#<- also my oc but thats beside the point
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googoothegodofblood · 7 months ago
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re-shittivator-ing some old (and new) Regretevator stuff here for no reason at all
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solargeist · 1 month ago
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modern au but its little grian and his Watcher family
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gr3yart · 6 months ago
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Concept design for a goddess oc (god of creativity and stories/fates), doomed plots my beloved<3
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stellarsightz · 1 year ago
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Not dead!! Just busy
Blorbos, from left to right: Kovaus aka the Nerevarine (belongs to @abstractredd), Ginnie (belongs to @v1ctory-or-sovngarde), Sensa (belongs to @somedaywellfindit), my little meow meow Lynwallyn and J'kir (belongs to @juicey-juic) + a quick Cicero <333
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plulp · 1 year ago
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HI!!!! EVERYONE! so
thank you so much for a very very very belated 100+ followers sorry i havent been posting (bad artblock + busy)
im going to be clearing out everyone who doesnt have their age in their bio in like a day. so PLEASE. PLEASE. put your age or something in your bio or else i will block you.
i made a new side account so i can follow now :) unless i lose my nerve and get nervous and go back to just scrolling through the tags on my main, but if i DONT. then i just want you all to know my username is horrible. its really just tactless. but i kind of want to wait until i revive my other sideblog? so it might be a while until i follow anyone.
PLEASE. PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO.
im still not going to be very active with respect for the few bursts of art i might make. but next time i might not come back for like 9 months again so please be wary of that
and thats everything!!!! :) thank you for following and reading, and im really sorry no event this time but my asks are always open :)
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snailfen · 11 months ago
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drew one of my ocs as a formie! (starts pinching her cheeks immediately
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acircusfullofdemons · 2 years ago
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how the fuck did i go from "roleplaying with everyone i come across" to "gets a mini heart attack every time i so much as get an ask on tumbr". like. reverse character development.
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arolesbianism · 4 months ago
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Fighting the urge to not archive a bunch of my ocs on artfight so I can add my rain world ocs in their place
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moonverc3x · 1 year ago
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I was!!! so not expecting you to doodle anything!! bada bing double art return!! take the girlies sharing tea!!
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so sorry abt reblogging like. ALL of your Prisma content, but I LOVE her sm. the woman ever!!! give her a slice of cake or smthn!!!
WAHH Don't apologize, I appreciate the love for my girl!! Thank you so much for the art and kind words ;v; 💖
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Hands you art in return!!
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orchidyoonkook · 2 months ago
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PG | KTH
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Title: PG 
Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader
Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff
Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.
But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.
Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,
Explicit warnings under the cut.
Word Count: 11,521
Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM
A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!
A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.
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Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*
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“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.
It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.
Well.
Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point. 
Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends. 
Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother. 
Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out. 
Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too. 
For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two. 
Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay. 
And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him. 
Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long. 
Every time you could get it. 
Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team. 
For four years. 
And then the university swim team.
For another four. 
Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then. 
The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would. 
It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim. 
Thank god for sunglasses. 
“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you. 
Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet? 
Because oh yeah, his fucking smile. 
Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong. 
This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you. 
It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.
As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung. 
“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”
“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”
You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt. 
You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that. 
Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more. 
With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught. 
You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt. 
You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.
But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually. 
Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart. 
Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water. 
You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.
You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.  
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Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool. 
He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days. 
Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun. 
It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really. 
Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped. 
They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking. 
And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that. 
This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.
Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches. 
He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets. 
“Got any new recommendations for me PG?” 
Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat. 
He should dunk his head again.
You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes. 
“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?” 
Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him. 
But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager. 
“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit. 
And it works like a charm. 
Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.
Scratch that. 
Definitely not.  
“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.
Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”
“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”
No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again. 
He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding. 
“I’ll think about it—Fair?”
You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”
“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.
Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air. 
By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend. 
“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say. 
Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.
“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”
“Sounds good. What about tonight?”
Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”
Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”
Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand. 
He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.
“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”
You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end. 
“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother. 
“—What—”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction. 
“—Hey wait a seco—”
Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen. 
“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool. 
He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel. 
“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins. 
“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”
“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you. 
You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.
“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”
Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”
You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch. 
“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”
“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”
You pause. Eyeing him directly. 
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.
As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge. 
“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell. 
“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims. 
You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.
And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven. 
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It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday. 
Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for. 
This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids. 
She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you. 
Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed. 
That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 
You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break. 
You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?
But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you. 
Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually. 
He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit. 
So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer. 
Son of a b—
“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks. 
You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close. 
“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.
Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you. 
You need to get off the dance floor.
Now.
Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.
