#AND I LOST MY BLACK NAIL POLISH
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a-ikuoliver · 3 months ago
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okay i love spring and summer but let me tell u

.. it’s a damn chore making my toes look nice
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normal-cactus1221 · 1 year ago
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NEWWWW ACE RING BABIEEEEE
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jezebelblues · 2 months ago
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𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 | 𝐇.𝐒 â€§â‚ŠËšâ€àŒ‰â€§â‚ŠËš.
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summary: it isn’t about fruit
cw: smut18+, oral (f!receiving) unedited, idk that’s it. there’s like brief mentions of cigarettes/alcohol if that’s an issue
word count: approx 3.7k
| LMFAO okay so here’s something i’ve had in the drafts for a bit. on the lil poll thing the majority of yall voted for smut so here’s a crumb i guess love u
yes it’s 70s!harry. i love u 70rry
masterlist
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july 1972
harry knew of YN—a friend of mitch’s, the cousin of a girl he could still taste on his tongue.
she was always in the periphery of his world—not a groupie, not a colleague. she was the girl who held the bubblegum pink lighter to his lips if he couldn’t find his own, the girl who’d offer her red glitter pen if harry lost his black one.
so far, three songs in his notebook were written in sparkly cherry ink.
they met four months ago at a bar in california— his first night on the north american leg of the tour, she'd stood on her tiptoes to hug mitch, congratulating him over and over with a laugh like the fizz of soda on a hot day. harry remembers the scent of her hair when the breeze caught it—peach bubbly and honey. he remembers the crimson lipstick stains on the cigarette she passed him, the faint taste of her fruity cocktail on the filter.
since then, she'd been around. not a fixture, exactly, but something close to it. she didn't sing, didn't play, didn't take up too much space, but she had a knack for fitting into the cracks no one else noticed. sometimes, before a show, she'd twist his hair back just the way he liked it, or she'd swipe a bottle of polish to paint his nails in a shade that matched his shirt.
it was easy, the way she lingered. easy enough that harry never really questioned it.
now, the sucker in her mouth stained her tongue blue. her heart-shaped sunglasses, pink and a little scratched, sat low on the bridge of her nose as the sun painted the roof of the tour bus in a syrupy summer gold. she was stretched out on a towel beside him, humming a tune harry instantly recognized as his own.
he sat cross-legged next to her, the glitter pen—her glitter pen—rolling between his fingers. his notebook balanced on his knee as he scrawled down lyrics, but the words felt sluggish, stuck, like the heavy heat pressing down on them.
YN's hums drifted lazily in the air, quiet enough that the buzz of the bus engine nearly swallowed them up. her eyes were shut tight against the sun's glow, but harry couldn't help stealing glances at her. she looked serene, almost untouched by the heat that had him melting into his jeans.
the cherry-red ink glimmered faintly as he scratched another uneven line into his notebook.
with a sudden pop! she pulled the sucker from her lips and smiled without opening her eyes. "you're staring."
harry didn't flinch. he leaned back slightly and smiled—bunny teeth and dimples. "maybe you're my muse."
her laugh was soft and sharp all at once, the sound of a soda can cracking open. she propped herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. "hardly. if i were, you'd have more than that down by now," she teased, nodding toward the page.
harry smirked, his gaze skimming the floral pattern on her bikini bottoms, the curve of her hip. "or maybe you're just a really bad muse."
she kissed her teeth and let herself flop back down against her towel, the movement making her breasts bounce slightly in her top. harry's eyes lingered, just for a beat. she didn't seem to notice-or maybe she did, but didn't care. instead, she nudged his thigh with her toes, the sucker swirling back between her blued lips.
after a moment, she pulled it free and held it out toward him, her pink-painted nails glinting in the sunlight. "want the rest?" she grinned, tilting her head against her shoulder. "it's bubblegum in the middle. your favorite."
harry sighed theatrically, but he leaned in anyway, his butterfly creasing slightly as he plucked the sticky stick from her fingers. he turned it slowly, the blue sugar catching the light, slick with her saliva as he slid it onto his tongue. it was sweet, bright, with the faintest taste of her still lingering underneath.
she watched him with a raised brow, her grin spreading. “will you tell me who kiwis about yet?”
his lips quirked up around the candy. "no."
this was the third time she'd asked in the span of four months. it was her favorite song, or so she claimed.
it was a month prior in chicago. the aragon ballroom. he'd gone early, hours before soundcheck, to roam the venue, let his nerves settle. but that day the stage hadn't been empty. YN had been there, sitting cross-legged on the polished wood, his guitar resting in her lap. her fingers plucked at the strings hesitantly, her brows furrowed in concentration.
she wore a bright yellow bikini top that day, a pair of denim shorts slung low on her hips. the sunlight streaming through the high windows made her skin glow.
he'd stayed quiet as he approached, leaning his arms on the edge of the stage to watch. she jumped slightly when she noticed him, her cheeks flushing.
"move your hand up a bit more," his voice was soft, nodding toward her grip on the neck of the guitar.
she bit her lip, looking down to adjust her fingers. "like this?"
harry nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "press your index finger there. now try."
her cheeks darkened further, but she nodded, her focus snapping back to the strings as she strummed again-hesitant, but closer this time.
her fingers moved carefully along the frets, still hesitant, but with a quiet determination that made harry smile. the melody of kiwi—rough and unpolished—drifted softly through the empty venue, the rawness of it striking something in him. she wasn't bad, not really, but she played like someone who was just beginning to learn—calculated, deliberate, all concentration and no flow.
"it's better," he said after a moment, straightening up to rest his chin on his arms. "but you're still a little off."
she paused, sighing, her lips pressing into a line. "it doesn't sound right."
"you're playing it too clean," he laughed, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "y’have to let it be messy, loosen up a bit."
her brows furrowed, and she glanced at him, her cheeks still pink. "messy," she repeated skeptically.
"messy," he confirmed, nodding toward the guitar. "you're trying t’control it too much. let it get away from you a little."
her lips quirked up in a soft laugh as she adjusted her grip on the neck. "easy for you to say, you've been playing since you were, what, twelve?"
"eleven," he corrected, grinning wider. "but who's counting?"
she rolled her eyes but didn't argue, her gaze dropping back to the strings as she tried again. her fingers stumbled at first, the sound of a muted note ringing out across the empty hall, but she pushed through it, letting the rhythm guide her this time. harry watched as her shoulders relaxed, the line of tension in her jaw easing slightly.
"better," he praised after a moment, and her head snapped up, her face lighting up with a cautious kind of pride.
"really?"
he nodded, standing to his full height and dusting his hands against his jeans. "you'll have it down by next week at this rate, sunshine.”
she snorted, shaking her head as she set the guitar carefully to the side. "next week," she repeated, her tone dry. "sure."
"what, no faith in yourself?"
her eyes sparkled as she hopped down from the stage, brushing past him with a grin. "none at all."
harry chuckled, turning to watch her as she headed toward the venue's exit, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. her yellow bikini top gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and the sound of her soft humming lingered in the air long after she disappeared from view.
the song wasn’t about her, no, written long before they’d even met—but it stayed hers in a way he couldn't quite explain. hers like the red glitter pen that sat loosely between his fingers, like the memory of the bubblegum sucker on his tongue, like the faint scent of peach and honey still imprinted in his mind.
he let the notebook fall shut and leaned back against the roof of the bus, the sun beating down on his face. beside him, YN shifted lazily, her hand reaching out to tug the sunglasses from her nose and push them up into her hair.
“you’ll tell me one of these days, harry styles.”
he didn't answer, just let his eyes drift shut, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips.
YN huffed dramatically, flopping onto her side to face him. The towel beneath her crinkled, and the faint scent of sunscreen mixed with the lingering sugar on her breath. “you can’t just smile at me, harry. it’s not fair.”
he peeked one eye open, his grin widening. “fair’s got nothing to do with it.”
“don’t be annoying.” she poked his chest, her nail grazing the inked swallow on his skin. “you can’t write a song like that and then act all mysterious. it’s cruel. is it about someone you dated? someone you wanted to date? tell me something.”
he pushed himself up onto one elbow, the glitter pen rolling off his notebook and landing in the crease of the towel. “and ruin the fun of you guessing every chance you get?”
she groaned, rolling onto her back again and flinging an arm over her face. her sunglasses slipped slightly in her hair, catching the sunlight. “you’re the worst,” she mumbled.
he laughed, soft and low, and let his gaze wander over her—the curve of her shoulder, the way the waistband of her bottoms dug into her hips just enough to make him wonder how her skin might feel under his thumb. “but you keep coming back,” he teased.
“not by choice,” she shot back, her voice muffled by her arm.
he leaned closer, the pendant around his neck glinting as it swung forward. “is that so?”
her arm fell away from her face, and she squinted up at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “mitch dragged me along,” she said breezily. “i just wanted to see california. maybe get a tan. didn’t realize i’d be stuck with a rock star who thinks he’s god’s gift to songwriting.”
“a rock star, huh?” he echoed, smirking. “that what i am to you?”
her brows arched, her lips quirking into something smug. “what else would you be?”
harry didn’t answer right away. the silence stretched between them, thick and warm, broken only by the hum of the bus and the distant buzz of cicadas. YN held his gaze, unflinching, and for a moment, harry felt a pull in his chest—something slow, something sharp.
finally, he reached for her abandoned sucker, still sticky and shining faintly blue. he popped it into his mouth, smirking around it as he settled back onto the towel.
“god’s gift to songwriting,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
her laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained, and harry closed his eyes, letting the sound soak into him like sunlight.
YN’s laugh faded into a hum as she sat up, legs tucked beneath her, her knees brushing against harry’s thigh. her hand hovered over his notebook, tapping the edge lightly with her fingernail.
“what’s this one about?” she asked, her tone softer now, less teasing.
harry cracked one eye open, the sucker shifting lazily against his cheek. “why d’you always ask questions you know i won’t answer?”
“maybe because i know you’ll give me something, eventually.” she tilted her head, her fingers trailing along the notebook’s cover. “or maybe i just like annoying you.”
“you’re good at it.”
“thank you,” she said sweetly, ignoring his smirk. she flipped the notebook open, her eyes skimming over the half-finished lines written in that unmistakable cherry-red ink. “you’ve been stuck on this one for a while, huh?”
harry sat up, propping himself on one elbow and leaning close enough that her hair brushed his arm. “what makes you say that?”
“the way you’re chewing that sucker like it owes you money,” she teased, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “plus, there’s about three crossed-out lines on every page.”
he sighed, plucking the sucker from his mouth and tossing it into a paper cup near his feet. “some songs take longer than others.”
“and some songs,” she said, grinning as she tapped the glitter pen against the page, “are about a certain someone you refuse to talk about.”
harry laughed, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “you’re obsessed, you know that?”
“just curious.” she rested her chin in her hand, her pink sunglasses slipping down her nose again. “what’s the line you’re stuck on?”
he hesitated for a moment, then reached out to turn the page. “this one.” he pointed to a scribbled-out verse near the bottom, the ink thick and smudged where he’d pressed too hard.
YN’s eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, the scent of her sunscreen warm and sweet. “hmm. it’s
 cryptic. you’re trying too hard.”
“oh, am i?” harry raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.
she nodded, pulling the pen from his hand and spinning it between her fingers. “you need to stop thinking so much. write what you actually want to say, not what you think you’re supposed to.”
“and what do i want to say?”
she smiled, tilting her head at him. “how would i know? it’s your song.”
he held her gaze for a long moment, the teasing edge in her voice softening. his eyes flicked down to the pen in her hand, then back up to her face. “what if you’re the one i’m writing about?”
her breath hitched—just for a second, just barely enough for harry to notice. then she laughed, light and easy, her fingers tapping the notebook again. “then i guess i’m an even worse muse than i thought.”
“terrible,” harry agreed, his voice warm with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure he wanted her to catch.
YN didn’t move away, still perched close enough that her knee brushed against his. She let her fingers trail along the edges of the notebook again. She flipped a page, then another, her curiosity pulling her deeper into the sprawl of his unfinished songs and fragmented verses.
“you really don’t use normal pens anymore, do you?” she said, watching the way the glittery ink shimmered against the light.
“don’t need to,” he muttered without looking up. “not when you keep leaving these everywhere.”
“it’s a service, really,” she teased, flipping another page. “you’re welcome.”
her tone was light, but her fingers slowed as she scanned the next page. the handwriting was messier, more hurried, as if the words had come all at once and left no time for polish.
YN’s fingers hovered over the page, her eyes catching on the title underlined twice in red—watermelon sugar.
“what’s this one?” she asked, tilting the notebook toward herself as she scanned the uneven handwriting.
harry froze, “it’s nothing,” he said quickly, but the tension in his voice was hard to miss.
she arched an eyebrow, flipping the notebook to face her fully. “doesn’t look like nothing.” she read the first line aloud, her tone curious. “tastes like strawberries on a summer evening.”
harry leaned over, his fingers brushing hers as he tried to tug the notebook away. “YN, seriously—”
“hold on,” she interrupted, pulling it back toward her chest, her grin widening as she flipped to the next line. “and it sounds just like a song,” she read, her voice lilting in amusement. “you’re getting poetic on me, harry.”
“it’s not finished,” he muttered, sitting back against the towel, his jaw tight as he ran a hand through his curls.
“yeah, i can see that,” she said, tapping the page with her fingernail. “but what’s it about? strawberries? watermelon? a fruit salad?”
harry let out a sharp laugh, but there was something uneasy in the way his eyes flicked to hers. “something like that.”
YN squinted at him, her smile softening as she studied the lyrics again. “it’s
 sweet,” she murmured, her tone thoughtful now. “like—” she paused, glancing up at him. “like a crush. isn’t it?”
his mouth opened, then closed again. for a moment, he looked almost caught—like she’d stumbled onto something he hadn’t meant to share. finally, he shrugged, his fingers fidgeting with the cross between his swallows. “it’s about
 a feeling,” he said carefully.
“what kind of feeling?” she pressed, tilting her head.
he hesitated, his gaze darting between the notebook and her face. “just
 something good. something warm.”
