandered. At first, to her book then to the edge of her neckline where the shirt was pulled down ever so slightly Spencer could catch the top of her breasts. He thought to earlier that day. How soft they probably felt, how soft they would feel in his own harsh fingers, how it would taste to kiss them-

No. He couldn't be thinking this. He was her co-worker, a friend, a very close friend. She shouldn't be the subject of his sexual desires. Spencer hadn't even realised he had any sexual desires until that very moment.

He shook his head and followed her movements, leaning his head back against the jet seat, letting sleep engulf his mind. That was the best way to escape his thoughts. Or so he had thought. In fact, his subconscious mind had only done the very opposite, like it was taunting him.

The very thoughts of her naked and bare, cupped between his two hands, had clouded his entire dreams. Her rolling around between his sheets, giggling as the sunlight enhanced her nude figure. Her hand reached out, caressing his cheek ever so gently it made even his dream self shiver. What was he doing? Why was he here? Why was he only just thinking about this now?

A hand fell to his shoulder, jolting him awake. It just so happened that such hand belonged to the very girl who had infatuated his dreams, "We've landed," Y/n gave a sweet smile but all Spencer could focus on was what had since grown in his trousers.

His shoulders became stiff as he glanced between his lap and the girl, "I'll erm- I'll be right there." He murmured before the girl gave a tilt of her head. She thought about asking him if everything was okay but bypassed her concerns as she exited the jet.

It didn't stop there. It only got worse. His dreams were every night, getting more detailed, more handsy, the feel of her atop of him or the other way round, how easy it seemed for him to grasp her wrists and pin her down. And when he wandered into the office and glanced at Y/n, he could only picture her naked, he could only think about all the things he wanted to do to her.

The boy was at breaking point. The very thought of her...of her figure had consumed almost every waking thought. How was he meant to go on like this?

It only got worse when the team were invited around Y/n's apartment for end-of-week drinks. He was getting towards tispy and when he was directed into Y/n's room to find the adjacent toilet, he couldn't help himself. Of course, Spencer had been in her room before. He had been on her bed before. The flower sheets and little tv which faced the end of the bed where the two watched hours of crappy shows. 

But this time around, things were different. The boy's fingers traced her bedsheets, just as soft as he imagined her bare breasts to be. When his eyes caught her side dresser, it was as if something else inside of him had taken over. All those thoughts of her, the desire which burned inside him was pushing him on. His hand reached out as he guessed the right draw on the first try. An array of pants stared back at him. 

Some were practical and made for comfort, others were similar to what he had imagined her in. Silk, lace, ranging from black to red to bubblegum pink. His breath itched. But it was like he couldn't help himself. The same way an addict reached for a needle, he was reaching for one of her thongs, as if the very feel, the very lavender scent of her washing powder overwhelmed him with euphoria.

He was so distracted by the smell of the girl, that he hadn't dared to pay attention to the sound of steps growing louder. The boy jumped when the door rattled open. He had no choice. He slipped the thong into his inner blazer pocket and preyed in every way that he hadn't just gotten caught being so invasive by the very girl he adored.

"Spence?" Y/n's head tilted at him lingering at her bedside table. A tug of a smile as she questioned the boy, "You all good?"

He didn't dare speak, "Hmh." He was already moving past her towards the door, "I'm gonna- yeah." He muttered before leaving.

Y/n was left alone in her room as she scanned it. Her eyes found her underwear draw left ajar. When she wandered over and noticed her favourite red thong missing from her draw, she had an inkling about where it had gone. But she wasn't mad, no, if anything she was impressed to find Spencer had the confidence to do such a thing. And, strangely, she was flattered that the pretty boy of the BAU was thinking about her in the same way she had been thinking about him.

[ellecdc]

can you pleasee do dad!Sirius x AFAB reader with a young child please I'm craving it. Maybe the kid got a cold and everyone's worried idk but I would love to see how Sirius would spoil her or take care of her

poor dramatic sirius hahaha. thanks for your request!

dad!Sirius Black x mum!reader whose child is sick [534 words]

CW: kid fic, fluff, the reader is actually gender neutral (no gender specified) but is the other parent of the child and I wrote it with a fem!reader in mind

“That snot-nosed little mouth breather isn’t allowed over anymore.” Sirius muttered into the crown of Aurora's head from his place on the couch; your daughter laid stretched across his torso with her cheek smooshed against his chest as she breathed audibly through her mouth on account of her stuffed up nose. She was a pitiful sight, though she seemed wholly safe and content in her father’s arms.  

Now, you were quite sure you heard what Sirius had said, but you had to ask again just to be certain; or just in case he wanted to amend his statement. 

“What?” 

“I said,” Sirius started, looking at you pointedly over the child’s head to ensure you were listening; you had to admit, Sirius was very good at making his points with his entire chest, “that snot-nosed little mouth breather isn’t allowed over anymore.”

“Sirius,” you chided, though you were sure your smile was audible in your voice, “are you talking about your godson?” 

“Uhm, is my godson a snot-nosed little mouth breather?” He asked in faux derision, face crumpling in misery when Aurora let out a rattling cough in her sleep. “My poor sweet girl; look what he’s done to her!” 

“I hardly think he did this on purpose, Sirius.” You scolded around a smile. “We have no idea if he even had the sniffles before he came over.”

“Oh, I’m sure he definitely did have the sniffles before he came over.” Sirius countered bitterly; hand rubbing soothingly up and down Aurora’s back as she drooled on his chest to which he was either ignorant or wholly unbothered. “Then James went and sent him over anyway. Probably payback.”

“Payback?”

“I just never thought he’d stoop so low as to biological warfare,” he continued as if you hadn’t said anything at all, “and my child?! No, it’s not right at all. Who do we call about this, hm? The Scotland Yard? Or do we take this right to the UN for war crimes?”

“Sirius-”

“She’s too sweet to be so poorly.” He murmured quietly then, bottom lip jutting out comically as he looked at you beseechingly. 

“Baby.” You sighed, finally standing up from the chair to kneel beside Sirius and Aurora’s forms on the sofa. Of course, your arrival came at the price of two kisses for Sirius, both of which you paid eagerly. “Kids get sick, my love. And when she ends up in school, she’ll be coming home sick every other week.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius pouted. 

“I know.” You agreed quickly. “But being exposed to some illnesses also helps build up their immune systems. Maybe now she’ll stand a better chance against all the other snot-nosed little mouth breathers she’ll meet at nursery school.” 