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Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there. 
The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.
Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed. 
He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends. 
They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays. 
His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating. 
No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother. 
He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall. 
He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent. 
He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained. 
And yet. 
Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot. 
All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.
He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you. 
But you push him away. 
He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.
Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.
But he won’t. 
Can’t.
All because of his darling best friend. 
Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.
You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’. 
So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!
He has to stop thinking about you like this.
But that only makes him want you more. 
It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment. 
You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air. 
But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages. 
He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself. 
He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did. 
So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left. 
Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist. 
That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.
And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think. 
Because Fourteen isn't here. 
And old habits die hard. 
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“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt. 
“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”
The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising. 
A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner. 
Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him. 
Safe. 
You’re safe. 
Exhale.
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body. 
Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous. 
“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years. 
How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?
You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.
“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”
And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung. 
This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan. 
The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety. 
It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions. 
Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight. 
You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood. 
“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”
Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”
You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor. 
The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment. 
Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.
Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by. 
It’s private. 
It’s safe. 
You’re safe.
You’re safe.
He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?” 
The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.
“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now. 
“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth. 
He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.
You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth. 
“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed. 
Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back. 
You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.
But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it. 
“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”
You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him. 
“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black. 
Oh you are so fucked.
 “As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like. 
“...Yeah...”
“I see.”
“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?
Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”
Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine. 
The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point. 
My Girl.
My Girl.
You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once. 
Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,
“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”
The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up. 
Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth. 
You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips. 
Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.
He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.
Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does. 
“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes. 
You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.
“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.
The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck. 
They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows,  the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing. 
“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it. 
More of him.
“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine. 
You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.
“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it. 
“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night. 
“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.
It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.
His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.
The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere. 
No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you. 
He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone. 
“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part. 
It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.
“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently. 
But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end. 
With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.
He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.” 
“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders. 
It makes you smile wickedly. 
“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw. 
“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you. 
Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick. 
“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything. 
Yet.
 “Can you behave for that long?” 
You smirk. 
Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.
Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe. 
You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well. 
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True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.
You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby. 
The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need. 
His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs. 
It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.
Fuck.
Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae. 
Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.
To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky. 
Mesmerizing. 
Just like the man locking his door behind you.
A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his. 
He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him. 
You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge. 
He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat. 
You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a  low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure. 
One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you. 
You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks. 
His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips. 
Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees. 
The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.
You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it. 
It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well. 
It hasn’t been one sided.
He wants you. 
Taehyung. 
Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung. 
Wants you. 
You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.
“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving. 
“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”
The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned. 
He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side. 
At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.
His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming. 
“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess. 
He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis. 
His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes. 
You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body. 
Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again. 
“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time. 
And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly  deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed. 
You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.
Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again. 
“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”
You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it. 
He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.
He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.
“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out. 
He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth. 
Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice. 
Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time. 
Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents. 
He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.
Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you. 
“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact. 
“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.” 
Thrust, tease, jolt, whine. 
“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”
Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and  delighted by his torture.
“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”
He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 
“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.” 
He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”
Tae pulls out, slow and controlled. 
Blissful. 
Then pushes back in, methodically. 
Torturous. 
Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.
Inevitable.
Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.
Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is. 
One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over. 
You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas. 
Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well. 
“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you. 
“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough. 
“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.
And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own. 
“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.
“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless. 
It’s a great move but it’s exerting. 
You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play. 
“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone. 
He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around. 
He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass. 
You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.
Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain. 
It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance. 
Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you. 
It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.
“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care. 
All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane. 
Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be. 
He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you. 
Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion. 
Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and  drown in once another’s embrace. 
You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.
Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.
“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another. 
Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect. 
Before consequences kick in and regrets form. 
When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets. 
Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning. 
He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away. 
Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning. 
You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out. 
Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”
But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies. 
You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground. 
“All of it. Any of it.”
There. 
Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him. 
You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—
“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”
You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened. 
You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts. 
“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself. 
“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion. 
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It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg. 
The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place. 
You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move. 
A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right. 
An idea strikes. 
Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door. 
You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.
Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.
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A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.
A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3
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Masterlist
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jasontoddspussy · 4 months ago
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Tim's Ao3 AU
just got the image of tim writing red hood x oc fanfic but the oc is basically tim/red robin and each time the A/N is like
"sorry no beta im mid-shoot out with some gang leaders atm"
and the content ranges from super fluffy to the most degenerative porn wanting to lick his skull and the authors notes are like
"heey sorry for the slow update i got shot again and im forced on bed rest but now i have an excuse to work on the next chapters!!"
now i want a fic where its like
it gets more and more outrageous, and the comments are just people debating whether its real or not and then there's 1 comment.
that comment is like.