YN rolled her eyes, her teasing smile back in place. “you’re being annoyingly vague. is it about someone? or are you just really passionate about fruit now?”
harry exhaled a laugh, but he didn’t answer right away. instead, his gaze lingered on her, quiet and unreadable, before he finally shrugged again. “do y’want me t’show you?”
her teasing smile faded, curiosity dancing across her features. “show me?” she echoed, her voice gentler now, uncertain.
he nodded, shifting closer. the notebook was forgotten as his fingers brushed along its spine, pushing it aside. his eyes swept over her face slowly, studying the way her cheeks were flushed from the sun, the way her lips parted as if she wanted to ask something but had forgotten how.
his hands rested near her hips, the towel wrinkling under his palms. he leaned in, close enough that his breath was cool against her lips. "it's not about fruit," he breathed, his voice barely more than a rasp.
she blinked, her pulse skittering in her chest as her eyes flicked between his. "i... kinda figured," she whispered, her tone shaky, but her gaze steady.
his lips twitched, a soft breath of laughter escaping through his nose. "do you trust me?"
her eyes dipped, lingering on the curve of his strawberry-red lips. the weight of the moment pressed against her, electric and unyielding. "just show me, harry."
he didn't hesitate after that. his hands settled on her hips, warm and firm, as he guided her flat onto the towel. the sun hung heavy in the sky, draping them in a creamsicle haze, but all she could focus on was him—his weight, his touch, the way his curls fell forward as he hovered over her.
his ring clad fingers drifted to her thighs, palms flat along the insides as he spread her apart. the tip of his nose grazed the gusset of her bikini bottoms over to the flesh of her thigh right against his thumb. he pressed soft kisses into the skin, nipping at it gently to watch her chest rise from a gasp.
his lips trailed like the sticky sweetness of honey dripping down her skin, closer to her center, each kiss slow and warm.
he paused, his nose brushing against her clit still covered by fabric, but he could still feel her heat radiating through it. “still with me?”
she nodded, her heartbeat everywhere but her chest. “please, harry.”
he smirked, his fingers hooking underneath the bottoms, his touch feather-light as he slid them down. the movement felt slow, intentional, every second stretching out as the anticipation buzzed through her like electricity.
her arousal glistened in the sunlight—a bright peach dripping with water in the georgia heat. he laid flat on his stomach, arms looping behind her knees and pulling her thighs apart. he breathed her in, lips grazing alongside her folds before he pressed soft kisses into her.
she was sunshine, she was rock and roll, she seeped nectar and smelt like champagne—he wanted to take his time.
he kissed right into her heat, his lips slick with the remnants of her, causing her tummy to flip. he drank her in, sliding his tongue up until he could make slow swirls around her clit. it sent a jolt through her, a sensation so vivid it left her gasping.
she clutched the towel beneath her, head tipping back as the sounds of summer—cicadas in the distance, trees shaking in warm breeze, the hum of the engine—faded into the background.
he took her bud between his lips greedily, suckling gently and flicking the tip of his tongue against her. his grip on her thighs tightened as he pushed himself father into her, drawing soft, breathy moans from her throat.
he tilted his head, cheek flat against the space between where her thigh and cunt met. he lapped at her pussy, slow and languid strokes as he gazed up at her through his eyelashes.
“like sugar.” he mumbled against her, the reverberation causing her fingers to tangle themselves in his curls, her hips bucking against his face.
he smiled, pulling her down flat against the towel, burying himself deeper into her. she would tug on his curls every time he moaned against her folds. she’d push up against his hands every time he’d shake his head between her thighs, coaxing whimpers to fall from her lips.
he pulled her thighs over his shoulders, his nose brushing against her clit as he buried his tongue into her hole, tasting every drop, drinking in the way she’d clench around his tongue.
her cheeks flushed, words caught in her throat as he found his rhythm, his large hands holding her steady. his tongue moved like he was writing lyrics, every motion a verse, every pause a chorus.
she felt herself unraveling, her body tensing as she drew her higher and higher, the knot in her core overwhelming and intoxicating. she was an unrelenting sea, pressure, thrashing and trembles until the wave finally broke—gasping his name, her thighs trembling against his shoulders as her back arched.
he didn’t stop, relishing in the way she slid across his tongue, easing her though the aftershocks. his hands trailed from her thighs to her waist as she sagged back down against the towel, her chest heaving, fingers still threaded through his hair.
he pulled back slowly, a string of her release and his saliva snapping from the departure. he kissed up her naval, lips glistening in the sunlight, his chin soaked.
he smiled, resting onto his forearms as he hovered over her. “showed you, just like y’wanted. right, needy girl?”
YN blinked, her breath still catching as her body buzzed with the lingering warmth of him. she hummed, nodding.
his dimples deepened as he brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “good,” he mumbled, pulling her lips apart as he leaned in. she could taste herself on him, sweet and heady, fruit and warmed by the sun.
he leaned his forehead against hers, their noses barely touching. “but if you need me to explain it again,” he hummed, kissing her once more. “i’ve got time, sunshine.”
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wroteclassicaly · 1 month ago
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Eddie Munson loves the way that you pick at the chipping polish on your nails until it’s dangling from the cuticle. Enjoys how you only shave the bottom half of your legs but let the top grow out. Oh god, and when you chew and bite your straw to an unusable puncture, leaving lipgloss all over. The times at lunch where you’ll find him to ask, “Can I play with your hair?” You aren’t in Hellfire Club, but the group has taken to adopting you as a seat mate.
Well
 you had simply settled down there before Eddie’s group approached. He’d leaned in to inform you that this was a private table. To which, you shrugged and asked who usually sat where, following suit with finding your own space - which just happened to be right beside the dungeon master himself. You’d put on your headphones, took out your spiral, and began writing, everyone free to converse as you let yourself get lost amongst new company.
Soon
 things changed. It went from, “What’s she doing here?” To “What are you listening to today?”
Eddie often lets his thoughts scatter from campaigns conversations, the band’s music — all because he ends up watching you get lost to yours. Ink pen tapping, eyes fluttered closed. Every single bit of cafeteria commotion ceases to exist, footsteps echoing, Eddie’s heart thrumming in his ears (fucking tinnitus).
Vibrating your way into everyone’s affections, Eddie remains awe struck & jaw slacked that you can’t see how easy it is to connect with you, to feel like everything is okay when you’re around, how there’s not one single person on planet earth and beyond that is like you. You wear what you want, model a personal style that belongs to you, have prepared more comebacks than he’s seen in his twenty years of life (that would shrivel any man’s ballsack and make all the other girls envious). It’s how you tried to make red, white, and black knit scarves to match their shirts for Christmas, and it ended with balls of fabric, your bloody thumbs, and Eddie helping you fix each one with a gentle hand (because everyone has to have something, Eddie). How can he forget that you’re not a baker, but your boxed brownies are Eddie’s favorite, especially when you wrap them in Christmas paper, serving hot chocolate to go along, making your way around the table to plop marshmallows in each styrofoam cup, that way no one is forgotten.
“Something for you and the group to have during tonight’s campaign. Oh! And my mom actually taught me how to make the hot chocolate in a crockpot, so
”
Eddie Munson has tried convincing himself that you’re just another sheep to protect. His stomach isn’t fluttering like a hoard of bats are shredding his insides, his knees aren’t growing weak everytime you smile, his breath isn’t getting caught on the wall of his chest on days that your full figure wears a skirt or a dress to accentuate features you love to possess, but can’t see their beauty with your eyes. He’s seen you in the morning, in the sun, in the rain, in the dark, and now, as it’s snowing outside the walls of this school. You’ll get up to retrieve something in the lunch line and Eddie will peer into your notebook, ringed finger scanning the lined page of your latest short story.
A guy and a girl, one small town, looking at the simplicity of various Christmas lights. It’s traditional, differing from what you usually let him read. You’re a sheep, lost from your flock in the manger. An angel so soft that feathers have nothing on you. A fucking Christmas star, shining so bright it burns the entire town to the ground.
By the time you’re carrying a bowl of cheese fries back to the table with two forks, Eddie has already picked you up in his van, a thermos full of his mom’s famous hot cocoa recipe. Eddie loves the way that you - oh
 fuck
 he loves you.
Merry Christmas

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httpsserene · 1 year ago
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𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘
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đžđ©đąđŹđšđđž đ­đĄđ«đžđž: đ„đžđšđ«đ§đąđ§đ  đœđźđ«đŻđž
summary: tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. fingering. hand and finger kink. guided masturbation. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. dialogue heavy. max is a brat tamer. word count: 2.7k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: pressure ‱ ari lennox
preface: *laughs maniacally*
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max stated, “when you get your nails done today, don’t get a new set. keep them natural; you can get polish but keep them short and rounded with no sharp edges.”
you stared at max with a lukewarm expression. it’s seven in-the-fucking morning, and he’s woken you up from your extremely comfortable position tucked into charles’ chest to tell you that you’re getting your nails done and exactly how he wants them done. he must have lost his mind overnight.
“d’you think,” you croaked out, voice unused from sleep, “that getting my nails done will distract me from realizing that my thighs have healed from the friction burn?”
the dutchman opened his mouth to speak but you held up a hand to shush him, and continued scratchily, “‘cause it hasn’t worked. ‘n i don’t even have an appointment to get my nails done? ‘s not happening today.”
“i made one,” he responded with a self-satisfied smile, “it’s in an hour.”
“WHAT THE HELL, MAX?!” you exclaimed, fighting through the layers of blankets tangled around you to make your way out of bed to rush through getting yourself ready. charles, still asleep, snuffled unhappily at the commotion and rolled over facing away from the two of you.
max chuckled mutely as he watches you stumble off the bed towards to en-suite bath, “use my black card–i’m sure it’ll cover the late fee.”
slamming the bathroom door shut, your yell carries through the door, “I WAS GOING TO USE IT ANYWAYS!”
thanks to years of lounging in bed to the last possible second before you needed to get ready, you were exactly on time to your appointment. it’s a boujee “self-care salon” that you don’t usually go to but it’s pretty much impossible to mess up a soak-off and basic manicure. actually, max is paying so there’s really no harm in treating yourself. you go from a basic manicure to the most luxurious mani-pedi package they offer, there’s even a hand, arm, foot, and calf massage included. you leave a healthy tip too; it’s not like you can run up max verstappen’s black card, he won’t even notice.
by the time you get home, you’ve completely forgotten about being mad at max for terrorizing you with morning. but, you’re quickly reminded of why when he jumps you as soon as you walk in the front door, tugging you in by your hands as he examines your nails.
“sheesh,” you gasp, “can i close the door first?” 
charles, more awake but still disgruntled (he considers any-time before noon “too early to be awake), apparates from around the corner and walks to shut the door behind you. he wordlessy shimmies your keys and bag out of your hands, and presses a kiss to your cheek, “bonjour, mon coeur.”
“good morning, charlie,” you murmur sweetly, ignoring max’s general incompetence, “may i
” you shift awkwardly on your feet, “can i have a real kiss, please?”
the brunet’s discontented gaze turned to liquid gold warming your body with the amount of love that poured through just one glance. he leans in to kiss you but yelps, flinching away from you at a pinch on his arm from max.
the older man grunts, “bedroom first. then you can make out with each other to your hearts content.”
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your legs have turned to mush from deep kisses, so you’re thankful to be seated on top of charles’ lap on your vanity chair. the monegasque has one hand fisted in the curls at the nape of your neck, moving your head to just the angle he likes as he continues to explore past the seam of your lips. he doesn’t allow you to pull away for more than half a second to catch your breath, all of your hums, moans, and whimpers of delight are caught in his mouth. the lust fogs your brain as he nips and tugs at your bottom lip, the soft skin surrounding your lips raw already from his stubble. the weight of his large hand resting on the small of your back combined with the overwhelming sensations has you shifting your hips rocking back and forth on charles’ thigh, yet you haven’t consciously noticed you actions yet. you haven’t noticed how max has been calling your name to get your attention for a while now.
“liefje, come here,” max’s voice has a commanding edge to it, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention, “you’ve been patient like i’ve mentioned. so, i think it’s time you experience more than one of our thighs, hm?”
you squirm of charles’ lap, prying his hands off your waist when he tries to tighten his grasp, and eagerly make your way over to the foot of the bed where max is sitting–has he been watching the whole time? the monegasque huffs loudly to inform the two of you of how displeased he is at you discarding him quickly at the promise of something more. the younger man stands up and doesn’t manage to take more than one step in your direction before max halts him.
“and where do you think you’re going?” max asks condescendingly, he pulls you down to sit in between his legs, his chest to your back, so you can face charles, “only good boys get to participate. and if i can remember
two days ago, you decided to be a brat.”
the brat in question reddens, “yes! i was
being mean–but, you said that i don’t get to come, not that i don’t get to touch her?”
max shrugs dismissively, and he starts to undress you–pulling off your shirt to leave you in your bra, while he motions for you to tug off your jeans.
“mon chat–this is unfair,” charles whines, “let me touch her!”
“you want to touch her?” max asks, charles nods eagerly in response, “say you were a brat and apologize, and then maybe i’ll let you touch her.”
the brunet gapes at his boyfriend, stumbling over his words for a few seconds, before he turns to look at you, expecting you to help him out. you curl up, dropping your gaze to your lap and pulling max’s hand around you to play with it while he sorts out charles. the monegasque, too stubborn to do anything but disagree with max, clenches his jaw and fists, before he steps and back and sits in your vanity chair again. he crosses his arms across his chest, and turns his head up at max to emphasize his attitude.
“mmm,” the blonde’s chest rumbles behind you, he dips his head to press a kiss to your temple, “he’ll learn how to act once he realizes he won’t be able to finger your pussy, pretty girl.”
you and charles both jolt with matching gasps of surprise at the reveal of today’s sexual exploration. a meek whimper escapes you and max coos sweetly, “do you want to this, liefje?”
you nod shakily, ignoring the flush of heat to your cheeks and the way you press your thighs together a little tighter. 
“words, baby.”
“y-yes, maxy.”
“remember the rules: any time you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop or take a break.”
“y-yeah,” you say airly, “ok.”
“good girl.”
max tilts your head to the side and lavishes kisses along your neck. your breath catches at the unexpected attention, you can only rest limply against max as he sucks marks into your skin. he nips teasingly at your pulse point and you tighten your grasp on his hand to prevent yourself from moaning embarrassingly loud. you let your head fall backwards to give max complete access to the length of your throat, and in the motion you make eye contact with charles. his green eyes are piercing–you can see the envy, yet you can’t tell if he wishes he was max in this moment, or if he wishes he was you.
the dutchman moves lower and focuses on bruising up your collarbone, tugging and biting at the thin skin and you’ve quickly lost your ability to regulate your volume. every exhale transforms into a moan and max’s free hand gets more exploratory as a result. his lips are wet and flushed red when he pulls himself away from the expanse of your newly bruised neck, playing absently with the strap of your bra and whispers next to your ear, “may i take this off, liefje?”