Sirius let out a long suffering sigh, though his eyes remained glued to your face and his hands continued their broad strokes along Aurora’s pyjama clad back. “So I shouldn’t call the UN?”

“No.”

“Not yet.” Sirius compromised, looking into the room unseeingly. “But I will have to get James back for this. Maybe we’ll send Harry home jacked up on sugar and treats? Oh! We’ll get him a puppy. No! Four puppies!” 

You hid your smile (and the roll of your eyes) behind pressing a kiss to your daughter’s overly hot forehead.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

[merchelsea]

i can take it — logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x girlfriend!vowles!reader

summary: she finds out about what her father (her boyfriend’s team manager) has been doing to him.

author’s note: i know it has all been denied by logan himself but i wanted to do it anyways. DO NOT TAKE IT AS A FACT OR TRUE EVENT.

word count: 1k

warnings: idk if there's any cursing, not proofread, sad logan, kind of daddy issues (?)

masterlist | requests

you were at home, laying down on the couch watching a show while you waited for hunger. everything you had to do was already done and dinner was ready, but you weren’t hungry to eat it.

you were tired, tho. you could easily go to sleep right now, but you knew better than to go to sleep without eating first.

that was when your phone started to ring and your best friend’s name appeared on the screen.

you stopped the show and picked up the call, putting it on speaker.

“hi?” you stretched your body on the couch.

“hey, have you talked to logan recently?” she asked, going straight to the point.

you could notice in her voice some kind of worry.

“hm, yeah… why?”

“and your dad?” she asked again.

“what? no, not really.” you answered, not sure about what was going on.

“open up twitter, babe.” her voice sounded alarmed. “i think you might want to do this on your own, i’ll hang up now.”

you simply hummed a goodbye and started to see the panic on your twitter mentions.

everyone knew about you and logan by now, so you were not surprised with all the tags from his fans, but it seemed like they needed explanations on a certain allegation.

“what the fuck?” you screamed as you saw the caption of a podcast, your mind going red immediately.

it’s like you were only capable of feeling anger.

that’s when you threw the blanket you had over your body away and got up. not caring about your clothing, that was just a pj, you got to your keys and left the house.

getting in your car, you drove as fast as legally possible to get to your father’s office.

while driving, your mind recalled everything you had learned about your boyfriend’s situation in williams.

a friend of a friend of logan told on a podcast that your boyfriend wasn’t even having fun in the team anymore. that was happening because of your father. apparently, the older vowles wasn’t giving logan the feedback he needed anymore and they were not on speaking terms.

you know how you say good morning to everyone? yeah, not even that.

you were more than pissed about all of this. you could understand that your father no longer had faith in logan, you did not agree with him but you could comprehend. but not even speaking to him? this was another level of childishness.

you got to your dad’s office in a matter of minutes and immediately asked to talk to him. you were told to wait, but, impatiently, crossed the building until you reached his room on your own and didn’t even bother to knock before going in and slamming the door behind you.

“what the fuck is this about?” you threw your phone on his table, an article opened.

“what?” vowles asked, a puzzled expression on his face. he started to read and his expression went from confused to worried in mere seconds.

“you are using silence treatment on logan?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. he sighed as he supported his head with his hands. “you can not do this to a driver”

another sigh.

you wanted him to say it was all a misunderstanding, that maybe this person was wrong or even lying. but you were just hurt when he spoke again.

“oh… this.” he finally looked up at you. “what do you want me to do? pretend i’m proud of the american like i don’t regret having him in my team?” all you wanted to do in that moment was punch your father in the face. it was so not fair.

“you’re being childish.” you pointed out.

he angrily looked over at you, as if you were in the wrong. as if he was the one who had to explain how you were wrong and why.

“he’s not talented enough for f1, y/n.” you were already angry, but when you heard your own father talk about the man you loved that way you completely lost it.

you could not care less about how loud you were being. maybe it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but calling your father and imbecile felt pretty damn good.

“how the fuck is he supposed to deliver good results when he doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on?” you asked, honestly waiting for an answer before you started speaking again because the man in front of you was speechless. “the car isn’t good and the team isn’t good. you’re ruining it even more. he is talented and you know that, you just want to blame him for YOUR OWN mistakes.”

everything you had been holding in for some time, just because he was your father, was finally out. it should feel better than it did. you should feel way better than you did.

“that’s not true. and you should be ashamed of your little boyfriend for spreading things like this around.”

you couldn’t comprehend where this attitude came from. i guess you could really see how money changed people.

this was not the man you looked up to. this was not the father you wanted to be like when you were younger. and you had no problem of saying to his face that he had failed as a father.

“if there’s anything i’m ashamed of, is being your daughter.” you heard him start to complain, but you're already out the door when a proper word came out of his mouth. you rushed outside, too tired to fake smiles to people around you.

you needed to find logan. that was the only thing in your head.

tears already filled your eyes when you started the car, and you couldn't see properly, because of them, the whole way.

but you never gave in, none of them fell from your eyes until you were at his door and he looked at you, worry stamped on his eyes.

"hey? baby?" his hands rushed to the side of your face to make you look at him.

you couldn't help but notice how selfless he was. that made your heart sink. the way he always worried about other people first, even when he is in the worst position possible.

"i hate you." you let out, in a cry, and let your arms circle his body, pulling him to yourself.

logan let go of your face to pull you inside, and closer to him. he was as confused as one could be. and the circumstances he was put in during the day did not help him.

"baby, please tell me what's going on." he asked once your grip over him loosened and he could look at your face again.

"my dad..." logan's heart skiped a beat. he knew the older vowles disliked him, but he never thought he could actually put himself between you and logan. he was desperate to know the rest now. "what he's doing to you, that's so not right. so not fair." you finished, and heard your boyfriend let out a relieved sigh.

he was actually happy that it was about the whole williams situation, and not your dad poisoning your mind.

"baby." the driver starts, but his face tells you he doesn't regret not telling you. that doesn't anger you, like you thought it would. it actually makes you fall in love with him a little more.

"you never said anything, you stupid american." he couldn't help a chuckle at the nickname and you punched him in the chest. he realized just how serious you were about this and guilt rose in his chest.

"i didn't want you to worry, y/n."

his blue eyes were a little darker because of the lighting but you could still see the pain in them.

formula one was his dream as a kid, as a teenager and as an adult. he fought like hell to get there, and even when things got tight, he never gave up. you knew all about the financial struggles that would've ended his dream if it wasn't for williams.

they noticed his talent and helped him get to better categories of the sport he loved so dearly. and the boy? he loved that team and was so thankfull for them that it actually hurt you. your father actually helped ruining his path at formula one and still, that boy stood loyal and helped the team and his teammate in everything. standing by their calls and decisions even when they jeopardized his races.