"Pick Up Your Phone, Now. -D"
and tims like
"::) im in trouble::)"
theres one person dissing out the red hood and how he's so terrible and will never actually deserve someone loving him and tim replies with
"Loompa Roompa might malfunction for a while"
and the person is like *how the fuck do you know the name of my roombah what the hell is this why it's been turning on and off at night what the fuck*"
tims username is pretty bird or somth bcs thats what jason called him at least once before and hes like yes i can be pretty and a bird i can be whatever you want me to be
(totes not because thats what jason always calls tim in my head no no)
dick just really, really wants answers but also is deeply, deeply concerned
"tim you had a 20k fic of red hood lovingly taking care of you and hugging you like you'd never been hugged before. are you like, okay?"
"you.. you read all of that?"
"that's besides the point. now answer the question"
"i dont know how to feel about this"
"how do you think i feel? i didnt need to know about any of it"
"and yet you do. curiosity killed the cat, dick."
"alright i wont bother you if you promise to talk with dinah or some jl approved therapist about... the hugging touch starved things. if you dont tho ill just send jason your ao3 account babs said he has one so he can see all your shit'
"i think i would feel better if you just stabbed me"
dick makes a lemon bitten face.
"..."
"..."
"you saw that too, huh."
"yep."
"i dont have a kink for being stabbed. i have a jason fetish. just him and whatever he decides to do to me so dont worry i wont be out getting stabbed by randos"
"I'm glad but also i wanna circle back to the jason fetish part i feel like thats something i should worry about"
20k fanfic where tim just rants about jasons soft hoodie
jason, meanwhile, he sees someone w the username idk PrettyBirdRedHoos in his comments and hes concerned someone figured out he was robin but goes to look and this persons bookmarks are all just fics written by a 'PrettyBird" user and all of them are red hood/oc, and some of them is like; piercing kink, some of them are 20k fics where the oc falls asleep wearing their hoodie, one of them is a very specific scenario where the red hood 'playfully attacks' the OC on top of a tall building and they fuck nasty and jay is like
this. is too detailed. to be a coincidence innit.
and the comments are just people debating how real these scenarios are and every single person that disses RH has something hacked or exposed and jays like 'ah. well, timmy certainly has a hobby."
he could tell him that he knows.
he could also choose to be an absolute tease. forget a hoodie there, wear some bootyshorts here, not wear a binder while wearing a tank-top here, spit out a specific phrase tims used in a fic before just to keep him on his toes. it's fun watching him squirm.
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seancekitsch · 5 months ago
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Vox from Hazbin Hotel x siren! reader?? PLEASEE i love this concept sm-
i think i accidentally created myself an oc, also, if you spot the showgirls reference ill give you a cookie, this is inspired by the general flavor of moulin rouge and showgirls
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“What the FUCK?!” you all but screech, throwing your blush frustratedly at your vanity. The small compact hits the cool marble, and immediately the product with the pan shatters, ruined. It was expensive. Fuck. 
“I- I don’t know what happened…” Jinni, a succubus, your assistant and opening act, stutters from the door. Scared. 
You deflate, rolling your eyes as you calm yourself and stop scaring the girl. You have to remember to stop raging near her. She’s young, too young. 
Overlords in the club mean a good tip, mean security, mean you and girls like Jinni make rent safely and have some fun money to toss around as well. You practically fall into your chair, yank a fake eyelash off as you sigh, ready to put on the next pair for your closing number. 
“There’s gotta be some reason the voice didn’t work on him,” you say, “I’m gonna find out why.”
“Are you sure thats a good idea?” Jinni asks, her tail curling around one of her legs. You have a soft spot for the girl, you really do. A place like this is gonna tear her apart; or at least, it would if you didn’t immediately take her under your wing. You pat the little chair beside you, and wrap your arms around the girl as soon as she takes the spot. 
You both stare at each other’s eyes through the mirror, sweat and make up blurred against your complexions, a reassuring smile spreads across your face. 
“I’ll check and see if he has the VIP package, and pull out the damsel in distress act,” you tell the little succubus, now cheek to cheek with her.  She smiles at you through the mirror, knowing full well you’re ready to ham it up.
“Thats your best one,” she says, and comes closer to pick up a body glitter for you. Jinni leans on the chair behind you, resting her forearms on your shoulders. You gaze at her while your hand moves with the brush across your face, at this point muscle memory kicks in, flawless. She’s why you still play nice, you think. 