“yeah, yes, yes–take it off,” you rush out, turning shy at the sound of max’s amusement, “you can take it off, please?”
the use of manners quiets the man’s laughter easily; something about the way you use ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ unhesitantly in bed causes his brain to misfire. he rids you of the bra, tossing it at charles, who catches it and stares at max in disdain.
the older man smirks, and brings both of his hands to your chest to ghost the pads of his thumbs against your nipples. the barely there touch had your back arching, pushing your breasts more firmly into his grasp to seek more of the sensation. his chest rumbles behinds you and he steadfastly applies more pressure as he toys with the buds–your moans are more like sharp whines now, and whenever he throws in an occasional pinch you shriek, as your vision already blurs from this level of pleasure. you’ll cum before he gets his hand inside your panties.
you clumsy pull at his right hand, trying to tug it away from your breast to direct him further south, but max tuts disapprovingly and you cease your motions as soon as the sound registers.
“actually, liefje–you won’t need my hand for this part, only my voice.”
you tilt your head towards him to stare in confusion, and max brings his hand up to caress your cheek, “i’m going to teach you how to finger yourself, if that’s okay?”
you gulp, the pressure in your tummy only building, “more than okay.”
max nods, and presses a kiss on your jawline.
“be good for me and touch yourself over your panties, pretty girl.”
you squirm anxiously, but do as he ordered. you drag your hand down past your navel and in between your thighs, trying to keep them as closed as possible without having yourself spread out obscenely. max, obviously, doesn’t allow that to slide, and spreads your legs for you, draping them along the outside of his, his knees pressing outwards to prevent you from slamming your thighs shut. you whimper shamefully, but continue to drag two fingers along the seam of your cunt over your thin panties, the fabric beginning to darken as you start to leak.
“nice and slow until you start to get wet for me, yeah?”
“‘m already wet, maxy,” you murmur, biting your lip to suppress a whimper.
(“merde,” charles groans from across the room, throwing his head backwards.)
max brings his hand down to tug your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cooler air of the room, and moans at how your glistenting already, “shit–always so wet for me. keep dragging your fingers up and down, liefje.”
max’s hand continues to rest on your navel after he tucked your panties away, and you quickly bore of the slide of your fingers, huffing silently and nudging your nose against his jaw for the next direction, “once your fingers are nice and wet, you’re going to take just one–and gently press inside, yeah? you should be nice and relaxed, okay–if your pretty hole doesn’t open up easily just keep rubbing at yourself and then try again.”
you nod jerkily, and your first attempt at breaching your inner walls fails. you chickened out–after your felt yourself opening up, the pressure was odd. however, with max’s reassurance, you took another pass over your cunt and then tried again. and this time, your finger easily slid within in you–a shocked gasp pushed from your chest at the intrusion. 
“you’re okay,” max murmurs, rubbing at your side and navel calmly, “take your time, get used to the feeling, and when your ready you can start moving that finger, liefje.”
it’s odd–the feeling of something inside you. a little uncomfortable, but not painful like you thought it would be. the strange feeling passes quickly, especially when you draw your finger out and press deeper–it feels good? you think, it feels good at least. max watches the array of emotion pass over your face, and once he sees the previous apprehension dissipate, he instructs you to slide in another finger. the addition for another finger is easier for you this time, even though the pressure is multiplied–as if once you learned that this wouldn’t be painful you were a lot more receptive to the intrusion. 
and when your second finger pops in, the stretch feels good. you sigh breathily, and without further instruction, you begin to slowly thrust your fingers. max leans back and allows you to awkwardly fumble through your own motions, allowing you to figure out what brings you pleasure and what doesn’t. you mimic what you’ve heard girls talk about before, curling your fingers, scissoring them wide, pressing them upwards–and it feels fucking euphoric. your moans begin to ring through the room, and your hips buck dowards to meet your palm, pushing in your fingers deep.
“hm–you see why you needed your nails cut now, pretty girl,” max teases. his words go unheard by you, you’re more focused on trying to find the one spot everybody raves about–you want your vision to flash white, your toes to curl, your eyes to roll, your back to arch, your chest to heave–but you can’t find it. you whine in displeasure, kicking your foot out angrily, and begin to more vigorously thrust your fingers to no avail. 
“let me give you a hand, pretty.”
max gently removes your hand, a sob falling from your lips at the newfound emptiness, but quickly soothes you with the press of two of his fingers inside of you. you and max moan in unison–max at the feeling of  just how tight and dripping wet you are and you at the size of his fingers. max patiently waits for you to adjust, before he begins to absolutely ravage your pussy. his fingers are unforgiving; his rhythm is consistent, the pads of his fingers press firmly along your walls, and he finds your sweet spot after his second attempt of searching.
you shriek, legs trying and failing to slam shut at the overload of pleasure—max coos, ‘good girl’s’ and ‘so pretty’s’ falling from his lips freely. it’s a testament to how talented he is with is fingers that as soon as his thumb falls to press at the bud of your clit–you cum.
it surprises you, max, and charles (from across the room). it’s so overwhelming you cry–forget a toe-curling orgasm, you’e pretty sure you’ve just forgotten your name. your hips are frantically thrusting forward freely, and maxx continues to rub his hand over yout clit until you start bucking away from him in discomfort. you’ve soaked the bed, again. the dutchman tenderly pulls his fingers from the pulsing warmth of your cunt, and calls charles to the bed.
the younger man rushes forward, kneeling on the bed next to max. wordlessly, the blonde shoves his fingers covered in your essence into his mouth, smirking wide at how charles’ eyes widen, exposing his blown out pupils, before they drop to a half-lidded gaze as he thoroughly slurps max’s fingers clean.
when charles pulls away from max’s hand, panting heavily like he was the one who was just brought to a mind-blowing orgasm, max drops that same saliva-covered hand to grope at the bulge in charles’ pants.
the monegasque moans highly, hips thrusting forward to press deeper in to max’s hand–but he pulls it away cruelly.
“you better go take a cold shower charles, since you still can’t come for a while,” max orders nonchalantly, “you might want to put some music on while you’re in there. i would hate for you to get hard again when you hear me make her squirt.”
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rafesangelita · 12 days ago
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really really loved the john b drabble, it’s like ur in my brain xoxo — but i wanna know what ur readers got for xmas!! hope u had a good one <3
: 🧾
âŠč₊⟡⋆ WHAT THE !READERS GOT FOR CHRISTMAS
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 bambi!reader:
a hefty barnes & nobles giftcard, calico critter sets, a fawn patterned throw blanket, lace lingerie tops, brown mascara, rilakkuma blind boxes (bakery keychains), a handmade dollhouse for her little trinkets to live in, and an apple pencil so she could start sketching on her ipad
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 sheep!reader:
babydoll dresses + stockings and frilly socks, vintage barbie dolls, poodle figurines for her vanity, vinyls for her record player, old beauty magazines, hair rollers, ‘marie antoinette’ on dvd so she can watch it whenever she wants, rose scented candles, and some yarn for crocheting
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 latina!kook!reader:
lots of chunky jewelry, cruise tickets, some embellished dresses she’s had her eyes on, lace-up floral heels, shimmery eyeshadow palette, a pair of sunglasses, some stuff from kali uchis’s ‘homebody’ line, bikini sets for weekssss, and pink tory burch sandals
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!kook!reader:
chrome hearts wallet (in both pink and black), dior heels, black chanel bag, customized chain, black fur coat, leopard print undies + bra, some wildflower phone cases, black silk pj’s, dior lippies, she definitely got some makeup pr, fancy furniture (she spoils herself too ofc)
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!pogue!reader:
she’s been begging so she finally gets a pole installed in her room, bedazzled platform heels, playboy bunny necklace + matching bracelet and anklet, juicy couture baby tees, victoria’s secrets sparkly lipgloss, glittery makeup bag, fuzzy slippers, pink rolling papers and a little something something from dealer!rafe
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 kook!sweetheart!reader:
lots of scrapbooking material, pink ugg boots, new hair curler + flat iron, chanel hair accessories, new digital camera, vintage chanel heels, her favorite foreign chocolates, swarvoski rings, new bed sheet set + comforters, dainty tea cup set, a few skirts, bath bombs and shower gels
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 farmer’s!daughter!reader:
a new hat, boots with flowers embroidered on the sides, bootcut jeans, a belt buckle to add to her collection, an old doll that she thought she lost, pig plushie, baby chickies, quilted blanket that was made just for her, cherry chapstick + red nail polish, and a new lana del rey vinyl
đ“ˆ’ă…€Ś‚ 𝜗𝜚 pogue!sweetheart!reader:
a new mixing machine, cutesy cookware + more baking dishes, customized apron, cupcake stickers, some added upgrades to her bakery, two new pairs of kitten heels, a charm bracelet full of goodies, pink lingerie sets, decoden picture frame, and some customized press on nails since she can’t wear long nails consistently
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w1w2 · 1 month ago
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Taste
Karina x Fem!Reader feat. Winter
Word Count: ca. 6k
Synopsis: Amid the shimmering lights of an exclusive party, Y/N finds herself drawn back into the orbit of a complicated past. Memories and emotions collide as she faces unspoken truths and unresolved tensions with two familiar figures. As the night deepens, Y/N is forced to reckon with what she’s lost, what remains, and the strength it takes to walk away.
English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.
♡ Enjoy! ♡
The venue exuded understated elegance, its high ceilings and minimalist decor a perfect canvas for the glamour of the night. Warm golden light spilled from modern chandeliers, catching the shimmer of sequins and polished champagne flutes as Korea’s entertainment elite mingled and posed for photographers.
Y/N stepped inside, the click of her heels muted by the soft carpeting. She wore a sleek, tailored dress that hugged her frame, a vision of quiet confidence. The air was alive with the hum of conversations, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses.
Her lips curled into a practiced smile as Irene, tonight’s host and star, approached.
“Y/N,” Irene said warmly, her shimmering gown catching the light. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Congratulation.” Y/N replied, her tone as smooth as the champagne she plucked from a passing tray.
They exchanged pleasantries—industry updates, compliments on Irene’s solo debut—but Y/N’s attention began to waver, her eyes scanning the crowd over Irene’s shoulder.
She’s here.
The realization hit before she even saw her. There was an electricity in the room, a pull she couldn’t ignore. And then, as though drawn by instinct, her gaze found her.
Yu Jimin stood near the far wall, radiant as ever. Her long, dark hair framed her sharp features perfectly, her elegant black dress accentuating her tall frame. She was smiling, laughing softly at something Kim Minjeong had said.
Minjeong.
Y/N’s throat tightened as her eyes shifted to the smaller woman at Jimin’s side. Minjeong’s blonde hair fell in soft waves, her white dress glowing under the golden lights. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her laugh bright and unrestrained as she leaned closer to Jimin.
They looked perfect together. Too perfect.
"Oh, I leave quite an impression. Five feet, to be exact."
Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as the lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and sharp. She forced her attention back to Irene, nodding at something she’d said, though she hadn’t processed a word.
“Excuse me,” Y/N murmured, lifting her champagne glass in a half-toast before retreating toward the bar.
The bar offered a small reprieve from the crowded room, but it did little to quiet the storm brewing in Y/N’s chest. She tapped her nails against the glass, her thoughts racing.
She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.
And yet, here Y/N was, stuck in her orbit again.
Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they flicked back to the far side of the room. Jimin had leaned in closer to Minjeong now, her hand resting lightly on the small of Minjeong’s back. The touch was subtle, casual even, but it screamed intimacy to Y/N.
"You’re wonderin’ why half her clothes went missin’. My body’s where they’re at."
She clenched her jaw, the memory slicing through her composure. Did Minjeong know? Did she know about the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin’s voice used to tremble when she said Y/N’s name?
Y/N turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink.
Flashback
“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Jimin teased, leaning against the kitchen counter as Y/N searched for a coffee filter.
Y/N spun around, brandishing the empty box. “You’re telling me you live here and don’t have coffee filters? What kind of monster are you?”
Jimin laughed, that low, melodic sound that always made Y/N’s heart skip. “A tea person. Obviously.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. She stepped closer, the box still in hand. “This is unforgivable.”
“Is it?” Jimin asked, her voice softer now. She reached out, her fingers grazing Y/N’s wrist. “How are you going to punish me?”
Y/N tilted her head, her breath catching at the way Jimin’s eyes softened, her teasing replaced by something more vulnerable.
“I’ll think of something,” Y/N murmured, leaning in until their lips met.
End of the flashback
Y/N blinked back to the present, setting her glass down with more force than she intended. The memory still clung to her, its edges bittersweet and raw.
From across the room, as though sensing Y/N’s turmoil, Jimin’s eyes met hers.
The connection was immediate, electric. Jimin’s laughter faded, her smile dimming as her gaze lingered. For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to dull, leaving only the unspoken tension crackling between them.
Minjeong, oblivious, tugged lightly on Jimin’s arm, pulling her back into their conversation. Jimin tore her gaze away, her expression unreadable.
Y/N exhaled sharply, her chest tight. She turned back, signaling for another drink.
Y/N took the fresh glass of champagne from the bartender, her fingers wrapping around the stem as if it were her only anchor. She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.
And yet, here Y/N was stuck in her orbit again.
Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they flicked back to the far side of the room. Jimin had leaned in closer to Minjeong now, her hand resting lightly on the small of Minjeong’s back. The touch was subtle, casual even, but it screamed intimacy to Y/N.
Does she know?
The thought twisted in her mind, sharper than she wanted to admit. Did Minjeong know about her? About the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin had trembled in her arms? Did Minjeong know that, even as she smiled so sweetly now, Jimin still carried the ghost of their time together?
Y/N clenched her jaw, her polished exterior barely holding under the weight of it all.
“Are you okay?” a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
She turned, startled to find Irene standing beside her. Irene’s sharp eyes missed nothing, though her smile remained polite.
“Fine,” Y/N replied quickly, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Just needed a breather.”
Irene studied her for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching. “A breather or a distraction?”
Y/N chuckled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re too observant for your own good.”
“It’s a gift,” Irene replied, her tone light but her gaze pointed. She glanced toward Jimin and Minjeong, her expression unreadable. “You know, some things have a way of lingering even when you think they shouldn’t.”
Y/N’s lips tightened around the rim of her glass, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes flickered back toward Jimin, unbidden. The sight of her, standing so effortlessly close to Minjeong, stirred something sharp and restless in Y/N’s chest.
The room felt warmer, the noise of clinking glasses and muted laughter pressing in. Y/N took a steadying breath, her fingers tracing the edge of her flute.
Irene seemed to sense her unease. “Don’t let the ghosts win,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the hum of the crowd.
Y/N blinked, turning to look at her. “What makes you think they have?”
Irene smiled faintly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she offered a polite nod and slipped away, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.