"logan, i should've known about this from the start." you knew you could've done something for him if you knew about the situation sooner. maybe if you had talked to your dad, bringing some sense into that old head of his. anything but let this circus keep going until it reached this point. "what they're doing to you... it's so unfair."

"but i can take it, love." he smiled softly at you and you almost felt the urge to punch him. how could he think so low of himself that he didn't see how much he didn't deserve that treatment.

"i know you can, the thing is you shouldn't have to. let alone go through it on your own." you said in a higher voice, capturing all his attention. "logan do you realize that you're not having fun racing? you said it yourself." tears were no longer falling out of your eyes, and the ones on your face were starting to disappear. "you have loved this sport ever since you were born, and they are ruining it for you."

"i know that." he almost screamed. he was quick to apologize with his eyes, but you couldn't care less about the tone he was using. you wanted him to be angry, you needed him to let everything out. "i hate it all, y/n. but it's my dream to be where i am today."

"i know, logan. and that's what makes me more upset. their ruining your dream and you're smiling through it, letting it happen."

"i'm not 'letting it happen'." he said, hesitating a little. "i'm just... maybe if i did things a little better, i would not be in this situation but i didn't. and i have to deal with it." your expression softened and you let out a sigh.

"it kills me that you think that this is your fault." he started tearing up and you pulled him to yourself. he hid his face in your neck and you gently stroked the back of his head. "it's not your fault, baby. you are doing amazing for someone with so many difficulties."

you took your time in each others arms, calming down while feeling the touch of the person you loved.

"i'm sorry that i never told you. but it's your dad and i needed you by my side." he pushed himself back to look you in the eye. "i don't know if i could do it without you."

you were still not over everything he had told you, and would definitely come back to the topic sooner, but right now what mattered most to you was that logan felt loved and appreciated.

he was already going through a lot, and it killed you to see the man you loved like that.

"you will never have to worry about that because i'm here, logan. and i love you, always."

with his face in your hands, you leaned closer and peck his lips. that's enough for him to remember everything he was fighting for. he had to fight for himself. and with you by his side, he believed it was possible.

"i love you too, always." he leaned his forhead against yours. "thank you."

[cheriden]

「 my "i love you" 」 | pt. 2 。。。

He maneuvers to block your path, grip on your arms bordering painful. “I love you–”

“You’re drunk.” You hiss, nails digging into his shoulders as you drag him to the front door. “You don’t even want to hear what I have to say?” Huffing, you gather his things together and shove them to his chest.

── synopsis 。Your best friend with benefits seeks clarity on your relationship

pairing 。switch!top choi beomgyu x f! reader

.ᐟ genre 。angst, smut, fluff

.ᐟ tags 。fwb to lovers, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), overstimulation, arguing, pet names, frotting, a lot of kissing, breeding, idk what else

.ᐟ status & word count 。two-parts | 3.54k

part 1 | part 2

.ᐟ warnings/notes 。not proofread, sorry this took so long. enjoy!

Droplets fall rapidly against your windowsill, thunder clapping when the lightning’s glow hits Beomgyu’s face—highly alluring as his muddy puppy eyes drown in yours so intensely, so vast.

It makes you feel like absolute shit.

Your stomach bubbles over as you wrap your hands around his, retracting them from its hold on your face. It’s heavier without it. He looks at you in concern, confused at your end goal.

He’s patient, oh so patient. It almost makes you seethe with anger at how much he still doesn’t understand. Giving up with a sigh, you look away from him. “Is that any better?”

Beomgyu observes you with knitted brows, trying to come up with a solution and an answer as if it were a math equation. “I don’t,” cutting himself off, he blinks frantically, looking for the right thing to say. “Why are we even here then? You wanted it in the first place!”

You don’t have an answer. The only plausible one would be to tell him that it’s because you love him, how much pain it brings you to continue going on like this with someone who doesn’t feel the same, how sad it leaves you when he walks out the door.

You swear as you pick up and put on the pile of clothes strewn on the floor, frustrated at all of the sudden rush of emotions that make you answer in blunt, meaningless venom. “I was bored and horny months ago. Now I don’t want any of this.” The brunette’s face is laced with hurt, chest huffing and nostrils flaring. “I’m not your personal vibrator. You can’t just boss me around or order me whenever you need me.” Hands reaching to massage your temples, you hiss, “I never asked you to be any of that! You—”

“I’m just a glorified dildo to you. That’s all you ever call me for anyway.” Scoffing, you storm off into the bathroom, washing yourself off the filth on your hands, on your arms. “I’m just a pocket pussy to you!” You scream back, “Don’t think you’re on the losing end here.”

“How lucky of me,” He fires back, stomping into the foyer. “You’re such an asshole. Don’t even text me.” He hurriedly ties his laces, more or less falling over himself as he takes his anger out on the doorknob. “I wasn’t planning to, prick!.” He shoves a middle finger up into your face, one last gesture before he’s slamming the door, sound echoing through the hollow apartment.

The weather doesn’t cease, quite the opposite. Precipitate thuds and crashes heavily, thunder roaring as the lightning halfway blinds you from how close it is. On the ground is Beomgyu’s brown automatic umbrella, still wet from earlier. You palm its button, taking a long breath, unlocking your door.

Looking around, almost everything is shrouded in rain and fog. You hold tightly onto the umbrella, wind howling prior to it nearly knocking you back along with it. You don’t see him, don’t know which direction he went.

You curse at yourself for not knowing, you curse at Beomgyu for leaving. You beat yourself up for being too big of a pussy to actually say something, anything helpful to him.

The umbrella finds itself useless, tears streaming down your face. With drenched clothes and wet slippers, you trudge back into your apartment and overthink yourself to sleep on the couch.

You’re pathetic. Really pathetic. But maybe it’s just the flu making you extra emotional. Sobbing into your blankets, it doubles as a makeshift tissue box—burrowing your red, inflamed nose against it. It’s gross, and you should really go to bed, but your friends said they’d swing by to drop something off at your place; something to make you feel better.

As you answer the door, you take in the irony— the latter phrase couldn’t be more wrong. He’s here, a few inches away from your grasp, but he’s here. He’s drunk and blinking very hard in hopes that he can gain balance, but he’s here.