“Gonna make sure you don’t have to go back to doggy chow for dinner,” you chide as you finish up your new look, a bit more dewy and innocent looking, as you shake her off and grab a lace robe to walk backstage in. Jinni laughs, and then takes your seat to take off her own make up. 
You’ve done this walk thousands of times, the long dimly lit hallway, all of the girls rooms hidden behind flimsy curtains and makeshift doors, signed by girls current and long since past. Your feet feel light below you, though nerves course through your veins. The patrons cheering is almost quieted here, all the quiet white noise that sets you ablaze in excitement and anticipation for another performance. 
But before the end of the hall can be reached, a meaty hand comes out to stop you, wrapping around your bicep. 
“Outta my way, Flicker, I gotta tell the sound guy to switch my track,” You turn your head away from the stage manager, not willing to take a face full of his calamari breath.  
“You ain’t goin’ out there again tonight,” he explains, “Got a private booking with a big spender.”
You sigh, right, just what you needed right now. You wish you could shoot a quick text to Jinni but… your phone is back in your dressing room with her. She’ll have to fair without you until this is over. 
“Right now?” you meet his eyes, and you can tell he wanted you in there five minutes ago. Shit. Well, here goes the girls' good tips for the night, you sigh, and turn towards the stairwell that leads you up to the private boxes. 
These rooms are gross; there’s no way to sugar coat it. You hate private bookings, much preferring to dance on the floor with any high spending patrons, giving them the girlfriend experience while you have the added safety of being able to slip away. These private rooms don't even have walls, more like private theater boxes so the managers can make sure you're keeping the clients happy. Up here, your talents are much more obvious, much harder to avoid blame.
You wonder what this guy will want. A champagne pour? A strip tease? Or worst of all, a dry hump or an over the pants job? You’d hate for this asshole to fuck up your costume or make up. That shits not cheap down here, and you only hope that after this private booking the overlord in the back of the hall might have loosened up and opened his wallets to one of the other girls or the house. 
But it still digs at you, like an old wound you cannot help but pick at… that your voice didn’t work on—
Him.
Its him. You can see through the sheer curtain the overlord in a suit. An old fashioned in his hand as he leans against the railing, the finale of the show tonight kicking into full gear below, all of the patrons like dogs on leashes waiting to be released to dance and party with the girls until dawn once the stage is clear. 
“Oh, Sir!” you call to him as you pull back the curtain, your flimsy robe fluttering behind you, “What is a man of your caliber doing in a place like this?”
Maybe you’re laying it on a little thick with the sultry little voice and the innocent act, but that’s what the men pay you for. He turns quickly, as if he didn’t expect you here so soon, but his smile quickly grows, teeth glowing against the low lighting of the private box. 
“What do you mean?” HIs voice is smooth as butter, “Is a man of MY caliber not supposed to admire beautiful things? Consider me a patron of the arts.”
You lounge yourself on one of the couches, effortlessly parting the bottom of your robe, kicking your legs up, really giving him a show. The boning of your costume digs into your ribs, but you don’t move. You always win over the higher spenders by laying out the feast for them. 
“Is that so?” you ask, a fake demure giggle leaving your lips, “Well then consider me confused, because you didn’t look so happy during my number earlier.”
The glow of his eyes distracted you, both out on stage earlier and now. His gaze intense, his posture rigid. 
“Maybe,” he trails off, crossing the little box until he’s in reach. One of his large hands wraps around your ankle, and then carelessly yanks your ankle off the couch to force you sitting upright. Okay, you’re only a little offended. Moreso intrigued by his seemingly complete lack of attraction to you. You drop your robe from one shoulder, baring more skin to entice him. Men are men, after all. He moves to sit at the other end of the couch. Maybe not all is lost, you think, as you pour a glass of champagne from the side table. The girl they threw on stage instead of you is killing this performance from what you can tell, and you know she’ll finish strong by the aerial rig set up and ready to go for her. You sip your glass as he sips his, and lean in closer to him, hoping that a little more proximity to him will help you figure out his deal. 
“But maybe I’m more wondering what the fuck someone like you is doing here,” he sneers as he stands, leaving you falling sideways into the space he vacated, nearly spilling your glass. 
“I- I beg your pardon?” you splutter, the sultry voice gone for a moment as you check to make sure you didn’t waste a drop of champagne on your robe.
“And stop with the agreeable little whore act, you can talk to me,” he winks at you as he says it,  red glowing eye rimmed with teal. You sigh as you brush yourself off from both he physical and metaphorical stumble. Okay, what does he know?
“Someone like me?” you ask, your real voice now dripping through. 