As Y/N let her gaze drift back across the room, her breath caught. Jimin’s eyes flickered toward her, the connection immediate and electric.
Jimin felt Y/N’s gaze like a static charge in the air. It prickled at her skin, pulling her attention no matter how hard she tried to focus on Minjeong.
“Jimin?”
Minjeong’s voice was gentle, her head tilted in that familiar way that always made Jimin feel safe.
“Hm?” Jimin blinked, realizing Minjeong had asked her a question.
“Are you okay?” Minjeong asked, a hint of worry creeping into her tone. “You seem... distracted.”
Jimin forced a smile, giving Minjeong’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m fine, just a lot on my mind.”
Minjeong seemed to accept the answer, but her eyes lingered on Jimin’s for a moment too long. There was a quiet curiosity in her gaze, as if she sensed there was more to Jimin’s distraction than the weight of the event.
“Okay,” Minjeong said softly, her voice tinged with a gentle reassurance. She turned her attention back to the room.
Jimin exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly when Minjeong wasn’t looking. Her gaze wandered again—inevitably—to Y/N.
Y/N, leaning against the bar, looked unshaken on the surface. But Jimin recognized the tension in her posture, the way her fingers traced the edge of her glass as if holding herself in check.
For a brief second, Jimin allowed herself to linger, her chest tightening with the weight of everything unspoken.
Y/N was halfway through her second glass of champagne when her resolve finally cracked. The air around her felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud. But it wasn’t the room that suffocated her—it was the unanswered questions, the lingering tension that stretched between her and Jimin like a taut string.
Y/N had just set her glass down when she saw Jimin approach. Her movements were deliberate, her expression poised, but Y/N could see the cracks beneath the surface.
“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, the sound of her name almost lost in the noise around them.
“Jimin,” Y/N replied, her tone smooth but edged with something sharp.
Before the tension could unravel further, Minjeong appeared beside Jimin, her timing impeccable. Her expression was curious but polite as she took in Y/N, her smile warm and unassuming.
“Hi,” Minjeong said, offering a small nod.
Y/N’s chest tightened. She managed a faint smile. “Hi.”
The silence stretched, awkward and palpable. Minjeong glanced between them, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Minjeong,” Jimin said, her voice unusually tight, “would you mind grabbing us some water? I’ll be right here.”
Minjeong hesitated for the briefest moment but nodded. “Sure.” She touched Jimin’s arm lightly before walking away, her presence leaving a noticeable void.
Y/N didn’t wait for Jimin to speak. “She’s sweet,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.
“She is,” Jimin replied, her voice quieter now.
Y/N tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “And yet, here we are.”
Jimin’s breath hitched, but she said nothing, her eyes darting to the glass in her hand.
“Funny,” Y/N continued, her voice low but cutting. “She doesn’t seem to notice the way you keep looking at me.”
Jimin opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The tension between them was a living thing now, thrumming like a heartbeat.
"I heard you’re back together, and if that’s true, you’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."
Y/N took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Does she know, Jimin? Does she know that when you touch her, you’re thinking of me?”
Jimin flinched, the sharpness of the words slicing through her composure.
Before Jimin could respond, Minjeong returned, her bright smile cutting through the haze like sunlight after a storm.
“Here you go,” Minjeong said, handing Jimin a glass of water.
Y/N stepped back, her mask slipping back into place as easily as a curtain falling over a stage.
“I’ll see you around,” she said smoothly, her gaze flicking between them before she turned and walked away.
As Y/N disappeared into the crowd, Jimin’s grip tightened around the glass, her knuckles white against the delicate crystal. She drew in a slow breath, but it did little to steady the weight pressing down on her chest.
She turned back to Minjeong, who was mid-conversation with another guest, her soft laugh cutting through the noise of the room. For a moment, Jimin envied Minjeong’s lightness—the way she could immerse herself so fully in the moment without the shadow of someone else pulling her attention away.
Jimin’s gaze darted back to where Y/N had been moments before, but she was gone. The space she’d occupied felt like a void, lingering in the back of Jimin’s mind like a stubborn echo.
The sound of laughter from the far side of the room blended into a dull hum as Y/N leaned against the bar. Her polished exterior—so carefully constructed—was starting to falter, and she hated it. Every glimpse of Jimin and Minjeong together chipped away at the armor she had built around herself since the breakup.
The memories came unbidden, vivid and cruel, pulling her back to moments she thought she had locked away.
Flashback
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jimin had whispered, though the way her hand lingered on Y/N’s wrist told a different story.
Y/N smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe not. But here I am.”
They were in Jimin’s hotel room, the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the world outside nothing but a distant hum.
Jimin looked at Y/N like she was a question she didn’t know how to answer. There was hesitation in her eyes, but it was overpowered by something deeper, something hungry.
“You’re trouble,” Jimin murmured, her voice soft but unsteady.
Y/N tilted her head, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You like trouble.”
Whatever restraint Jimin had been clinging to snapped in that moment. She pulled Y/N closer, her lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Y/N’s hands found their way into Jimin’s hair, tugging gently, earning a soft gasp that sent a shiver down her spine.
For a while, it was just them—no consequences, no questions.
End of the flashback
Back at the bar, Y/N’s fingers curled around her champagne flute as the memory faded. She exhaled shakily, her chest tight.
"Every time you close your eyes
 Just know I was already there."
The lyrics twisted in her mind, bitter and taunting. Y/N took a sip of champagne, willing the ache in her chest to dull.
Flashback
“What are you smiling about?” Y/N asked, her voice soft and teasing.
Jimin turned her head, her cheek resting against the pillow. Her dark hair was a mess, her face bare, and her expression unguarded in a way that made Y/N’s heart ache.
“Nothing,” Jimin said, though her smile grew.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, rolling onto her side to face her. “You’re terrible at lying.”
Jimin laughed, the sound low and melodic. “Okay, fine,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I was just thinking
 this feels nice.”
“Nice?” Y/N repeated, pretending to be offended.
Jimin rolled her eyes but leaned closer, her hand finding Y/N’s beneath the sheets. “You know what I mean.”
Y/N’s teasing faded as she took in the sincerity in Jimin’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I know.”
They stayed like that for a while, tangled in the quiet morning light, the world outside their little bubble forgotten.
End of the flashback
Y/N’s jaw tightened as she watched Jimin from across the room. She leaned in to whisper something to Minjeong, earning a soft laugh in return. The sight sent a fresh pang through Y/N’s chest, though she refused to let it show.
She used to smile like that for me.
The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N knew she had left her mark on Jimin, even if she’d been cast aside.
Flashback
“You’re really going back to her?” Y/N’s voice wavered despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
Jimin stood near the door, her arms crossed, her expression conflicted. “It’s not that simple, Y/N.”
“It is,” Y/N said, taking a step closer. “You’re making it complicated.”
Jimin’s shoulders slumped, and she turned her gaze to the floor. “I can’t
 I can’t keep doing this. With you. With her.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to speak. “So, what? You’re choosing her? After everything we—”
“It’s not about choosing!” Jimin interrupted, her voice rising for the first time. “It’s about
 it’s about history. And safety. And not ruining everything I’ve worked for.”
Y/N froze, her chest tightening. “Ruining everything?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jimin’s expression softened, regret flashing in her eyes. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” Y/N said, cutting her off. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You meant every word.”
Jimin reached for her, but Y/N stepped back, shaking her head. “Just go,” she said, her voice breaking. “If that’s what you want, then go.”
And Jimin did.
End of the flashback
The memory still felt fresh, even now. Y/N closed her eyes briefly, the noise of the party becoming a distant hum as her thoughts spiraled.
"You can have her if you like. I've been there, done that once or twice."
She hated how true the words felt, how much of herself she had given to Jimin, only to be left behind.
When she opened her eyes again, she caught Jimin looking at her from across the room. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded.
Y/N held her gaze, refusing to look away, even as her chest tightened with everything unsaid.
And then, just as quickly as it happened, Jimin turned back to Minjeong, her expression unreadable.
Y/N exhaled slowly, setting her empty glass on the bar. The night was far from over, but she was already exhausted. The air felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud, pressing against her like a weight she couldn’t shake.
She glanced over her shoulder, half-tempted to slip away unnoticed, but something held her in place. A pull she couldn’t resist.
Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for the source of her unrest.
The crowd ebbed and flowed like a tide, vibrant and alive, but Y/N stood still, her gaze fixed on Jimin and Minjeong across the room. They looked effortless together, a picture of ease and harmony that made Y/N’s chest ache.
Minjeong’s laugh was bright and unrestrained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. She had an openness about her, a warmth that drew people in without trying. Y/N watched as Jimin leaned in closer, her tall frame almost curling protectively around Minjeong’s smaller one. The movement was subtle, instinctive, and painfully familiar.
She learned that from me.
The thought hit Y/N before she could stop it, sharp and unrelenting.
She couldn’t unsee the parallels. The way Jimin tilted her head just so, nodding along as Minjeong spoke, her lips curling into that soft, private smile. It was the same smile Jimin had once saved for Y/N, during late-night conversations and whispered secrets.
Y/N’s grip tightened on her glass as another laugh rang out. Jimin was teasing Minjeong now, something clever and understated that had Minjeong giggling and swatting at her arm playfully. The sound of Jimin’s laugh—low and melodic—sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.
"She’s funny now, all her jokes hit different. Guess who she learned that from?"
The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N had taught Jimin how to wield humor like a weapon—lighthearted but disarming, a way to draw someone closer without them even realizing it.
Jimin glanced up, her gaze flickering to Y/N for the briefest of moments. Her expression remained unreadable, her polished composure firmly in place.
But Y/N saw through it. She saw the crack beneath the surface, the hesitation that lingered in Jimin’s movements every time their eyes met.
“Jimin,” Minjeong said, her voice cutting through the moment. She tugged gently on Jimin’s hand, smiling up at her.
Jimin blinked, her attention snapping back to Minjeong. Her lips curved into a smile. Warm, reassuring, but not quite reaching her eyes. “What is it?”
Minjeong tilted her head toward the dessert table. “They’ve got those little tarts you love. Want to grab some before they’re gone?”
Jimin hesitated, her gaze darting back toward Y/N’s direction, but she caught herself quickly. “Yeah,” she said, squeezing Minjeong’s hand lightly. “Let’s go.”
The two moved together, weaving through the crowd, but Y/N’s eyes followed them like a magnet.
Y/N set her glass down on the bar, her fingers tracing the rim absently. She hated how much power Jimin still held over her, even from across a crowded room. But there was something else there, something she couldn’t ignore.
Pride.
Despite everything—despite the heartbreak and the bitterness—Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small, stubborn sense of pride in the way she had shaped Jimin. Their time together had been brief but intense, and it had left an imprint on Jimin that couldn’t be erased.
The way Jimin leaned into Minjeong now, her touches gentle but deliberate, mirrored the intimacy they’d once shared. It was a habit Y/N had teased her about endlessly, back when they’d stolen moments away from the rest of the world.
From the dessert table, Jimin glanced over her shoulder, her eyes seeking out Y/N once again. Minjeong didn’t seem to notice, too busy chatting with the person next to her, but Jimin’s focus wavered.
Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but the words died in her throat. The weight of Y/N’s gaze, the history between them, lingered like a ghost in the air.
Minjeong turned back to Jimin, holding up a tart with a playful grin. “Got one for you before I ate them all.”
Jimin laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks,” she said, her voice gentle.
But as Minjeong handed her the dessert, Jimin’s hand trembled slightly, the crack in her facade growing just a little wider.
Minjeong, ever perceptive, tilted her head curiously but said nothing, her focus shifting to a nearby conversation. Jimin’s eyes darted back toward Y/N, the weight of their shared history tugging at her chest.
Across the room, Y/N noticed the hesitation. The tremor. The way Jimin’s gaze flickered toward her as if she couldn’t help herself.
Y/N exhaled slowly, letting the tension settle in her chest. She didn’t need to fight for Jimin’s attention; she already had it. Every glance, every hesitation, every joke Jimin told was proof of the mark Y/N had left.
But it wasn’t enough—not anymore.
Her gaze shifted away, back to her own reflection in the bar’s mirror. The woman staring back at her looked composed, confident. But underneath, she was tired. Tired of being haunted by someone who had chosen stability over passion.
"You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."
The lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and unyielding. Y/N straightened her posture, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
Let Jimin remember her. Let her feel the weight of Y/N’s absence every time she touched Minjeong. Y/N wasn’t going to fight for someone who didn’t choose her—not anymore.
The thought gave her a fleeting sense of closure, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the restlessness thrumming in her chest. The noise of the party felt louder now, the air heavier.
She needed to get out, to find some space where she could breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in.
Y/N turned away from the bar and slipped through the crowd, weaving past clusters of chatter and bursts of laughter until she found a side door leading to the balcony.
The balcony was quiet, the distant hum of the city below muffled by the soundproof glass doors behind her. A faint breeze teased at the edges of Y/N’s dress, the chill of the night air biting against her skin. She leaned against the railing, her champagne flute dangling loosely from her fingers, the golden liquid untouched.
The room inside had become too much—the laughter, the stolen glances, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on her chest. Out here, under the glow of the moon and the soft glitter of city lights, she could breathe.
But not for long.
The sound of the door sliding open made her stiffen. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“Y/N.” Jimin’s voice was soft, hesitant, but it carried through the still night air like a whisper in a cathedral.
Y/N didn’t look at her. “I was wondering when you’d come,” she said, her voice steady but devoid of warmth.
Jimin stepped closer, her heels clicking against the stone floor. “I just... needed to talk to you.”
That made Y/N laugh, low and humorless. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing as she finally met Jimin’s gaze. “Talk?” she repeated. “Now you want to talk?”
Jimin’s lips parted, but no words came. For the first time tonight, her polished composure wavered, cracks appearing in the armor she’d so carefully built.
“I saw the way you were looking at me,” Y/N continued, her tone sharper now. “Or maybe you were just trying to see through me. Is that it, Jimin? Hoping I’d disappear if you ignored me long enough?”
Jimin flinched, her hand tightening on the clutch she’d brought with her. “That’s not fair,” she murmured.
“Fair?” Y/N took a step forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “You think this is fair? Watching you play house with her while you look at me like—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Forget it.”
Jimin took a shaky breath, her voice quieter now. “I didn’t plan this, Y/N. I didn’t plan on you being here tonight.”
“And yet, here we are,” Y/N said, a bitter edge to her words. She swirled the champagne in her glass absently before setting it on the railing. “So, what do you want? To explain? To apologize? Or are you just here to make yourself feel better?”
“That’s not why—” Jimin started, but Y/N cut her off.