Beomgyu raises the bag of warm food in a translucent plastic bag, waving it in front of your face. Not really sure what to say anymore, you move away from the door to let him in. He rambles about the empty cupboards and kitchen counters—setting down the insulated tupperwares he brought. A fog of vapor releases into the air when he opens one of them. It’s tempting, and you’re really sick and really tired, not to mention hungry. Regardless, you stand your ground; if staring at him waiting for him to explain counts. He apologizes, says he’s been busy; though you already knew that. He knows you know, knows he’s just filling awkward space. The both of you just wait for each other to say something. A tired drunk versus a tired sick person who’s sort of drunk on cough syrup. “Your umbrella is by the doorframe.” The look on his face says he’s unsure what to make of that. Were you just stating a fact? Did you think it’s what he came for? Or did you want him to leave so badly? His breathing is shaky, anxiety catching up to him as he busies himself with the take-out. “I can buy another one any day,” He lies through his teeth. You know, because he’s treasured it and it’s brown bear print since the day you met. “I heard the others say you were sick, and I came.”

“You stopped your drinking session to come visit me?” It’s earnest curiosity, mixed with a hint of attitude. “I stopped by to check on you, I was worried about you–us.” An eyebrow raises as you watch the other shift stiffly in his seat. “Us?” His gaze backs down, palming the back of his neck. “Yeah, us. We left things on a weird note last time.” Head spinning, you slouch into one of the chairs. “Beoms,” He lights up at the acknowledgement, deflating once he sees the concerned look on your face. “I’m really tired, I think you should leave. I’ll pay you back for the food some other time.”

Without warning, he springs across the table, clutching your face and pressing down hard on your lips. His teeth gnash against your unmoving ones, frantic to get you moving. When you do, it’s a shove to his shoulders, causing him to stumble backwards. “Beomgyu, what the fuck?” The brunette winces at your tone, panicking when you get up to back away from him. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah and eating my face off is part of the plan?” You retort, shaking off the wrist that holds you in place. “I know I’m sorry!” He maneuvers to block your path, grip on your arms bordering painful. “I love you–”

“You’re drunk.” You hiss, nails digging into his shoulders as you drag him to the front door. “You don’t even want to hear what I have to say?” Huffing, you gather his things together and shove them to his chest.

You want to be mad. You want to curse him out for everything he’s unknowingly put you through, but when you see his face, so remorseful and full of hurt and you remember how it’s not even his fault. “Get your shit together. Call me when you're sober and I’m not on cough syrup; so we can both think clearly.” Eager is an understatement, immediately nodding as he drops all his things to drape his arms around you. He hugs as if he’s afraid of how you’d look at him when you part, as if separating from you would be so wrong it was almost inhuman. Still, he detaches himself. “Okay.”

You think you’ve been standing outside his apartment complex for about twenty minutes. Anxiety eats away at your stomach acid, tapping your foot on the ground as you stare at Beomgyu’s last message.

It’s the right place, same structure on maps and easy to find, though maybe you’re trying to come up with a reason not to push through with this. You didn’t even know he transferred buildings, taken by surprise at the random notification that pinged your phone at three in the morning. After viewing it, the confrontation with him plagued your mind, scenarios running wildly in your head as you overthink every possible outcome.

A shy smile graces Beomgyu’s face when he lets you in, easing the apprehension a little. The area is cluttered with all types of trinkets and memorabilia from him and his roommates, though you can see how his stands out to you the most. There’s a cute wall full of photo strips from all of his friends, though none containing you had caught your eye. The unease makes its way back to you, gulping down as he guides you across the studio, passing the living area and miscellaneous doors. “I’ll get you something to drink. You can just sit on the bed–or on the floor, or–it doesn’t really matter.” With that he leaves, and you’re greeted by a plethora of mixed ornaments: A few instruments lazily strewn against the walls and racks, study desk devoid of any actual study material—replaced by a new curved flatscreen for his desktop, posters for different genres of music and fiction neatly arranged on one wall.

You stop to inspect the cork board behind the monitor; a few photos of the two of you taped and pinned along with random receipts and to-do lists. Your heart sinks a little, recalling the abrupt confession from nearly a week ago. You know what he said, but it’s best not to get your hopes up, you’re his closest friend after all. Beomgyu kicks the door open with mild force, startling you. He huffs out a chuckle, “I don’t actually have anything, so I just got us water.” With a nod, you flump onto the edge of the bed, twiddling your thumbs. For a while, the two of you just sit there, staring at each other. Your eyes bare into his, cheeks flaring up as collateral as he blurts out, “I meant it. Everything I said the other night.” You set the glass slowly onto the nightstand, shifting up the bed. The brunette mimics your actions, making sure you don’t run away or divert away from him. “I think you’re confused, Gyu.” His lids shut in frustration, gnawing back a portion of his cheeks. “No you don’t–” You cut him off, rambling. “It’s my fault, ever since I asked you to sleep with me we’ve been blurring the lines a bit too far.”

He charges at you, palm clasped over your face. “You’re not listening to me.” Through muffled protests, you exclaim, “But–” Another hand pushes you against the headboard, “You never listen to me. All you do is make assumptions about how I feel and how it’s affecting me when you don’t even let me speak for myself. I told you I love you and you shut me up, like you’re telling me how I feel.” The weight of his body nearly crushes you, eyes sealed as you feel the comforting pressure numbing your nerves. “I know how I fucking feel. I’ve never been so sure of anything—ever. So no, I’m not going to let you bitch about how things should be going between us without my decision.” He bites down on the plump of his lips, trying to find the words to say. “You don’t give a shit about me, and I let it slide because I’m so desperate for anything you do. I run miles the minute you text me to come over, or did you not even know I moved?” Shying away in guilt has him laughing madly, tugging the ends of his own hair. “See? You only think about yourself like the selfish prick you are. Everything is always about you.”

His laughter dies down, liquid drops cascading onto your shirt. “Do I really mean that little to you? What else do you want from me?” Your words are lost in between the silence and the steady sniffling, gazing up slowly to meet his own. What else can you say? What do you want? How blind could you have been to ignore Beomgyu, your best friend over everything else?

So you don’t say anything.

You lean forward, prolonged eye contact undisturbed as your breath fans his lips. It’s agonizing, how slow you both are—if any of you are moving at all. His lips brush against yours, sighing into you—it’s as sweet as nectarine. He takes you in like he’s never eaten anything better, yet restraining himself from hasty gestures, savoring every turn of your tongue and groove of your mouth. Your body slants against his, shifting upwards as he wraps your legs around his, hands on the meat of your thighs. His body stutters, reluctantly pulling away. “Let’s… We should stop now. Before one of us gets hurt.”