“Someone with power, darling,” The overlord says as if it’s obvious, “Someone with a talent like mine.”
He finishes his drink, and tosses the glass over the railing into the patrons gallery below.
“I could use someone with talents like yours,” he says, and your blood runs cold. You know what overlords mean when they say that. Your eyes dart to the curtain, to the hallway. If you shouted, would Flicker hear you? Wait- What are you thinking? He doesn’t give a rats ass about his girls’ safety. 
You do the only thing you can, you open your mouth to sing.
“Ah ah ah, nope,” he holds up a finger to silence you before you can begin, “That won’t work.”
You close your mouth, open it, close it again. 
“How did you know?”
If he knows, he can tell. If he tells, you lose money. Girls back on the street, you without a plan here.
His scowl turns to a smile, his eyes glowing brighter, circular rimming pulsating within his sclera. A funny tickle passes over you, as if he was blowing on you, gentle and odd. You furrow your brow, and then your jaw drops. You get it now. 
“Oh, Sir!” you play it up, ‘agreeable little whore’ voice as he called it back in full force, “I didn’t realize we were so evenly matched!” 
“I’m glad the smartest girl in this joint is also the prettiest,” he flirts, walking back over to the couch until he’s leaning on the arm of it. 
“How were you thinking of spending the evening mister…?” You stick to script if you trail off, not wanting to ask him outright what he wanted, now that you know what you’re dealing with.
He crackles, static, his glow dimming momentarily.
“Vox, darling. Where are my manners?” he finally introduces himself as he reaches over you for the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and the other glass. He knows this game too, you realize, as his cologne wafts over you; something rich and woodsy. Attractive and expensive. 
“I’d like to offer my patronage, to your little,” he gestures around with the empty flute before pouring it, “artistic endeavors personally.”
That would be nice. A steady patron would mean steady money, steady numbers and acts, a bigger costume budget. His lap doesn't seem like a bad one to be perched on.
“Thats very generous, Mister Vox,” you say, holding out your glass for him to top it off, “But I can’t help but wonder what you want in return?”
His smile changes, less sharp, more real as he moves the neck of the bottle to your glass. He looks you up and down, scrutinizing every detail. 
“Your voice,” he goes on to explain, “For some important events, some advertising. I can make you a star, darling.”
It dawns on you that he hasn’t even asked your name, but then again you also weren’t going to give a client your real name. The entire idea is attractive, desirable. The patronage of a handsome powerful man, a legitimate name for yourself in the entertainment industry, security.
You reach upward clink your glass against his, urging him to clink yours back.
“You’ll have to win me over with a dance,” you tease him, your lips curling into a downright vicious smile. 
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meiiie · 1 year ago
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dave lizewski, i’m so into you. (pt. 2)
summary: you say something unexpected about Kick-Ass while discussing with your friends which hero you prefer the most.. Kick-Ass? Or Red Mist? little did Dave know or so you thought, you knew it was him all along..
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a/n: i have an OC named Melilah who will be your best friend in this imagine, this only has fluff and comedy, there are some inappropriate jokes, and thats it i think! i also didn't proofread this so like... yeah happy reading :)
(pairing: dave lizewski x fem!reader) link to pt. 1
word count: 1.6k
now playing: boyfriend (with Social House)
♫ 'Cause I know we be so complicated But we be so smitten, it's crazy I can't have what I want, but neither can you ♫
the lyrics echoing throughout the store,
“well- for one i think Kickass is wayy cuter, i’d fuck his brains out if i got the chance.” you say out of your thoughts completely regretting saying the said statement- “Really?” Dave says out of nowhere, observing the conversation from behind your booth.
♫ But you ain't my boyfriend (Boyfriend) And I ain't your girlfriend (Girlfriend) But you don't want me to touch nobody else (Nobody) Baby, we ain't gotta tell nobody ♫
“okay wrap it up you two.” Todd interrupts
you really didn't know what to do at that point, i mean- what else would you do?
Dave takes a seat beside you—you think to yourself, 'ah, so this is what Todd and Marty were planning…' ...not knowing your best friend was in on it too
Melilah was rambling something about Red Mist to Todd and Marty, you couldn't care less since it wasn't about Kick-Ass “what you said, did you mean it?” Dave asking you, you almost break your neck by looking at him “wait- what yes what no, huh?”
Dave tilts his head looking confused at your reply, chuckling a bit “well, maybe, i guess? i mean, who wouldn't want to…?” you say nervously, your palms and toes are practically sweating at his question
“so, uh is that why you've been avoiding me these past few days? because you find Kick-Ass more attractive than me?” smirking in attempt to tease you, but you didn't take the hint, and instead you fumble on your words by saying “no- you are very attractiv- i mean, Kick-Ass is very attractive, well- not really? i keep my options open” you sigh trying to catch your breath, but Dave doesn't look the slightest upset. instead he was just looking at you in amusement, recalling the previous days.