“Spare me,” Y/N said, her voice laced with exhaustion. She looked at Jimin, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “You chose her. Again. And maybe that’s what hurts the most—not that you left, but that you always seem to come back just to remind me of it.”
Jimin’s carefully constructed walls began to crack, her breathing uneven. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Y/N laughed again, shaking her head. “Congratulations. You failed.”
For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic below.
“I still think about you,” Jimin admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her gaze dropped to the ground, as if saying it out loud was too much to bear. “I see you everywhere—in my head, in my jokes, in the way I
” She trailed off, her voice breaking.
Y/N’s throat tightened, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, wry smile. “You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you.”
Jimin’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and glassy. She looked like she wanted to respond, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Look, Jimin,” Y/N said, her voice softening slightly, the sharp edges of her anger dulled by exhaustion. “I don’t want to be your regret. But I know I’ll always be your ghost.”
Jimin flinched at the word, her composure crumbling further. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but no words came. Instead, her hand lifted halfway, fingers trembling like they were caught between reaching for Y/N and letting go entirely.
“Don’t,” Y/N said quietly, her tone not harsh but resolute. The single word carried a finality that made Jimin’s hand falter. It dropped back to her side, and she took a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her own indecision.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered, barely audible over the soft hum of the city behind them.
Y/N’s gaze softened, but her expression remained unreadable. “Yeah,” she said after a long pause, her voice steady but distant. “Me too.”
The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, inches apart but separated by a chasm neither of them could cross. The memories between them felt alive, pressing down on the air, filling the space with everything they couldn’t say.
Jimin looked at Y/N one last time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking.
Y/N’s lips quirked into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “I know,” she replied, her words softer now. “But you did.”
For a moment, Jimin hesitated, as if she might stay, as if she might say something more. But the moment passed, and with visible reluctance, she turned and took a step back.
Her hand hovered on the glass door, her reflection ghosting over the city lights beyond. She paused, casting one last glance over her shoulder, her face shadowed with regret.
Y/N met her gaze evenly, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. There was no anger left in her expression, just a quiet resolve that made Jimin’s chest ache.
Jimin finally slid the door open and stepped back inside, leaving Y/N alone on the balcony.
Y/N didn’t move, even after the door slid shut behind Jimin, leaving her alone on the balcony once more. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as she leaned back against the railing. The chill of the metal seeped through her dress, grounding her even as her emotions churned.
She tilted her head back, letting her gaze drift to the stars scattered across the vast, inky sky. They seemed impossibly far away, distant and untouchable. For a moment, she envied them—their silence, their constancy.
The tears came quietly, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. She didn’t fight them. It wasn’t the kind of grief that demanded sobs or outbursts; it was quieter, more resigned. It wasn’t about what could have been anymore. It was about what never truly was.
There was no collapse, no shattering. Just a slow, aching acceptance of something she had always known deep down: Jimin had been a ghost in her life long before tonight. A flicker of light she had tried to hold onto, even as it slipped through her fingers.
Y/N wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t a smile born of joy, but of understanding—of the weight finally lifting, even if it left a scar behind.
The city stretched out before her, endless and alive. The buzz of traffic below, the distant glow of streetlights, the muffled hum of voices inside the venue—they were reminders that life continued, indifferent and unstoppable.
She was still here.
She straightened, pulling her shoulders back, the breeze teasing her hair as she turned to glance at the glass door. A part of her wondered if Jimin would come back, but the thought didn’t linger. Y/N no longer needed her to.
The party was beginning to slow, its earlier energy now replaced by a quieter, more reflective buzz. Conversations grew softer, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter that seemed to echo in the half-empty room.
The golden glow of the chandeliers felt warmer now, casting long shadows across the thinning crowd. The music had shifted too, slower and subdued, as if the night itself was winding down alongside the guests.
Y/N stood near the edge of the room, a fresh glass of champagne cradled in her hand. She hadn’t taken a sip yet, the glass more of a prop than a comfort. Her gaze wandered over the room, though her focus was elsewhere, her thoughts still tethered to the balcony.
Ghost.
The word lingered in her mind, heavy but strangely freeing. She had spent so much time fighting to hold onto pieces of what she and Jimin had shared, clinging to memories as if they could somehow make her whole again. But out on that balcony, as Jimin had walked away, Y/N had finally felt something shift.
It wasn’t closure—not entirely. Closure suggested an ending, clean and final. What she felt was more like an exhale, a slow loosening of the grip she had held on something she no longer needed.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The familiar voice drew her back to the present, and Y/N turned to find Irene standing beside her. The singer’s earlier, crowd-working smile had softened into something quieter, more personal.
“Not worth that much,” Y/N replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Irene chuckled, raising her own glass to her lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve had that look all night.”
“What look?”
Irene tilted her head, studying her. “The one that says you’re carrying something too heavy to set down, even though you want to.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, letting out a quiet laugh. “That obvious, huh?”
“To me, maybe,” Irene admitted, her tone gentle. She set her glass down and leaned in slightly. “You don’t have to tell me, but... if it helps, you’re not alone. Everyone’s haunted by something.”
The words hung in the air, simple but resonant, their weight settling over Y/N like a warm blanket. She let the silence stretch between them, her gaze shifting back toward the far side of the room.
There they were—Jimin and Minjeong.
Minjeong was speaking animatedly, her hands gesturing as she laughed at something Jimin had said. Jimin was smiling too, that soft, private smile Y/N had once known so intimately. They looked happy, a picture of comfort and stability that could have made Y/N ache.
But as she watched, Y/N caught something else. Jimin’s fingers tapped lightly against her glass, a nervous habit Y/N recognized all too well. There was a faint crease between her brows when Minjeong wasn’t looking, a flicker of something unspoken in her expression.
She’s carrying it too, Y/N thought.
The realization didn’t bring comfort exactly, but it brought something close to peace. They had both been changed, scarred in their own ways, but Y/N was no longer tethered to that pain.
She exhaled, the breath steady and deliberate, her grip on her glass loosening as she set it down. The weight wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter now, easier to bear.
“I think it’s time for me to go,” she said, turning back to Irene.
Irene nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “Sometimes leaving is the bravest thing you can do.”
Y/N smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving upward with a quiet gratitude. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it carried weight—a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Irene’s words. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, the movement simple yet deliberate, as if shedding the last remnants of hesitation.
The walk toward the exit felt longer than it should have, every step echoing with memories she was letting go. The golden glow of the chandeliers flickered over her, each footfall a quiet rebellion against the weight in her chest. Conversations buzzed faintly around her, their cadence softer now, as if the party itself was winding down.
As she reached the door, her hand brushed against the cool metal of the handle. Something made her glance back—a pull she couldn’t entirely resist.
Across the room, Jimin and Minjeong remained in their own world. Minjeong’s laugh floated through the air, light and uninhibited, and Jimin’s lips quirked into a smile that once had been reserved for Y/N. The pang in Y/N’s chest flared briefly, a sharp reminder of what was and what would never be again. But there was a difference now—an unexpected softness to the ache, like a bruise fading under time’s patient touch.
She turned back to the door, her fingers tightening briefly around the handle before she pushed it open. The night greeted her with a crisp embrace, the chill biting against her skin yet somehow refreshing. It was a stark contrast to the warmth of the venue, a reminder that outside those walls, life stretched on in endless, unpredictable patterns.
The city spread out before her, alive with a thousand stories, none of which she was beholden to. Y/N paused at the edge of the sidewalk, her breath visible in the night air. Tilting her head back, she let the city lights blur into the stars above, her heart settling into a calm rhythm she hadn’t felt in months.
“If you want forever, and I bet you do. Just know you'll taste me too”
“She’ll taste me every time.” The words slipped out softly, carried away by the breeze. They weren’t bitter or triumphant—just an acknowledgment of the truth she had lived.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of those words settle. They weren’t about holding on anymore. They were about release—a final reminder to herself that she had left her mark and didn’t need to keep proving it.
When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed sharper, more vibrant. The streetlights flickered against the pavement, and the distant hum of traffic reminded her of everything waiting beyond this moment.
With a steady breath, Y/N straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she began walking, each step sure and unwavering. The night stretched ahead, vast and full of potential, and for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to embrace it.
She didn’t need to look back.
She was done looking back.
The memories, the pain, and the lingering echoes of Jimin’s presence—they would always be a part of her, but they no longer defined her. Y/N was more than what she had lost. She was the sum of every moment she had survived, every choice she had made to stand back up.
As the cool night air wrapped around her, Y/N allowed herself a small, private smile. This wasn’t the end of her story—it was a new beginning.
She was ready to reclaim herself.
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narcjsistx · 7 months ago
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hii! I'm new to this platform and I haven't fully understood how it works yet... also, english is not my first language. but here are some headcanons <3
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
— Manjiro Sano in a relationship HCS ᥣ𐭩
Once put together, Toman (or at least, the famous members) necessarily have to know you. There are many reasons, first of all because he likes to show that he has such a cute girlfriend, then because in general they shouldn't cause you problems. Another reason, which however is more his personal thing, was to introduce you to the captains of each division in case, even if it never happens, you are in trouble and he is not there. they have a duty to protect you
He would be happy to go on outings with you, Emma and Draken often. Even if they are not a couple yet, even if he knows they like each other, he would maybe like to go out together. A motorcycle ride and a snack would be the perfect date with his best friend, his sister and his girlfriend
Even if you're not part of Toman, you still have one of their jackets. Mikey requested that Mitsuya make you one for your birthday, since you often steal his because, at least in your opinion, "it's the most comfortable thing in the world"
He doesn't particularly like seeing you alongside Sanzu. As much as he knows that Sanzu is loyal to him until death, the thought that he might be replaced by him just because he is "cooler" (at least in his vision) bothers him. He knows it's a thing EXTREMELY stupid, but he can't shake this idea
I don't know why but it gives me the idea of ​​being a person who feels like he's dying with a fever of 37.5. You've had to reassure him several times that no, with a fever of 38 he can't die horribly, but he thinks you lying to him. The bro hides the sadness of having lost his entire family but not that of having a slightly high fever
I have the idea that he is extremely clingy as a person. like... do you have to go out even for 5 minutes? perfect, he will be at your house in 2 minutes. don't you have to leave the house? he will still be at your house soon. he has an inner need for ever-present contact
I THINK HE LIKES NAILS WITH BLACK NAIL POLISH. NO ONE WILL TAKE THIS IDEA AWAY FROM ME
he doesn't want to you join Toman, simply because he knows how much chaos the gang can generate even inside of private life
he introduced you to his mother and brother. you two spent an entire afternoon near their graves and he described you as a very good girl who is saving him from something bigger than him
since you've been with him, you've found out about the ancient practice of "nap dates." it's not that they happen by chance, he also organizes them with a certain seriousness in reality... like, what pajamas, what blanket...
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wooyoungiewritings · 1 year ago
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Fire and water - Seonghwa x Reader
Summary: When you walk into the mechanic, you don't expect to see Seonghwa, the most intimidating person you've ever laid your eyes on. He's the complete opposite of you. But he opens the idea of something you've never considered, and before you know it, the door he has opened for you is already locked behind you.
Word count: 6K
Genre: SMUT
Warnings: smut, fem reader (fem pronouns), reader is very innocent and hwa is very not (lol), nicknames such as kitten and princess, oral sex (f receiving), hwa smokes, semi public sexual activities, lmk if I missed anything!
This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.
The intense smell of gasoline and oil fills your nose as you step into the unfamiliar space. Generic rock music plays from the radio and a few random posters hang on the walls. It doesn’t seem like the most professional place, but a car with an open hood in the middle of the room, assures you that you came to the right place. Your eyes scan the repair shop for someone to assist you, but the silence is enough of an answer for you. 
You knew you arrived at a late hour, having spent most of your day getting lost in the books at the library, but a part of you hoped you could make it before closing time. It was a simple Google search for the nearest mechanic that had you end up here, but you didn’t think twice to see the closing hours.
Your legs guide you further into the room, careful not to touch anything you shouldn’t. This is the first time you’ve been to the mechanic with your car that you bought a few months back. It was an already used car when you bought it, but you could get it cheap and desperately needed something to help you get to school. The feeling of being in here is intimidating in itself, having little to no knowledge of cars, but a lamp in your car display has been screaming for attention for way too long, you couldn’t ignore it anymore. 
“Are you lost?” The voice surprises you and you turn around to see a tall figure walking into the room. 
Seonghwa.
The tall, lean, beautiful man you’ve seen in the hallways of your university. He is always wearing an oversized old-school leather jacket, messy black hair, black nail polish, and has a cigarette in hand 24/7. He and his group are known on campus for being too intimidating to talk to, but somehow every time you see them, they each have a new girl wrapped around their finger. They party when everyone else is sleeping, don't care about what people are saying about them and they will fight if they have to. 
You’ve only spoken to him once when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl kissing in the library. You were searching for a specific book and made your way to the back rows of the library. As you were in your own head, you turned a corner and saw him with his tongue down her throat, her hands running through his (then) white hair. Your instant reaction was to freeze in your spot, panicking. This was the last thing you expected to see, especially at the library. 
As Seonghwa removed his gaze from the girl trapped between him and the shelves, and his eyes watched you carefully, you immediately woke up.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You quickly said, turning around. Cheeks quickly blushed, and you felt the embarrassment rush over you. Not even for them, but for you.
You heard the girl mumble something to Seonghwa, and a second later, she passed you and walked out of your sight. Heart pounding fast against your chest, you slowly turned around before your eyes landed on Seonghwa. Relaxed, he was leaning up against the shelf with his arms crossed, staring you down.
“You can take what you came for.” His low voice spoke. 
Slowly you walked further down the row, trying your best not to look at Seonghwa. Focused on the note in your hand with the book name you were searching for, you scanned the rows for the book. It seemed like an easy task, but you felt Seonghwa’s eyes locked on you with every move you made, making this simple mission impossible. 
Your eyes kept going over the same place again and again, slowly getting frustrated that you couldn’t get your shit together. 
As you looked down on the note again, reading the same line for the 29th time, you suddenly felt something watching over your shoulder. The smell of gasoline and cigarettes surrounded you, and it was like everything froze again. Seonghwa’s presence was close to you, but he wasn’t even touching you. You slowly turned your head to the side, and Seonghwa was peeking over your shoulder, looking down at the note in your hand. 
Not a word was said when he lifted his arm, grabbed a book, and handed it down to you. Your breathing stopped as you saw the book you were so desperately looking for, resting in Seonghwa’s hand. Your hands slowly reached out for the book, and you couldn’t help but look up and see his eyes watching you with no expression. You couldn’t tell what was going on behind those eyes. 