Your face softens, taking his hands in yours and peppering his fingers with delicate pecks. “I would never dream of hurting you, baby.” He melts onto your shoulders, burying himself in your collarbone. “I don’t want things to stay as they are.” He comments as you kiss the side of his head, stroking his hair as your other hand thumbs over his knuckles. “I don’t want things to stay as they are either.”

He jumps up at the revelation, breathing unrhythmically. “And if it ruins our friendship?” You kiss the knot off the brows on his forehead, planting them on spots of visible tension strewn across his face. “Then we’d still be lovers, no?” Your words have Beomgyu in a trance, and he thinks he’s lucid dreaming. “Lovers?” You hum in agreement, tucking the stray strands of brown behind his ear. “Do you not want that?”

“Of course!” He blurts, clearing his throat in embarrassment. “I mean, of course I do. With you. Only you.”

“Only me?” You tease, but he takes it at face value, pleading. “Only you. Forever.”

“That’s cheesy.” He scoffs, pushing you down on his bed. “Shut up, you want me.”

“I do. Only you.” To that he grins, giggly and innocent as if he wasn’t grinding his knee into your cunt. “I wanna taste you.” You hoist his chin up, stopping him from going down on you. “Baby,” You coo, “you’re so cute. But I think I owe you head today.” Lips parting, he wastes no time ridding himself of his sweats. “And for the last million times.” He retorts in a half joke. “I know, I’m so sorry.” Pouting for sympathy, you rub your cheek against his underwear. “I’ll make sure to make up for all of it.” He stifles a moan, hips moving at nothing. “My needy prince.” Disregarding your teasing, he focuses on the movements of your fingers, skilled and articulated as they work his cock. “That’s gonna take forever.” He replies, earning a shrug from you. “We have the time.”

You trace the shape of its head, licking and kissing it until you stop at his balls, repeating over and over again until he tells you to stop. With a deep breath, you take as much of him as you can, hitting the back of your throat as he screams. All the sounds you’re making go straight to his dick, Forearms covering his eyes. You reach to swat them away, forcing his eyes on you—you do the same. He whimpers when you hump the mattress below him, slick staining the sheets. His hands intertwine with yours, staring straight at the sight as he bucks into your mouth.

“‘M sorry, so weak.” He’s gasping for air, palms flat on the back of your head, shoving you down his length. “Can’t control it–need your mouth.” Your cunt throbs with every grunt he makes, nose hitting his skin. His noises get louder, pitch raising. “No–stop—” But you don’t listen, hands on his ass while he pushes your face off him. He wants to see you, see you blissed-out painted in his seed when he comes. You don’t let him, swallowing around his dick as you take every pump of cum that flows into your mouth. He falls over your shoulder gasping, grabbing your head to meet his with a kiss. “You’re so mean, I thought today was about me?” You hum, crawling back up the headboard and discarding the rest of your clothing. “So you didn’t like it? ‘Cause I can—”

He cuts you off immediately, shaking his head fervently. “No! I just wanna see your face.”

“Aw, did my baby miss me that much?” You coo, “It was only a week.” With a huff, he lines his member and rubs it against your wet pussy. “A week too long.” Laughing, you caress his cheek, fingers kissed by him. “We’ll do it as much and as long as you like.” He ruts harder against you, moans filling up the room. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You snarl, impatient. “Stop talking and fuck me already.”

He only slides the tip in you, smirk growing as he watches you writhe for friction.

Beomgyu watches the crease in your brows, the quiver of your lips, the restlessness of your arms. He kisses every feature of you he can, filing the memories away. “I love you.”

You're barely able to mumble it back as he bottoms out, a resounding thud sounding from the base of his dick and onto your ass. “God, you feel so fucking good.” He rolls his hips slow and deep, eyes trained on you—watching your mouth fall open and close. You don’t make any noise, but he’s here to change that. Pressing down on your stomach, he feels the outline of his cock as it moves in and out, the bulge so visible you shut your eyes closed in embarrassment. You gasp when he bends down to kiss you again, hold on your chin steady as he directs it to the view that connects the two of you. After a few seconds, he pulls your face to meet his. “You’re gonna watch me. And I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you make.” Without warning, he pummels into you, your back arching off the sheets and drool pours from your mouth when he hooks his thumb into it. “B–Beomgyu—”

“Mine…All mine now—gonna ruin you for anyone else.” You whine and thrash underneath him, fingernails digging into his arms as he plays with the nub of your clit. “Nobody else’s, only yours.” He chuckles, “That’s right, love. Where do you want it?” You can barely string words together, fucked out beyond belief as his thrusts get harder, loosing rhythm. “Inside!” His cock pulses at your words, slowing down to stop himself from coming.

“You want it inside? Want me to breed you full of cum?” He says in a low voice, hands roaming your body while licking at your tits.

You’re so animated, every part of your body moving against his for relief, holding back a moan when your hole clenched around him. “Filthy… But you’re my baby, and I love you so, so much. Of course I���ll give you what you want.” He picks up the pace, hips pounding into you relentlessly—the sound of skin slapping mixed with the smell of sex is as suffocating as it is intoxicating.

You’re loud and screaming a slurry of words you aren’t even sure make sense, cock-drunk as he fucks you through your first orgasm. It’s not long before a second one barrels through you, walls clenching tighter as he spills his own seed inside, milky white and full as he makes you ride out both your highs.

Your cum mixes as it pools around your ass and the base of his dick. He litters your face and body with kisses, stopping at your lips to devour it hungrily. It’s all drool, hot gasps of air shared when you disconnect with a line of spit.

He doesn’t pull out, staring at the sight for a few seconds before carefully settling at the space next to you, making sure not a single drop leaks out.

“Just to be clear, we’re dating now right?” “Yes, you idiot. Did you not hear anything I said? Did you ignore the part where I agreed to you breeding me?” His face flushes, hiding himself between the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Just making sure.” Beomgyu snakes his arm on top of your waist, draping a leg onto it and sighing, content.

“….So nobody else, right?” You groan, turning your head to face him. It’s hard, and you wince at the position change when his dick prods around inside you, cum leaking onto the sheets. “Nobody else.” You reply, resting your head back against his chest. “Only you.”

We hit 300 (what would've been 500+) notes on part 1 !!