4 days earlier
“how come nobody has ever tried to be a superhero?” Dave asks Todd and Marty sitting at the same booth spot, “boy.. i dunno! probably because it's fucking impossible, dipshit!” Marty says while Todd just laughs “what? putting a mask and helping people, how's that impossible?” Dave says trying to defend his question
“that's not superhero, though. how's that super? super's like being stronger than everybody and flying and shit. that's just hero” Todd explains
“no, it's not even hero. it's just fucking psycho.”
Dave Lizewski knew at that moment that his goal was to become the first real life superhero. as soon as Dave opened his parcel for his Kick-Ass 'superhero suit', he goes to find his first mission as a superhero, which was to fight bad guys right? haaah.... that actually didn't turn out so well- *PUNCH*
“AHHHHH” Dave screams after making 4 guys faint that were trying to beat up a guy in front of the convenience store, “what the fuck just happened.” he says assessing the situation he was just in. he looks around his surroundings and realize the amount of people recording the fight “holy shit, I DID IT!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, he just felt so unstoppab- “AHHHHHHHH” Dave screams, again but IN TERROR. he was just about to fall off a ledge, barely hanging on. who knew saving a cat would be this hard? "FUCK YOU MR. BITEY!" *THUD*
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Dave hits the ground, HARD. “aggghh.. FUCK.” he checks whether his back was okay-then if his phone was fine or not. looking at his screen & it was ALMOST 7PM. “shit, it's almost past my curfew! i cannot STAND pretending to be like i'm some sort of superhero anymore.” he stomps on the ground walking fast into a dark alleyway, he notices there was someone standing beside the lamp pole but who cares. all he could think of was giving up, what kind of superhero would be able to beat up 4 guys but can't even save a CAT? he removes his mask out of frustration, partially still angry at Mr. Bitey, but then a faint gasp is heard—his eyes darting towards the pole. it was you. sounds of quick footsteps tip-tap-tip-tap quickly fading away. "WAIT!-" Dave shouts, “i- oh god..”
it was the next day in school, he already saw how the videos from the convenience store was spreading in the news, but most importantly was what did you think? "hey y/n-" you quickly pass by him in the halls, his heart stung at the sight of you trying to ignore him. during classes, he would be staring at you- like, FULL BLOWN staring at you with such sadness in his eyes. what he felt for you was different, he didn't know what it was. before you both became friends, he would always notice the little details about you during class.
you were always fidgeting with your pencil, or doodling on your notebook, the way you squint your eyes at the white board when you couldn't see what the teacher wrote, he found you so endearing. after being paired up to work on a major project for one of your classes, it was like he won the entire universe. so now seeing you ignore him made it feel like his life just crumbled apart
"are you sure this is going to work? i don't think y/n is going to fall for this, you always come to the hangouts its going to be obvious that we're lying…"
"dude, you should just talk to her and ask her whats up? what'd you even do to make her avoid you man??"
"stop it- it's, privat-"
"oh my god. they probably kissed and she ran away because Dave was a shitty kisser ohhhhh GOD. i can envision it! why did you have to do that????"
"first of all, we did not kiss. AND I AM A GOOD KISSER! i just need Melilah to convince y/n to hang out with you guys in Comic Atomics but tell her that i'm not coming, then i'll hide behind the booth then just ask her what she thinks about Kick-Ass-"
"why does it have to be specifically Kick-Ass though..?" the three of them look at Dave expecting an answer, Dave really wanted to know what you thought about him- well, about his alter ego, Kick-Ass, but you couldn't just tell your friends that was the reason
"guys... just do this... for me... as a friend.. I swear i'll pay you guys back- ANYTHING."
"anything?"
"anything."
Dave slowly watches the conversation unfold in front of him, “guys what do you think of Kickass?” Melilah asks subtly looking at Dave behind you to wonder if she's following the plan right. Todd and Marty then expressed who they liked more, which was Red Mist which lowkey made Dave sad but once he heard your reply his eyes saw stars, the whole world, the universe, his whole life was lifted- “well- for one i think Kickass is wayy cuter, i’d fuck his brains out if i got the chance.” you say, your words were ECHOING IN HIS BRAIN.... 'she... thinks... i'm cute...wait...SHE'DFUCKME?'
"Really?" he says, trying to keep his cool when in reality he was screaming internally.