“Thank you.” You whispered, not being able to get more words out. 
“You’re welcome.” He answered coldly, still watching your every move. 
Was he pissed at you for interrupting? Was he tired? Was he happy? Relieved? You had absolutely no idea.
So you quickly saw your opportunity to get away, sending him an awkward smile before you practically ran away.
And that was the first and only time you’ve spoken to Seonghwa. Until now. 
“No, I was looking for someone to help me.” You say, knowing he’s been waiting for an answer for a little too long. “I need an oil change.”
He takes a few steps further into the room, and you notice the white towel in his hands, filled with black oil stains. He’s wearing a black tank top and jeans, also filled with black stains.
You didn’t know much about him, and you had no idea that he worked here. Looking back though, it made sense for you. He was often seen with a “dirty” outfit, with black oil stains on his clothes and skin.
“Brave of you to walk in here in an all-white outfit,” His eyes travel down your body, and you suddenly feel small. You look down at yourself in your white cardigan, white skirt, and white knee socks. Of course, you didn’t think much of it when you put your outfit together this morning. “Give me five minutes, I just need to finish this,” He walks closer to the parked car in the room, throwing the white cloth over so it rests on his shoulder. 
Restless, not knowing what to do with yourself, you step closer to the wall, trying your best not to be in his way. “Careful standing too close to that, or you’ll get oil on your skirt. It stains. You can sit on the stool over there while you wait.” He points at a black stool in the corner and you quickly find your way over there so you can let him work in peace.
You take your time studying the place, not knowing if it’s normal to have a conversation at a place like this. How long will this take? Does he own this place? Should you leave him alone? You decide to focus on the rock music playing while you silently watch Seonghwa do his thing.
He’s leaning over the open hood of the car, screwing something and rubbing his hands in the white cloth after. You might not have any idea of how to repair cars, but he makes whatever he does look so easy. He knows exactly what to do and how to do it. 
He closes the hood of the car and walks to the other corner of the room. You can’t see what he’s pressing, but suddenly the metal wall behind you goes up, and you look behind you to see other cars parked outside. It rolls all the way up, and Seonghwa walks to the car, gets in, and drives it out of the room and to the parking lot. 
You silently watch him as he comes back and walks towards you. “Alright, can I have your keys?” He asks, reaching out his hand. You’re quick to hand him the key with a heart keyring attached, and there’s a tug on his lips as it’s placed in his hand. “Be right back.” 
A moment later, he arrives in your car, parks it in the middle of the room, and walks out to close the metallic garage door again. Once it’s closed, he grabs a few things from racks on the walls and walks to your car.
“You want me to do a routine maintenance check as well? I have the time.” He asks as he opens the hood.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to.” You say as confidently as possible. Truth be told, you just want to have your car fixed so you can go home. Seonghwa doesn’t respond, he just grabs a mechanic’s dolly, lays his back on top and suddenly his upper half is under your car. A few moments pass by in silence, the only thing filling the air is the music playing and the sounds of metal crashing as he works, and he rolls back out and goes to work in the front trunk. Leaning over your car, working and changing the oil, he once again looks professional and focused, and that makes you curious.
“You work here a lot?” You ask.
“Yeah, every day pretty much.” His back is turned to you, but you see him pull out a pack of cigarettes. He places one in his mouth, flicks the lighter, and a cloud of smoke escapes. His body turns towards you, the pack of cigarettes in hand. “Want one?”
“No, thank you.” You shake your head. He continues to work on your car, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Is that safe?”
“What?” 
“Smoking. While doing that.” You point to the car. You’ve seen too many movies including fire and cars, so a quick concern washes over you, scared that a huge fire would suddenly occur. 
“Smoking is never safe. You’re always playing with death when turning one on. If you’re asking if it’s safe to smoke over an open hood, then it’s inconsequential. Your car won’t blow up if that’s what's worrying you.” He glances back at you. His black hair is pushed back, but a few strands have fallen down into his face.
“If it’s not safe then why do you do it?” You can’t help but ask, curious if he really doesn’t care or if it’s just an act.
“Helps me concentrate.” He simply answers, going back to work. “What about you?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“No, do you do anything that's bad for you?” Another cloud of smoke fills the space around him, and he rubs his hands in the white cloth, leaving black stains. The black oil on his hands blends in with his black nail polish, and somehow it looks good. 
Just like he was that one time in the library, he’s once again impossible to read. And his question leaves you silent for a moment, not knowing what to answer.
“Oh
 Uhm, I don’t know. I don’t think so.” You shrug, and a light scoff comes from Seonghwa.
“Shocking.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Your brows come together in question.
His body turns to you, eyes going down to your outfit, hand gesturing to you. “You look like you’d be spending a week in church if you walked across a red light on the street.” There’s a small tug on his lips as he speaks. He’s entertained by you. You look like the complete opposite of him. In your white outfit, knee-high socks, and white little skirt you look like a saint next to him in his all dirty, messy black clothes. Like fire and water, you're the opposites.
“Well, I don’t.” You say.
“You don’t have to take it as a bad thing. Church girls can be full of surprises.” There's something hidden in the way he says it, and the smirk on his lips makes your cheeks blush. “I’ve seen you at school, you know. Often at the library, surrounded by academic books you probably read just for fun.”
“Well, I like the idea of knowledge. It gets you further in life.”
“It depends, doesn’t it? Don’t you think knowledge can hold you back from doing certain things too?”
“Maybe. But I also just like staying at the library. It’s fun.”
Another scoff leaves him, and you get the feeling that he’s mocking you. 
“What?”
“If your idea of ‘fun’ is reading at the library, then I’d love to see you on a Saturday night.” He sends you a smirk before going back to focusing on the car. His back muscles tense as he works over the open hood, and you can’t help but stare. The black tank top really does him justice as he moves his arms around, and you shake your head, trying to focus on something else.
“What do you study?” You ask, trying to change the subject.
“Business, language and culture.”
“So you don’t wanna be a mechanic?” 
“Still figuring it out.” He answers shortly. “You study what?”
"Psychology.”
"So, those biochemistry books I see you with at the library really are just for fun?" He raises an eyebrow and smirks, making you feel annoyed that he has you figured out so easily.
“As I said, I think knowledge gets you further in life.” You justify. He shakes his head in disbelief and you hear something close to a chuckle leave him. The sound is nice, especially since you’ve never heard or even seen this man smile. So this small chuckle is enough for you to continue this small banter you have going. “You don’t look like the type to go to the library.” 
“I don’t think we use the library for the same reasons.” He turns around toward you again and takes a long drag of his cigarette. He leans up against your car as your eyes lock on his figure, eyes piercing on you as he blows out the smoke. “Do you know about the library’s back room, princess?” His nickname for you makes your mind blank, and you shake your head no. “Proves my point.”
“What’s the back room?” You’re curious.
He’s studying you for a moment before answering. “A place to fuck.” 
Like a switch, your entire expression changes and you feel your cheeks heat up. Never have you heard of this ‘back room’ before. No, you probably (absolutely, most certainly) wouldn’t even use it if you had known about it, but it shocks you that it’s a thing. 
Seonghwa’s smirk grows on his lips as he studies your face. “Your expression says it all. You’re such a good girl you couldn’t even hide it if you wanted to.” 
You fall silent for a moment, not knowing what to say or how to move on from here. Until you’re reminded of the first time you spoke to Seonghwa.
“I saw you at the library once. With a girl.” You say shortly.
“Yeah, I remember. The back room was occupied so I took her down to the part of the library no one comes to. Well, except you.” The way his eyes are locked on you while talking about this is making your heart beat faster. 
“Is it even allowed?” 
“Would it ruin you to break the rules once in a while? Have you ever had sex in public before?”
“N-no!” Your cheeks are burning at this point.
“Don’t hate it till you try it. It's thrilling.” You’re not sure but you think you see him send you a wink as the smirk grows on his lips. A few more strands of hair have fallen down in his eyes, framing his face perfectly, before he runs his hand through his hair to push it back. It makes you fall under his trance for a moment, but you quickly flicker your eyes away, scared to fall for the beautiful brown eyes of his.
“So what, you only go to the library to sleep with someone? You don’t think there’s a better place to make love?”
“‘Make love’, how adorable.” Seonghwa is full-on smiling at this point, enjoying this conversation the more it escalates. The way your cheeks reddened, the slight shake in your voice, your flickering eyes. It’s clear to him that you’re not used to talking about these kinds of things, and he loves it. 
“I don’t see what’s funny.” You say.
“You make love on your honeymoon. You fuck everywhere else.” He says, as a matter of fact. 
“I don’t.” You disagree, fighting to keep your eyes on him and not back down from his piercing ones.
“No, I figured.” Another cloud of smoke leaves his lips and frames his face before continuing to fix the car, still looking back at you occasionally as you’re having this conversation. “You’re seeing anyone?”
“No.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. His gaze on you seems so intimidating, even his presence itself. There’s a confidence, almost an arrogance to him that makes him so unnerving. But despite this, you can’t help but ask further. “Do you? Since you use the ‘back room’?”
“You only fuck-” He stops himself and holds his hands up. “Excuse me, make love, with people you date?” His questions make you fall silent for a few seconds.
You don’t know Seonghwa well, so this conversation is not exactly what you expected. This question could also open an entirely new topic of conversation that you weren’t sure would be comfortable for either of you.
The conversation about sex is not normal for you, especially since you’re not the most experienced. Despite having been in a relationship with the guy who took your virginity, it didn’t end the way you had dreamed of. 
You had always romanticized the thought of losing your virginity to the person you would spend the rest of your life with, but when you found out he had cheated on you during your relationship, your world crumbled. At the time, all of your insecurities came to life, and despite knowing you had done nothing wrong in the relationship to prevent this, you couldn’t help but feel like you had done something wrong when it came to sex.
With time, you promised yourself not to let your ex have an effect on you, so you did everything you could to gain back your confidence, and you did.
You clear your throat, taking your time to find the right answer. “Well... I’ve only made love to one person and that was my ex. So yes.”
“And you only stayed in the bedroom?” 
A moment of silence.
“Yes, we did. I just don’t understand why you would do it anywhere but in the bedroom. There’s literally a bed, I can’t imagine how uncomfortable everything else must be.
Seonghwa throws his head back before looking at you in disbelief. “I didn’t think you could get any more good. You must be first in line to heaven when doomsday comes.” He puts his smoke out in the ashtray on a working table next to the car. “Public sex is not about how comfortable it is. And just because it’s public, does not mean people are watching you. That’s a whole other kink.” Seonghwa is slowly making his way towards you on the stool. His large frame is closing in on you, speaking in a lower volume as he’s coming closer. “It’s the feeling of someone possibly being able to see. Having to keep quiet, being close, finding whatever excuse you have to leave and drag the other person into a random room. Comfortability is not a necessity at that point. Then you don’t care if you fuck in a bed, against a table, or the hood of a car.” 
He’s standing right in front of you. You try your best to control your breathing as he looks down at you, you have to look up at him through your eyelashes. The smell of cigarettes surrounds you as he is near, but there’s also an obvious pull of something dangerous yet addicting when being close to him. You don’t know where it comes from, but you can't help but want more. 
You’ve never caught yourself thinking of Seonghwa this way, but he’s awfully good at wrapping you around his finger and thinking of things you’ve never had before.
“So what, how does this ‘backroom’ work?” You suddenly ask, almost surprising yourself. What did you want with the information? You have no idea.
Seonghwa finds your questions endearing. The innocence in your voice has him smiling, letting you see his perfect teeth. You’ve never looked at him so closely, you find yourself so fascinated by him. The raw, scary persona he is, but yet his face is perfectly made like an angel. Soft and beautiful. You suddenly find yourself completely under his spell, studying his every feature.
“What, tempted to give it a try? I can show you if you’re interested.” There’s a hint of something in his voice, you can’t tell if he’s kidding, but even the thought of him taking you to the room, has you notice a certain heat between your legs.
“N-no, I’m just curious.” Your voice shakes from how close he is to you along with his words.
“Careful with that. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” He then steps back and walks back to the car to continue working on it as if nothing happened. Seonghwa is working over the open hood, unaware of how he left you feeling inside. 
Your heart is beating fast against your chest as he casually works in front of you. Like he turned on something inside of you, you suddenly notice things about him you didn’t before. How his hand curls around the wrench, how his shirt lifts when leaning over the car, exposing the skin on his waist, and how his muscles tense when he works. His jeans hang low, just below his waist, revealing even more skin and you somehow can’t help but look.
“Getting awfully quiet over there, princess. Your mind running?” Seonghwa’s head turns to you, catching you looking at him. Your eyes go to his, and you both freeze. He studies your face for a few seconds before grabbing the hood of the car and closing it. You both look at each other, a certain tension between you.
“Come here,” Seonghwa says as he leans against the car. Your body hesitates to do as he says, but you eventually cave in and get down from the stool to slowly make your way towards him. 
Seonghwa throws the white cloth on the table before looking down at you. The smell of cigarettes and oil enhances again as you’re close to him, and Seonghwa taps the hood of the car with his hand. You look at the hood, suddenly unsure of everything you do, but push the thoughts away and jump up on the hood to sit. Your feet dangle, but you freeze when Seonghwa steps in front of you, resting his hands on either side of you. 
“You’re thinking of something special?” His low voice asks. He’s searching for your eyes, but your heart is pounding and your eyes struggle to stay in one place. The heat between your legs is driving you insane, never having felt like this before.
“No... Maybe.”
His eyes continue to study your face. His expression is still impossible to read, yet his actions make you feel a whole new type of way.
“Look... I’d gladly take you, right here right now, if you want. We don’t even have to fuck, I can just make you cum if that’s what you want.” His bluntness throws you off, yet you didn’t expect those words to have such a big impact on you.
“Won’t someone come in? Or hear?” You worry.
“No. They won’t.” He whispers, slowly leaning forward. 
You can’t tell what’s happening, even if you had a gun to your head. Seonghwa is not someone you should be spending time with. He’s the complete opposite of you, yet that draws you in like nothing else.
“Okay.” You cave in.
Not a second later, Seonghwa’s lips are on yours. Everything is happening so fast, that your brain isn’t even realizing who you’re kissing. The guy you’ve seen scare people away from their seats is having his hands on you, pulling you closer for a kiss. His tongue slips through your lips and you allow his every move. 
It’s a whole new experience to kiss someone like Seonghwa. The taste, the moves, the desire. He knows what he’s doing, and the confidence shines through, even just through the kiss.
He pulls back, leaving you thirsty for more, and a small tug on Seonghwa’s lips assures you that this is actually going to happen. “First
 How do you usually like it, kitten? How do you like for someone to make you cum?” He whispers.