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs, and tags for support towards the algorithm appreciated♡

[moonstruckme]

i’ve been meaning to request this for awhile because i love the idea, what if poly!marauders x animagus!reader and reader’s animal counter part is a raccoon so they call reader bandit as their nickname for the group. and maybe reader naturally has dark circles under their eyes and they prefer to be awake at night? maybe they steal little tokens from their partners like rings and shirts all the time too lol. idk if this interests you but if so i’d love to read it babes! -🌶️

Hi Pepper! This was my first attempt at writing animagus!reader and it felt a bit clumsy but I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting my love <3

poly!marauders x animagus!reader ♡ 742 words

“Where are they?” Sirius asks, stalking into the common room. 

Remus doesn’t look up from his book, not needing to wonder who Sirius is asking about. “They crashed right after class.” He glances out the window. “But it’s almost dark, they should be up soon. Missing something?”

“My rings.” Sirius holds up ten bare fingers. “Took them off to shower after class, and now they’re gone.” 

“Ew,” James says, coming in with two cups of tea. He passes one to Remus, handle first. “It’s like you’re naked.” 

Sirius harrumphs. “You wish, Prongs.” 

“Have you tried checking their stash?” Remus asks, flipping his page. 

Both James and Sirius look at him quizzically. “You know where it is?” 

Remus sighs. His bones creak and pop as he stands. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you.” 

Your boyfriends mostly stay out of their dorm during the day because it’s so quiet and dreary. You’ve got all the curtains drawn shut, not even the tiniest ray of sunlight allowed to permeate your den, and you’ve burrowed underneath the covers of your bed for good measure. Remus leads the boys to the top corner of your bed, pointing to what appears to be a pile of shirts you’ve stowed behind the bedpost. 

James crouches bemusedly, but at Remus’ nod, he pulls the top shirt aside. Sirius sees the glint of metal and drops to his haunches beside James, looking at the treasures you’ve nestled within the pile of shirts. He curses quietly, gathering the rings he’d been wearing that morning along with some he hadn’t seen for months. They clink together in his palm, and not a second later, he and James look up at the sound of rustling sheets. 

Your face emerges from beneath the covers, and Sirius thinks amusedly that it’s almost like you’re peering out from the mouth of a very plush cave. “What’re you doing?” you ask, words slurred together with sleep. Less so when your eyes narrow on the rings in Sirius’ hand. “Those are mine.” 

Sirius can’t help it; he laughs, and you glare at him (you’re really not as intimidating as you’d like to think, even with the darkness that rings your eyes and makes you look like a cartoon villain). “Oh, are they?” he asks you. “I seem to recall purchasing them some time ago.” 

“Since when did you purchase them?” James asks, rising from his crouch to sit next to you on the bed. He pets your hair, and you relax as if you might go back to sleep, though you’re still tracking Sirius’ hand with watchful eyes. “You told me you stole them from your mum.” 

“Well,” Sirius huffs. “Finders keepers.” 

“Exactly,” you say grouchily. “So put them back.” 

“Sorry, Bandit.” Sirius drops a conciliatory kiss on your temple as he slides a few of the rings on and stows the others in his pocket. “I found ‘em this time. Anyway, at least when I steal things, I actually use them. Keeping them stashed under your bed is criminal.” 

You grumble, but you can’t rally much resentment with James’ fingernails scratching at your scalp so pleasantly. 

“I think they do it to feel close to us,” Remus muses, giving you an appraising look. You won’t meet his eyes. “I mean, they’ve got your rings under there, Pads, and one of Prongs’ old necklaces, and some of my sweaters.” James coos as you sink further back into your burrow, and Remus smiles. “Did I get that right, sweetheart?” 

Sirius knows that tone. Remus is laying it on thick and extra sweet, trying to get you to squirm. And it’s working; you won’t look up from where you’re toying with the hem of the sheets, but your face takes on a pinkish hue. You start tearing the edge of your sheet into little strips between your fingers. 

“Oi.” James takes your hand prisoner in his. “Don’t start on that, we’ve already had to replace all the curtains.” 

“Is that true, baby?” Sirius wheedles, giving you his most saccharine smile. “Do you take our things because you love us?” 

You huff, your embarrassment revealed by the way you begin playing with James’ fingers. “Obviously I love you. You know that already. And you have nice things, so think whatever you want.” 

Remus chuckles. “Alright, we will.” 

“I can’t believe it.” Sirius looks down at you, raising an eyebrow when you glare. “Our Bandit’s a thief with a heart of gold.”

[arlowthenacho]

that funny feeling

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: you thought carmen berzatto was just a hookup. a fuck-buddy. key word, you thought.

warnings: cursing, allusions to sex but not really? its only mentioned a couple times. no smut, intended lowercase, if theres anything i missed plz let me know !!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: arlow thought about carmen spoon feeding them and made it angsty lol. this is rlly short but fret not !! i think this is gonna be a 2 parter, possibly 3 parter? idk, but i think its gonna be a series lol. anyway, enjoy my lovelies !! 🫶🤍

it started as a one time thing. a one-night-stand. a meaningless hookup. something that would and could only happen once.

until it happened again. and again, and again.

because carmen berzatto was a drug, and you were addicted to him. you craved him like lungs crave oxygen, but you weren’t sure that the feeling was reciprocated.

because if carmen berzatto was a book, he’d be written in code. scrawled in a language you didn’t understand, in writing to confusing to decipher. because carmen berzatto was nothing if not confusing.

a sudden vibration on your nightstand pulls you from your thoughts as you swipe open the screen. a text from carmen. shit.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

you up?

fuck. shit, shit, shit.

you quickly sit up and type back a response.

yeah.

you hold down the backspace button. too simple.

i wasn’t until you woke me up

pop. too accusatory.

i am now. whats up?

good enough.

you click send and set your phone back down on your bed, waiting for a response.

bzz.

the reply was almost instant. maybe that scared you a little bit.

your finger hovers over the screen, debating whether to open the text now, or just forget about it until the morning.

the former won.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

can you come over?

oh. oh.

you don’t know why you expected anything different. it’s not like you were dating him. even though you wish you were. in his eyes, you were just a casual hookup who he occasionally called for something not relating to sex.

you heave a sigh and shift your eyes back over to the phone in your hands.

yeah, ok.

sent.

you don’t really care if it sounds passive aggressive, or angry, or disappointed or whatever else it could sound like to him. to be quite honest, you just want to get this over with.

you quickly change out of your pajamas into something more presentable. a white sweater, blue jeans, throw in some lacy undergarments and you’re heading out the door and into your car.

you turn on the ignition and start the short drive to carmy’s apartment. you have his address memorized, (which you will deny is creepy until your dying day) so you don’t need to use a gps.

you turn on some music and try to distract your racing thoughts. its not like this is the first time you’re meeting him. no, far from it. but you don’t think your brain has processed that yet, because your heart is pounding and fluttering like a bird caged within your chest.

you finally make it to his apartment after what feels like an hour, and you’re standing—quite awkwardly—at carmen’s door, your fist hovering over the wood hesitantly.

after a full minute of standing at the door with your arm raised, you decide to bite the bullet and knock on the damn door.

so you do.

and he answers instantly. like a fucking gentleman.

his hair is tousled, and he runs a hand through it nervously. his eyes somehow look even more blue in the shitty light the hallway of his building provides, and it’s driving you crazy.

he is gorgeous. he is perfect. he’s all the synonyms for beautiful you can cram into one human being.