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during the whole hangout you could feel Dave's stares at you, grinning like he was the luckiest man alive yet you both weren't even together "jeez man stop glaring at her, you're going to make her run away again!" Melilah pointed out keeping the rest of the time there light, and your worries were all gone.
it was almost 5pm when you all said your goodbyes, "can I walk you home?" Dave asked, hoping for you to say yes "yeah, i'd like that." the walk home was silent but the silence was, comforting. "you know about it, don't you?" you pretend to look confused at his question "oh don't pretend now.." he said, you both started giggling
"well what do i know Mr. Lizewski?"
"maybe the fact that you saw me falling from a height in attempt to save a cat, perhaps?"
"oh that was you?" you jokingly say, he stopped walking in his tracks- baffled
"PFFT i was just kidding- come here" you both walk towards your house, walking at the same footstep rate. still laughing, reminiscing what happened. "for what its worth, i think it was cool that you tried saving... what's the name? Mr. Bitey? that was very brave of you" you chuckled. you both finally arrived at your front yard "well, why thank you y/n. i think it was very brave of you as well to follow the green stranger"
your laughs died down while you both looked into each other's eyes, he's admiring your features and you're admiring his. it was silent for a few seconds until he asked, "why'd you runaway? why'd you avoid me?" you didn't know what to say, while avoiding his eyes you say "i was scared, i was contemplating my.." you sigh while he looks at you with hopeful eyes. "i discovered that i like yo-" he cuts you off, feeling the warmth of his lips while he hugs your waist. you both begin to laugh again, his hands still around your waist. "i liked you ever since-" he says until you both hear your name being shouted from your house
"Y/N I KNEW IT!!! I KNEW YOU WERE ALWAYS WITH THAT PRETTY BOY!!!"
"MOM I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS!!!" you peck his cheek, you whisper a quick 'i’msointoyo- imeantalktoyoutomorrowbye' winking back at him while running back into your house "moooommm let me explain wait-"
Dave turns around, starstruck, walks away feeling fulfilled. he didn't need to become a superhero, you were already one to him
a/n: ok i kinda cringed typing the last part but i ran out of ideas 🫠 thanks for reading!
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rinqwpan · 2 months ago
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Hi. Long time no post here 🤡 apologies for not posting here as often bc I’ve been busy with um. Life. But also I’ve been using insta more lately.
ANYWAYS THATS BESIDES THE POINT I CAME BACK TO POST THESE!!!!! Wow I didn’t think I’d have another rin au but here she is. JJK rin. The rinverse is growing 🛌🛌 (she’s a bit more plain compared to HxH rin and DR rin, bc I didn’t want to make her stand out too much) and I just HAD TO make fanart for the jjk fanfic “Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student” by @sincerelyamee :DD! I’ve been loving the fic so far and I’ve been wanting to draw fanart for it for SOOOO long but unfortunately I’ve been sooo busy and suffered with art block for a while… but now I finally found the time and motivation to draw this and so here it is!!!
I drew a ref of Rin as Spices (basically I inserted my OC into the fic bc I personally prefer not to insert myself) and I drew a scene of Spices and Megumi (bc i love them so much and Megumi is so pookie 🤭🤭) from Chapter 34!! Everything was just how imagined Spices and the scene to be, so I apologize if it is inaccurate..! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ may draw more fanart when I find the time….
The other arts are just JJK doodles from when the leaks released, I was brainrotting so hard and just had to doodle the pookies ✨✨
Anyways u guys should totally check out the fic I mentioned earlier if u haven’t and rlly like jjk and wanna be healed from og jjk bc this fic is honestly amazing, the writing and details, characters just feel soooo in character—RAGHH just check it out I promise you will not be disappointed 🫵🫵
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pixiestickie · 1 year ago
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so . i did something ^}*#*}*%+%
(more parts might come and if that happens this post will be the masterlist)
ramble ⏬
so . ok here goes nothing. first things first.
this is like the “fisherman meets mermaid and they are in love” AU trope but jamil isnt a fisherman: he pretty much retained his canon life, aka he is a servant and one day he found a merman and he just hangs around him to escape from his shitty life situation (and the merman is completey enamoured).
so, apart of NRC not happening, more details about the canon divergence should be revealed at a later date
thiat is the info about the au out of the way. ill just do personal rambling here esp bevause im insecure about some things about this so you can stop reading if you want.