“I’m not.. no one has ever... I mean-”
“No one has made you cum before?”
You try analyzing his question in your mind before you shake your head no. 
“I thought you had a boyfriend a while back?”
“I did..”
There’s a short moment of silence where Seonghwa just reads your face and takes in what you just told him. “So let me get this straight... You only had mediocre, boring vanilla sex with this guy, he never made you cum and you still dated him?” He lifts an eyebrow, trying to understand the situation. You slowly nod, confirming his question. “Did he ever cum?”
“Every time.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding... Now that’s just selfish of him,” He removed a piece of hair from your face and leaned his face closer to your ear. You felt him slowly press his lips on the soft spot on your neck before gracing his lips over your ear. “Can I get the pleasure to be the one to make you cum, princess?”
“Y-yes.” You’re almost panting at this point, craving his touch more than you’d ever expect. Seonghwa holds your face in his hands as he presses his lips hard against yours again. The smell of cigarettes surrounds you as you get lost in him, yet you for some reason get addicted to the idea of him. Like he’s your kind of nicotine.
“I’ll try not to get oil all over you.” He assures as pulls away from you.
“That’s okay.” You tell him, suddenly not caring about the stains. This makes Seonghwa’s lips turn into a smirk, slightly amazed at the sudden change in you. His hands run up your thigh, leaving black stains from his fingerprints on your skin.
“You like the idea of my fingerprints on you? Looking in the mirror when you get home and seeing my hands on your thighs?” He goes to kiss your neck as his fingers dig into the flesh on your things. Unable to speak, you nod, wanting him to touch you even more. “Lean back for me, kitten.”
You scoop further back on the hood of your car, leaning back on your elbows to get a view of Seonghwa. His hands go to your hips to drag down your underwear till it completely leaves your body. The cold air hits your heat as Seonghwa parts your legs to lean over the hood and get a better view of your cunt. 
“Gosh, you’re glistening, princess. Are you that wet already? The idea of cumming in a public space is turning you on now?” 
You don’t get to react before his tongue suddenly slides between your folds, getting a long taste of you. The feeling makes you gasp, but you quickly cover your mouth with your hand, silencing yourself as much as possible.
“You taste so sweet, kitten.” He continues taking long strokes in between your folds, making sure to lick your clit as well. You look down to see his fingerprints on your thighs, turning you on even more. A moan escapes through your lips as he starts focusing on your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue on the sensitive nub. You can barely say anything as he takes his time, eating you like he craves you. 
“I can’t believe someone had the chance to make you cum, and he didn’t even do it right.” Seonghwa shakes his head with a smirk before taking a few more deep licks against your pussy. “How embarrassing of him.”
“Will you... do it right, then?” You asked, looking at him with doe eyes. Seonghwa stands up further to look down at you spread out on the hood in front of him. His fingers, still stained slightly with black oil, go to your chin, and tilts your head up slightly to get a better look at him. 
“Kitten, you’re gonna wish you came to me sooner when I’m done with you.” The look in his eyes almost works like a promise before he leans down to your pussy again. “Tell me how you like it, princess. Use your words.” 
Once again you have to fight yourself to get actual words out when he runs his tongue between your folds again. This time, he focuses on your hole, slipping his tongue in before licking up your pussy again. 
“Like that... That’s really g-good.” You manage to get out, already feeling the shocks through your body when he licks the right places. 
“Fuck, you taste so good.” He spits down on your pussy before going back and to lick it again. Your legs slowly give up, but Seonghwa holds them open, allowing him full view and access. He goes back to sucking your clit, making you moan through your hand once again. “Best cunt I’ve tasted, kitten. Sweeter than anything.”
His tongue works around, he knows what he’s doing. He occasionally looks up at you, making eye contact as he runs his tongue between your folds. This makes you go absolutely crazy, seeing him go down on you like this. Eating, slurping you up. The sounds from the repair shop are out of this world, filled with your moans and him slurping all the juices from your pussy.
“Please don’t stop.” You throw your head back in pleasure, slowly feeling your orgasm approach. 
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grins. His mouth goes to your clit again, sucking and rolling his tongue over it. Restless with your hand, it goes to his hair and you grab a handful. The black locks in your hand look amazing as his face is against your cunt, eating and licking you up. Your abandonment starts to send shocks through your body, Seonghwa having to lock your legs down so he can continue. 
The feeling is overwhelming, you can barely hold back your moans anymore. His tongue is flat against your pussy as he flicks your clit with the tip, making sure to hit all the best spots. He works fast, barely letting you get used to one way before he moves next to the new. 
“Seonghwa, I’m gonna-” You moan his name as the feeling of your orgasm quickly starts to form. Lastly, his tongue goes to your clit, sending you over the edge. Your whole body is a shaking, moaning mess as he eats you out of your orgasm. He doesn’t miss a spot as he slurps up the juices from your pussy, licking you one last time, everywhere, before separating himself from you.
You look up to see his chin glistening from your orgasm. He has a smirk on his lips as he pulls you up to sit and presses his lips against yours. Quickly, a specific taste of something mixes as you kiss, his tongue added as well. 
“You taste yourself on my tongue?” He asks confidently, and you quickly realize what the taste is. You. “Amazing, don’t you think?” He smirks before giving you one last kiss before pulling slightly away. He stays between your legs as you scoop forward a bit, still on the hood but with your feet dangling now. 
“Should I.. with you?” You almost whisper.
“No need, princess. Eating your pretty pussy was enough for me.” He smirks as he places his hands on each side of you. You blush again, never having someone comment on your pussy before, but you can’t help but like how it sounds coming from him. “So.. first time having someone make you cum and it being in a public space. What do you think?”
“It was.. fun.” You admit, speaking the truth. The rush of doing it here, with Seonghwa, at his place of work was not something you ever expected to happen, but it had a thrill you never felt before.
“See, that we can agree is ‘fun’. You have school tomorrow?” The change of subject throws you off for a second, having to get your mind clear after just having the biggest orgasm of your life.
“Yeah,” You reply, remembering something important, “How much do I owe you?” Your words leave him with a wrinkle between his brows. 
“For eating you out?” 
“N-no! For the uhh.. the car.”
He looks somewhat relieved after you clarify, “Oh... I don’t know, it’s hard to say. I know you said you didn’t want a maintenance check but I couldn’t help but notice that your serpentine belt is filled with cracks.” 
You don’t even know what a serpentine belt is.
“What does that mean?” You ask.
“That means that it’ll break at some point and then you’ll risk getting stuck in the middle of the road because your car can’t drive.” He explains, and you suddenly understand the situation. You can't help but notice how quick he is to move on, talking about your car after he just had his tongue in between your folds.
You know he's not a stranger to sex, but that also intimidates you.
“Oh..”
He reads your expression for a second as you try to figure out what to do. You don’t want to be stuck in the middle of the road when driving, knowing that’s gonna be even more expensive. But it’s late, so leaving your car here would mean that you would have to order a cab or take the bus.
“I’m done here for the day. How about I give you a ride home? Then we’ll drive here together from school tomorrow, I’ll finish your car, and you’ll get to drive home in a car that doesn’t have the risk of crashing down at any moment?” 
You look up at him to see his expression back to its usual unreadable one, “I mean... If that’s okay with you?” You ask.
This makes him smile. He looks down on your thighs to see the stains he left on you, before meeting your eyes again.
“Of course, kitten. I’ll just grab my stuff.” 
He then disappears away and into another room, leaving you on the hood of your car. The fingerprints on your thighs are a raw indication of what has happened tonight, and you’re sure your clothes are stained with black oil as well. 
When he arrives again, he’s wearing his black leather jacket. You follow him to his car outside, and he drives you home. When you arrive at your apartment, you can’t help but look in the mirror immediately. Seonghwa’s fingerprints are all over your thighs and hips, almost marking you. Your cardigan, skirt, and socks all have stains on them, and there’s a slight embarrassment in your gut when thinking of what happened tonight. 
You can’t help but feel embarrassed at the thought of seeing Seonghwa in the hallways of the university, especially since he has to pick you up from school tomorrow and go back to the place where he just gave you your biggest orgasm. But even so, you’re even more tempted to walk through the door he just opened for you. The wilder side, the dangerous and unfamiliar. 
It makes you blush even thinking of him, and when your phone suddenly buzzes in your hand, you’re shocked to see a certain name on your screen.
Seonghwa made you save his contact when dropping you off, saying it was for future car problems. But you didn't expect a text already, and you know the door he has opened for you, is already locked behind you. 
Seonghwa See you tomorrow, kitten
Taglist: @canigotosleep--plz (comment if you wanna be added to my taglist!)
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itsnevercasual · 10 months ago
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Uptown Girl
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pairing: fashion designer!harry x younger!fashion designer!reader
summary: you’re working in a designer boutique, and just so happen to have a late entrance when world-renowned designer harry styles visits for a collaboration. he seems to take a liking to you, and you aren’t sure if that makes you relieved or more anxious
warnings: some cursing, not edited as usual
-
harry styles was a well-known name. ceo and founder of pleasing, a nail polish and perfume company. he also owned many other companies, but really, there were too many to keep track of. he was also, most importantly, one of the biggest fashion icons.
you were very familiar with him— had saved up every penny when you were younger to buy a pleasing perfume and now owned a very small collection of their nail polishes.
so, of course, you lost your shit when you found out he’d be coming into your job.
you were a fashion design major at nyu, and had gotten a job at a very esteemed designer (not one of the name brands, but still). although you did expect the job to have more opportunities to.. actually design fashion, you were still grateful nonetheless.
it was just your luck that the day that harry styles was coming in, you were late. it wasn’t your fault! really, it wasn’t! you were always on time because you got anxious at the mere thought of being late.
by the time you parked, you practically ran to the store, silently praying you wouldn’t break a leg as you were running in heels.
“i’m not late am i?” you ask breathlessly as you finally enter the store, fixing your hair and outfit.
you had curled your hair the night before, so they were still pretty much intact. your outfit consisted of black heels, brown dress pants, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck.
“yes, y/n. you are late,” your boss gave you a look, and you knew you’d be in trouble. “mr. styles, i am so sorry. our employs are.. usually punctual.”
your head snaps over to look in the direction she was talking, and your heart drops when you make eye contact with harry styles.
great.
“mr. styles, i am so sorry,” you apologize.
“it’s perfectly alright,” he gives a kind smile.
that makes you feel a bit better.
“y/n, a word in my office please.”
you deflate as you look back to your boss and follow her to her office
the second the door is closed, she’s chewing you out.
“how unprofessional can you be? i know you are in college, but jesus christ!”
“i’m sorry! there was so much traffic, and my car is so old it stops working if i go faster than 50, and—“
“i don’t need excuses,” she cuts you off. “i need you to be more professional.”
you inhale, “i am sorry, but it was not my fault. i have never once been late before, and you know that. it was a one-time mistake.”
“it better be.”
she walks out and slams the door to the office, leaving you alone in there.
you look up to the ceiling as you bite your lip and try not to cry.
after taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you walk back out into the otherwise empty store and slap a smile on your face.
you do your usual tasks of tidying the store and fixing the mannequins.
mr. styles, his team, and your boss (her name was diane but she was more like satan) were all working on sketching designs and throwing some fabrics onto the mannequins to get a rough idea of what they wanted.
“i don’t know if i like it,” mr. styles murmurs, staring at the mannequin. you glace over at it and have to force yourself to not make a face.
no shit, he didn’t like it. it was bad.
the sketch was good, but the color combination was all wrong and the whole thing was too.. chunky. in the way that everything was flowy and baggy, so it had no shape.
“well, what do you not like about it?” diane asks.
“i’m not sure. it doesn’t look quite right.”
“you have to fix the shape,” you say to yourself as you fix the files of custom orders to be done.
“what was that?”
your head snaps up, and you realize he heard you.
“oh. uh.. i was just—“
“talking to herself,” diane interrupts, glaring at you. “she’s an intern. don’t mind her.”
“no, i’d like to hear what she has to say. might have the answer to our issue. let’s hear it— what was your name again?”
“y/n l/n,” you squeak out.
“well, y/n, what do you think is wrong?”
you hesitantly walk over, “well.. i can see the idea. but it’s just not.. executed well. the whole thing is too flowy.”
“isn’t the point for it to flow?” he asks, raising a brow.”
“it is,” you answer quickly, “but.. there has to be something that isn’t as.. baggy, i suppose. something has to be tight-fitting. it doesn’t have any shape. it just kinda.. looks like a box.”
he stares at you for a moment, and diane clears her throat.
“y/n, this is time for the professionals. get back to—“
“no, diane. she is.. she’s right. it does need shape.”
at his words, the people around him begin to pin it differently.
“and the colors,” you rush out. “the colors don’t.. it’s supposed to be a statement piece, right?”
“that’s the goal,” he nods.
“well.. the colors are too.. light. they’re more pastel, which is fine, but for it to really be a statement, it’s better to use brighter ones. or at least make one of them brighter. i would.. i think make the base the brighter one.”
diane looks ready to kill you.
mr. styles laughs, “well, don’t you know a lot? diane, where did you find her? wish my interns knew half as much as her.”
your face grows hot.
“she’s a student,” diane sighs.
“a student?” he asks.
“i
 uh.. i study fashion at nyu. fashion design— i’m in my last year.”
he seems to sense that you're damn near about to shit your pants, because he grins at you (slightly patronizing, but also kind), before turning back to diane.
"i'd like her to be with me for the rest of the project. y/n, darling, how much are y'makin' here?"
your stutter, "uh--... $15 an hour."
he tuts his tongue like that's horrible, "i'll pay.. ten times that while y'workin' with me."
your eyes widen, "wh-- that's not-- you don't have to--"
"nonsense. it's what most people i work with start with. i'll up it if needed, of course. and you obviously don't have to, but i'd love your insight."
"i-- no, i-- i'd love to, i.."
"great," he grins, and you're extremely dizzy. what the hell was going on?
"uh.. mr. styles, if i may give my opinion," diane pipes up.
"you may," he eyes her skeptically.
"y/n is a student. she's still learning, and she's never worked on anything here. it's very risky to--"
he cuts her off by asking you a question, "have you designed things? sketched 'em out and all that?"
you nod.
"i'd hope you've also done the whole... actually sewing things together and really making them?"
you nod again.
he turns back to diane, "seems like she's got experience," he looks back to you, "do y'have photos of any of those?"
"yeah-- they're.. i think i left them in my car. i have photos on my phone."
"we'll meet later to look at all that, then. i'll give you my number later. for now.. i'd like your input on our other ideas."