“hi,”

carmen’s voice is deep and gravelly, still thick with sleep even though he’s probably been awake for some time now.

“hey,”

a beat passes.

“can i-?”

he jolts up from the doorway he was leaning on.

“oh, yeah. shit—yeah, come in. sorry.”

an apron is tied around his waist, a gray sweater fitting loosely around his frame. it makes his eyes appear bright, like gleaming pools of sapphire that you want to spend every pretty penny on.

nonetheless, you smile politely and step into his apartment.

no matter how many times you’ve been here, the first thing you notice is always his bookshelves. more so, the books. cookbooks, magazines, culinary textbooks and newspaper articles litter his floor and decorate his walls.

the second thing you always notice is his ever-growing collection of denim. jeans and jackets make up most of his wardrobe, and are crammed into whatever space he could find.

after looking around his small apartment, a smell hits your nose.

its…pasta?

no, that can’t be it. you were just here to fuck, right? the food was probably for someone else. for work, or somebody he wanted a real relationship with. not you.

the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

you sigh, disappointment crashing into your heart like waves against rocks for the second time tonight.

despite that, you’re the first to break the silence.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you cringe at the tone of your voice. it sounded exactly how you felt. disappointed, hurt, maybe a little bitter.

“what? sorry, couldn’t hear you.” carmen leans down to you to hear better, his breath a faint whisper against your skin. your breath hitches.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you repeat, a tad louder than before.

“oh. no, no, no. no, that not—that isn’t—” carmen seems to be at a loss for words, and he feels like a total dick.

“we aren’t?” you’re confused, but hide it well. you raise a brow pointedly. “then why’d you ask me to come over?” for the first time in a couple of minutes, you notice where you followed him.

“i—just,” he searches around for something.

a spoon, full of some kind of red sauce. he cups his hand under the utensil to catch anything that drips, and urges you to come closer.

you’re in his kitchen. his safe space. his fucking sacred space.

and suddenly a wave of confusion and frustration and hope is erupting within you. so many emotions and so much fucking hope. hope that this could be something more. hope that maybe you were wrong. silly, foolish, childish hope that enthralls you completely in its deceitfully warm embrace.

he’s still holding the spoon to your mouth when he speaks.

“can you try it? it’s something for the bear. for the new menu. wanted your opinion on it.” he looks nervous, like he wasn’t the one who invited you over. like he isn’t currently the one lighting your cheeks ablaze and causing your to heart implode under the sheer force of your adoration for him.

“oh, um, yeah. of course.”

he smiles. a close-lipped thing that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

you move to take the spoon from him, but he gently shoves your arm down against your side, says “open up,” and puts the spoon in your mouth.

the food is great. more than great. but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to that.

because carmen fucking berzatto just spoon fed you. like a couple.

and now the domesticity is crushing you, mind, body and soul.

because you’re in love with carmen berzatto.

and by some miracle, he might be in love with you too.

[teenytinyjimin]

i miss you, i’m sorry (j. jungkook)

nothing happened in the way i wanted

every corner of this house is haunted

and i know you said that we’re not talking

but i miss you, i’m sorry.

summary: the first time seeing each other after the breakup is always the hardest. but seeing each other when you're still in love? an absolute nightmare

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2k

tags: angst, smoker!jk, brokenhearted!jk, equally as brokenhearted!reader, why did they even break up in the first place?, featuring reader’s bestfriend!jimin, also jimin is sexually ambiguous let's keep it that way please

warnings: none, alcohol/nic use but nothing too intense, kinda sad but it's a happy ending i promise

author’s note: idk why i keep making my fic names and stuff inspired by songs, i guess it just helps me beat writers block.

also i wrote this in second person, lmk if you guys prefer that over third. i personally find third person fics easier to write, but i'm sure second person is easier to read for some of you. enjoy my angels!

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Bars weren't really your thing.

If you were going to be honest, they were miles better than nightclubs, but still not your thing. It was something about the air that just rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps it was all the creepy old men that turned you off of them, or just the fact that there's not much to do besides sit, drink, sit some more, maybe play some pool and... sit.

Jimin, on the other hand, loved bars. He loved being able to sit there, look pretty, and watch as absolutely anyone and everyone flocked over to him to start a conversation. It admittedly fueled his ego, and he loved the feeling of being the center of attention. However, he didn't love being at bars alone. Being so drop-dead gorgeous meant that about twenty times the amount of creeps bothered him than the average bar patron. Many of them figured that a pretty boy like him was sitting there waiting to be swooped up by a sugar daddy. Let's get one thing straight – that wasn't him. He had plenty of money. He just wanted to have a little conversation, give a little kiss here and there maybe, and dip at the end of the night with his bar companion by his side.

Unfortunately for you, that bar companion was usually you. It was certainly a compliment for Jimin to want to bring you along with him instead of any of his other gazillions of friends and other social connections, but it was quite exhausting for you to be in a bar pretty much every day of every weekend. He liked the attention, but you didn't. If it were an empty room with nothing but you and a bottle of rum, you'd have a blast. But what bar in Itaewon was going to be like that?

Alas, here you were, sat at the end of a bar with your friend sitting next to you. Something about the light in the building made him look extra beautiful tonight, his skin shimmering like the most precious of diamonds and his eyes deep and full of allure. At the moment he was making small talk with a lady on the other side of him, one who was definitely at least twenty years his senior but didn't look a day past thirty. Sighing, you drop your head down to look at your drink, a half-full martini glass that held a rather disappointing cosmopolitan (you weren't a vodka fan anyway, it wasn't the bartender's fault).