this is a trope ive seen around a lot, especially on twitter, so ive had this idea since a bunch of months ago. i then proceeded to forget about it until i saw a twitter post about this same exact trope again except it was with fucking miguel o’hara but thats besides the point. the original post that made me get the idea were 2 ocs (they had the blood-cut-to-call-merman idea. I completely stole it from that. im coming clean) and i was like “wow do you know who else is a mermaid? azul fucking ashengrotto”
ok so no the art style i used. i started using it really recently to doodle stuff, since 2 days ago actually im so serious. i tried using it here as well bevause its an easy art style, really quick to draw with it and also looks good. or so i thought. because im now having doubts about wether it looks good or not and i fear it might just look weird. i kinda wanna hear if people prefer this art style or my “actual” one from my other posts
this style looked way better when i used it to doodle stuff, but i dont think im capable of using it in comic format. the style i was going for is mostly evident in the colored “poster” because ive actually redrawn the comic sequence a bunch of times so the style was lost there. I do like how the “poster” looks but im not sure if y’all would agree so id love to hear wyt
now the biggest part. ive never made comics in my life!! so these are going to look so damn akward. u can already notice it here!!!!! crowd starts booing
also i cant draw water and also i dont know how to draw azuls octo patterns bc the material we have of his design are so vague and fragmented but his patterns are not easy to draw so im struggling and i need to make a reference of him for myself 😭😭
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lucabyte · 1 month ago
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ppl saying they look to my comics for inspiration and pointers on how to format things is WILDDDD to me (and delightful don't get me wrong!! i am overjoyed) because like. none of you are privvy to the absolute WAHHH I DONT WANNNAAA bitchfits i was *CONSISTANTLY* throwing every time i forced myself to make a comic before i got into isat. like no joke. i considered comics such a fucking difficult medium they always drained my drawing energy so hard because they always felt like they took sooo long and had so many moving parts and were so much harder than storyboards (WHICH I ALREADY STRUGGLED WITH) because you had to account for panel shape and speech bubbles and-- like you get it. but genuinely for real. the sheer amount that i complained whenever i clawed my way through drawing a comic (which thus! was not very fucking much!!) compounded by the fact that i *genuinely have trouble reading comics*. as in, i really struggle to parse the flow of contiguous movement or action between panels (possibly connected to the fact ive got mad aphantasia?) of even really well done best-of-the-best professional comics...
... BUT. basically. what im trying to get at is. if you wanna learn to draw comics, evidently you super can?! I genuinely *didnt* draw comics before drawing isat fanart! I have no idea what it was about ISAT fanart that made it finally click for me? (I think it was... not having to think about colour? Removing a step from the process really helped. Plus, it being fanwork meant I could just start en-medias-res and not have to think about setup... Trying to cram too much explanation and setup into my oc stuff was always a big hurdle too...)
I find them fast to do now! and damn if i dont value speed in art (<- impatient little fucker). its still going slowly on my oc comics.. mostly due to the colour again, i think. but it's not extremely, ecruciatingly difficult anymore. is what im saying. and im genuinely baffled by it every time i put pen to page. its fucked up. did you guys know that practice makes things easier? . fucking perverted if you ask me.
As for looking at other people's things for inspiration. if you want to know where I was looking when I was piecing together the first couple fancomics I did for ISAT i want to specifically point at . well besides everything rebecca sugar has ever done (for hands and facial expressions *especially*), the main person i really dug into the work of was Leo Fox (Website link). I feel like i wanna point people to the source of a lot of the inspiration for my more off-kilter panel choices so you all can get the full experience rather than through my regurgitated mimesis. I'm now at the point where i can wing panel layout so i wasn't in there for longgg but. everyone go add it to your knowledge banks as for SUBJECT MATTER aka why i am i so deranged. those are squarely the 2019 postcanon homestuck golden era bleeding through my CLENCHED BITTEN DOWN JAW. A BULL TERRIER ON YOUR BRACHIAL ARTERY. namely that @/floralmarsupial and @/tomatograter's works (no i am not tagging them . im shy) are things i go back to frequently and floralmarsupials pure black/white inktober comics were *especially* an inspiration. if you've been following me a few months you may remember me reblogging a bunch of their stuff from 2019~2021 for seemingly no reason. this was why. The narratively divorced reality of jade strider & Liminal Space are big in my mind here. I balk to call myself anywhere near as good as these but these are what i'm aiming for, tonally and quality-ways with it. also detective pony but ive mentioned that already and thats farrrr too inside baseball for this post.
BUT YEAH TL;DR: I DIDNT DRAW LIKE ANY COMICS UNTIL UHHHH LIKE, WHAT, LIKE 8 MONTHS AGO? JESUS. ANYWAY. THIS MEANS YOU 🫵🫵🫵 CAN DO IT TOO. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. DATTEBAYO!!!!
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