You wanted to be home. That was the only place you ever wanted to be these days. At home, cuddling your darling kitty in bed, and sleeping your days away. Maybe a year ago you would have loved being out and about, but now it feels more like a burden than a fun activity. And you know that Jimin doesn't mean any harm in doing what he does, but seeing him talk with so many people over the course of the night and being so happy is almost a bit gut-wrenching for you because you can't be as happy as him.

You began to feel the blood rush to your ears and your face get warm. Something was wrong, you could sense it. Everyone has those gut instincts when something isn't quite right, and this wasn't just an instinct, it was like a neon sign. A neon sign that read DANGER. Perhaps it was just you feeling rather anxious and overwhelmed, but either way you were craving the comfort of your home.

"Hey, 'Minnie, can we-" Just as you turned to Jimin to softly ask him if you could go home or at the very least switch bars, you felt a presence behind you. It wasn't just an I'm here to order a drink presence, but rather an I'm here for you one. Realizing that Jimin wasn't even listening anyway, you froze, waiting to see what would happen. And that's when you heard a familiar voice that you thought you'd never hear again.

"Hey."

You didn't want to turn around. You tried to stay as still as a statuette for as long as possible, however the more you thought about the man behind you the more you felt the urge to turn around and take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned until you were face-to-face with your ex, Jungkook.

"Want to talk outside?" Not yet looking at him directly, you hesitantly nodded before quickly looking back to Jimin and then standing up. You left your purse there, figuring that your friend would grab it if he changed locations, and began trailing after the tall tattooed figure that navigated his way toward the door.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool autumn air, you crossed your arms and leaned against the building. Your heart was between your ears at this point, buzzing at what felt like 200 beats a minute. It was stupid for you to have even left Jimin's side, you thought, because now you were alone with your ex of all people and God knows what this boy has up his sleeve.

"You look good," Jungkook said gently as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. "And I know what you're going to say, you're so full of it Kook, but I mean it."

"Since when have you started smoking?" You asked, ignoring his previous two statements and gesturing toward the pack in his hand. He shrugged. "Couple weeks after I last saw you maybe? Not a big deal."

"You know that stuff's bad for you."

"I don't think sitting here third-wheeling with Jimin and his beau of the night is any better."

"You don't know Jimin, don't act like you do," You said, completely taken aback and offended by the words coming out of his mouth. "And I'm having a good time, thank you very much."

"Doesn't seem like it. Weren't you about to ask him if you guys could leave?"

"I was having- What?- Is there a reason you asked to talk to me out here?" You were struggling to form a complete sentence. This man always knew how to leave you speechless, but now it was just irritating. You watched as Jungkook leaned back onto the building with you and shook his head, giving you a toothy grin before lighting the cigarette in his mouth. "Nah. Just figured you'd have more fun out here talking to me and getting a break from it all."

"You know he's waiting for me, right? I should go back inside." You stand back up straight and begin walking back into the bar, however you feel a warm hand wrap gently around your wrist and tug you back. "Hey hey hey," Jungkook called. "He'll survive a few minutes without you. Just chill with me. I'm not asking you for anything, just a second of your time."

You turned to face your ex-lover, your eyes finally meeting his for the first time that night. Even after all this time of being apart, those beautiful doe eyes still yearned for you, and yours for him. With a shaky sigh, you brush his hand away and return to where you were standing. "Exes don't hang out like this, Jungkook."

"Woah, you're pulling out the full government name on me now?" The boy teased, puffing a cloud of smoke from his mouth. "Should I be offended?"

"I'm setting boundaries," You crossed your arms and kicked at the ground beneath you. "Nicknames are for friends or more than friends, which we aren't."

"We aren't strangers either though."

"That doesn't matter. Not friends."

"Alright, fine," Giving up, Jungkook looked down at his hand and flexed it awkwardly. "Just trying to be friendly."

"Friendly?!" You said frantically, finally having enough of his antics. "You don't need to be friendly. We broke up and that's the end of it. Exes aren't friends. They go their separate ways and when they see each other again – if they see each other – they ignore each other. I don't get why you're doing this psychological warfare bullshit on me."

"Exes can be friends," He breathed out in protest. "Can you even tell me why we broke up in the first place?"

You remained silent. The truth was that you didn't know why you broke up either. It had been almost a year since the whole ordeal went down, and you were still confused more than anything else, even more than you were hurt. All you can remember is that you guys went through some bullshit ‘mutual breakup’ that apparently neither of you wanted in the first place. The only reason you even agreed to it is because somewhere within you, you felt like perhaps you weren’t deserving of such a wonderful relationship. And the only reason Jungkook agreed to it is because he thought that it’s what you wanted.

"No, seriously. What went wrong? What did I do? I just want some closure..." His voice became increasingly softer as he kept speaking, which only meant one thing. You stared at the ground intensely, refusing to look up and see his teary eyes.

You felt his hand gently wrap around yours and tug on it as a plea for your attention. Jungkook was your weakness, the only person you'd willingly do anything for, and he really loved to take advantage of that without even realizing he was.

You peered up at him hesitantly, worried that you'd find yourself in tears the second you saw the ones pouring from his eyes. Sure enough, when the eye contact began, you were driving yourself forward into his strong arms and dampening his shirt with your tears.

Jungkook's embrace felt the same as it did the last time you felt it. It was still so warm, so inviting, so loving. Never once did you feel unsafe in his arms and this moment was not an exception. As you sobbed into his shirt you felt his hand move from around your waist to the top of your head, stroking your hair gently.

The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, simply letting all emotion out while enjoying the company of one another. While Jungkook has been exceptionally transparent in expressing the fact that he's heartbroken about the situation between the two of you, it's safe to say that you feel equally as devastated. This man was once the love of your life and the only one you ever needed, but now everything about him except for his embrace feels foreign. This was someone you once saw yourself building a life with, but now it's shattering to think that he has a life after you.

You pulled away after a while, refusing to make eye contact as you wiped the tears from your eyes. This all felt entirely pointless. It was obvious that nothing went wrong in the relationship yet here you were, no longer in one. You couldn't begin to imagine what Jungkook had been going through since you guys broke up considering the fact that for you, your entire world turned upside down.

"I'm sorry," You managed to choke out before you felt Jungkook's hand gently guide your face up to look at his. You watched him stare at you for a moment, taking in your features, before his lips began to curl into a soft smile. "Mmm. Yeah. You're way too pretty to let slip through my fingers."

Feeling your face turn hot as a blush crept to your cheeks, you let out a soft giggle before you were cut off by a familiar pair of lips meeting yours.

"JUNGKOOK?" You heard a voice call out. The two of you pulled apart, eyes wide. Shit. You forgot about Jimin.