-
for the rest of the day, you follow harry around, and you sort of feel like a lost puppy just following him around and answering when he asks something of you.
after a while, you got more comfortable giving your input without being prompted, but you always tiptoed around what you were really trying to get at in fear that you'd anger him.
at the end of day, he put your number in his phone with the promise that he'd text you later about more details.
-
the text came three days later.
From: (Maybe): Harry
Hello, Y/N. This is Harry. Would you be free to meet tomorrow at noon to discuss the details of the project? Please bring your sketches and any photos of designs you've done, and anything else you feel necessary.
To: Harry Styles
Hi! I should be free tomorrow, yeah. Where do you want to go?
From: Harry Styles
I'll let you decide.
To: Harry Styles
There is this one coffee shop named Maman?
Sent Location: 239 Centre St, New York, NY
From: Harry Styles
Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Have a nice rest of your day.
To: Harry Styles
You too!
-
you spend the rest of your night fretting about what to wear. you were stuck in between classy but not too fancy, but also not too casual. comfy, but not so comfy that you looked like you didn't give a shit. but also not so uncomfortable that you were, well, uncomfortable, and looked like you were trying too hard.
you'd eventually settled for something simple. long, light-wash denim skirt, a plain black top, and some mary janes. you tied some of your hair back with a white ribbon, did some natural makeup, and called it a day.
you got to the coffee shop at 11:45 and ordered your drink, as well as a chocolate croissant.
harry walked in at exactly 12:00, and grinned when he saw you sitting at a table, scrolling on your phone with a manilla folder and sketchbook beside you.
-
really, you can't blame him! you were pretty, he'd have to be blind to not know that. and really, you weren't that much younger than him.
he's 29, and you're 23. he's not a stalker, he just did a background check like any good business person would do.
so what he finds you cute? the relationship would be strictly professional. besides, you deserved a break from your horrible boss. contrary to what diane thought, the walls were not soundproof, and he could hear her chewing you out.
sure, he'd done that to one of his employees once or twice, but it was always deserved, and never on the first time of being late. that was ridiculous.
"good morning, y/n," he greets. your head snaps up to make eye contact and he has to force himself to not laugh. he wasn't laughing at you, per se. it was more so the fact that he found it amusing how jumpy you seemed around him.
"good morning. did you order?"
"not yet. never been here, so i've got no clue what's good."
you open your mouth to respond, but the barista calls out, "large iced honey lavender latte with a pain au chocolat for y/n!"
you give a sheepish smile and run up to retrieve your food and drink. when you come back, you take a sip of your drink and set what looks to be a chocolate croissant down on the table.
"well, i'm more of an iced coffee girl. and i also don't really like the taste of coffee, so i've got a bunch of sugar in mine. what do you usually drink?"
"'m more of a black coffee, to be honest. iced is fine, but hot's better."
you wrinkle your nose, "i don't know how you stand the taste of coffee. it's so bitter."
"better than what you've got!" he laughs, "might as well just down a sugar packet."
you giggle at his teasing, "only psychos drink plain black coffee. this," you hold up your drink, "is so much better."
"oh, is it now?"
"yes, it is," you cross your arms proudly.
"lemme have a taste."
you hand over the drink, and he takes a small sip before coughing, "christ, y/n! that cannot be good for your health!"
"hey, i'm still alive, aren't i?" you shrug.
“that you are.”
“well
 just ask for an americano, i guess. the rest of their drinks are kinda sugary and fun.”
he got his drink, and once the both of you were sat down, he got to business.
“so, how long have you been designing?”
“i’ve been doing it since middle school. i.. uh.. i saw that one american girl doll movie. where she was a designer. and i just got obsessed. obviously they weren’t good, but
”
“so you’ve got a lot of experience then?”
you nod. he grins.
“may i see the sketches?”
you grab the folder off the top of the sketchbook and pass it over to him.
he flips through it in silence for a few minutes, and you anxiously nibble at the skin around your fingernails.
“..so?” you ask.
“they’re great. really, you’ve got talent. i can’t draw for shit, so you’ve got me beat,” he laughs.
you laugh with him, “most of those are just ideas, i’ve never made them. but i have photos of the ones i have made. i printed them so it’s easier.”
you pass over the manilla folder, and he opens it to look at all the photos you’d printed out. there was around fifty— those were just the ones you actually liked and were confident showing.
he holds one up, and your cheeks flush. “why’s this the only one where you’re the model?” he asks.
“that was.. uh.. that’s my senior prom dress.”
his eyes widen, giving you an impressed look, “you made your own prom dress?”
you nod, “i just wanted something very specific, so.. i figured i’d just make it myself.”
“y’look great— the dress looks great,” he coughs. “you’re very talented.”
“thank you,” you blush.
“so tell me why someone as talented as you is working in diane’s shop not designing a single thing?”
“i didn’t realize that was the job. i just got excited when my professor told me they were interested in my work, so i took the job. i thought i’d at least do a little designing, but.. it pays.. decent, though.”
he scoffs, “darling, 15 bucks an hour is not decent pay. that’s what you make being a hostess. you’re an artist. someone would pay thousands of dollars for just your sketches.”
“i don’t think i’m that good—“
“you are,” he’s firm. resolute. there is no room for argument with him. “i think you’ll be a great asset to the project. i could use your
 talent. i’ll send you an email with the nitty gritty details. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”
and with that, he stands and leaves, leaving you to sit there, dumbfounded, confused, and grinning.
-
a/n: guys i have too many series going on 😭😭
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heard-nsfw-is-back · 1 year ago
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Eddie loses a ring and he's a little confused but he's put his stuff in strange places before. He's lost it for a week and now he just wants to find it as a matter of principle. His rings are specific and hard to find so he always makes sure to (not) buy them when he sees them. Another week goes by and he meets up with Steve. They're going bowling and he puts his rings in the glove box where he finds his missing ring. "Oh for the. There you are!" Happily, Eddie carefully deposits the other rings in the glove box and Steve just smiles and shakes his head.
They go bowling and Steve wins this time and Eddie treats him to some funnel cake. "I could make this at home you know. It'll be just as good." Eddie gapes, mockingly offended. "All food tastes better when it comes from a questionable source, Harrington. Remember that." Steve rolls his eyes and flicks some sugar at him.
Eddie gets dropped off and he grabs his rings, making sure he's not missing any again, before sliding out the car. Steve blows him a kiss and Eddie mimes grabbing and swallowing it. "Chew your food Munson." And Steve drives away. Eddie crawls in to bed before sitting up. Damn, he missed prime swallowing jokes opportunities.
Years go by and Eddie and Steve are sitting in bed. They've been dating for a while and Steve is holding Eddie's hand messing with the fresh nail polish he did. "Don't mess up my artist's work. He wouldn't appreciate it." Eddie admonished, teasing. Steve smiled and pulls his hand down for a kiss. "Would you ever want to get married?" Steve asks and Eddie could feel his shoulders tense. "Yeah I mean. Yes. I think so. I mean I wouldn't need it. I'd be ok just. I mean it's not legal." Steve hums. "I'd marry you." Eddie starts going through every ring he'd pass by.
Steve slides out of the bed and kneels on the floor, still holding Eddie's hand. "We've survived hell on earth and hell in hell and I am so glad you're in my life. You're beautiful and brilliant and so kind. Would you please marry me?" And pulls out a ring. A beautiful carbon black band with a small gold gem. "Oh fuck that's beautiful." Eddie whispers and scoots over to pull Steve in for a kiss. "Yes. Yes!" Eddie sits up and Steve slides the ring on. They're both crying and laughing and kissing and it's gross and wet and they've never felt more in love.
Later, sweaty and exhausted, Eddie asks how Steve knew his ring size. He answered about how he took a ring he wore on that finger once and brought it to have a ring made to that size. Eddie doesn't remember but Steve looks so smug about it. "It was years ago. Don't worry." Eddie laughs. "Years? I think you need to get your head checked we haven't been dating that long." Steve smiles and looks up at the stick on glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.
"We weren't dating." And Eddie is so touched and feels so small and warm. He's been loved for so long and it's a humbling experience. "Can I wear a dress?" Steve laughs, "Of course you can." "Can you wear that sleeveless jacket?" "Uh that's a no." "Can we have a cool cake?" Steve is laughing harder. "You're gonna be a bridezilla, aren't you?"
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kooki914 · 4 months ago
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Nobody asked and yet you're getting it anyway, my Dess interpretation! Tbf I love a lot of other people's Dess designs maybe more than my own based on complexity/symbology alone, but this is what my original take for her was so I'm sticking to it. Extremely long list of factoids for her under the cut!
Dess hasn't seen a hairbrush in 8 years.
Opening her first fountain was an accident, and so was entering the dark world, but it was something she desperately needed at that point. She was knighted by Spade King, before being dubbed the Roaring Knight by the general public after she opened the second fountain and people started (correctly) assuming she was trying to cause the apocalypse.
Dess is mtf trans! She was out since she was 9, and took puberty blockers for a while, but stopped after she disappeared because she, y'know, didn't have access to them anymore. Strangely, even though she's been off of them for so long, there's very few side effects. You can just see her Adam's apple sometimes and muscle mass started building for her easily, but that's it. She's silently grateful that her dad didn't pass down any beard-making genes.
The reason why it's been so mild is due in part because of the effect of being in the "void" for too long, aka the space so dark and isolated you can't even feel your own limbs. She was stuck in the code of the game, basically, and it's had adverse effects on her mentally and physically, the only positive effect being less testosterone production in her body.
The physical effects are odd. Though she's grown and her body's age is what it would've been if she never disappeared, she's still in the same clothes she was when she ran away, but they sized up with her. The black nail polish she had on is still there too, not even chipped. As previously mentioned, her hormones are out of whack but, somehow, she's still clearly a grown adult, as if she just went through a very, very mild puberty.
The mental effects of being stranded in the literal nothingness are as expected as they are odd. The standard effects of not having contact with another person for so long have, somehow, never taken hold. It's like the social part of her brain was just put on pause. However, part of the madness she DID get was her very much considering her memories might just be made up. As if she was always here and managed to, somehow, delude herself into thinking she had a life outside of this place, when she never did. Essentially, she stopped existing, but retained some level of consciousness.
The whole "not existing for a while" thing as well as the fact that she's pre-hrt trans means she absolutely hates mirrors. Give her a mirror and she'll give back about a hundred shards of it. When she was younger she usually just had dysphoria over looking too boyish (hence why she never cut her hair) but nowadays she has weird feelings about something as simple as Having Knees (the existential horror of having a body after being formless in the nothingness during your formative years).
Her journey as the Knight was mostly about rediscovering herself, trying to find purpose and trying to help the people around her. She spent her whole life feeling helpless, and wanted to destroy that feeling, for everyone. Her violent behavior was rewarded by the equally maladjusted Spade King, and they teamed up under the pretense of helping all of darkner kind.
Dess set out to cause the Roaring, per his instruction, without knowing what it even was. All she knew is that, apparently, she was the only one who could, and that gave her a sense of purpose. Once she learned it'd bring about the end of the world, she was so detached from the world that she carried on anyway, not concerned with the life that could be lost because, god, she spent so long outside it, how COULD she know what life was worth now?
Dess went by neutral pronouns (they/it) as the Knight because it was another mask she used to distance what she Knew of herself and what she Had to be (kind of like Asriel calling himself "Flowey" in Undertale, actually). Being called "her" was too familiarising and humanising, being called "he" made her break out into hives and start killing, so she stuck with the alternatives for utilitarian reasons. Somewhere along the way she got sick of it and started missing her feminine pronouns, but decided to just stick to the bit anyway. The world was gonna end soon anyhow, who cares?
Once she's out of the role of Knight and back in the light world, you bet your ass she's switching back to exclusively she/her. Fuck neutrality, this girl needs gender affirmative language.
Rediscovering music, and specifically playing and making music, was one of the things that helped Dess get back in touch with being a person again after the whole Knight debacle. She plays piano and harmonica of her own volition, and the violin because of her mom's insistence, but her true favourite will always be the guitar. She was a little small as a kid so playing it used to be difficult, but now that she's an adult having it in her lap is easy, and honestly it just makes her feel alive. One of those dreams she had as a kid that she forgot about along the way, y'know?
Her and Asriel were just family friends at first, but when they ended up going to the same class together too, they quickly became best friends. They were there for each other through everything, Dess got Asriel into games, he was there when she came out, and they were practically inseparable. Asriel was a hard worker and Dess was a super active sports kid, they balanced each other out well and were known as the highest achievers in their class, the golden kids.
Kris and Noelle got dragged into their adventures basically on accident, Noelle because Dess was the one babysitting her all the time, and Kris because they wanted to spend time with their brother. They often spent time outside together because Dess loved being anywhere but at home. She didn't mind Azzy's house, though. Kris was a lot to deal with sometimes and Dess scolded them in a lot of the same ways adults scolded her (minus the hitting them over the head with stuff, what was all her). She has no idea the impact she's had on their behavior.
She was always kind of violent, but when she was younger it wasn't really an issue, more like an excuse to get her into sports. She learned to act out because causing problems was the only context in which she'd get attention from her very busy parents. With Noelle specifically, Dess took on a semi-parental role and quickly developed a habit of taking on way more burdens than she could handle. Even with Asriel as a best friend and the Dreemurrs as a surrogate family, the control her mother Clarice commanded over her life was just too limiting. It all boiled over.
Dess started lashing out at other kids around when puberty hit, starting fights and genuinely hurting people. She never got expelled because her mother was the mayor, but Dess started getting grounded more and more often, which meant less and less time with her only real friend, and more with her very dysfunctional family. She loved Noelle, but her little sister became another responsibility, another liability that could get Dess in trouble, it was way too much for her to handle maturely when she was only 13.
Dess "disappeared" because she ran away from home. She hated living there, but neither of her parents could admit that, hence her disappearance being so "mysterious" to the other townsfolk, they genuinely thought she vanished from inside the house. It was only after Kris admitted they saw her in the woods near the bunker that night that the case got more complicated, and the legend only grew more terrifying.
Her original plan was to just catch a bus to out of town and hope for the best, but when she ran into the woods in pitch blackness, she couldn't find her way around. She was too reliant on light, and couldn't manage in darkness. She found the bunker in her aimless wandering and, hoping to sleep off the night and make up excuses in the morning, she went inside. She couldn't have known that nothing was in there.
The effects of her sudden disappearance rippled throughout the whole town. Most obviously, Asgore got fired for not being able to find her and Rudy quit his job to be a stay at home dad for Noelle's sake. Less tangibly, Asriel and Clarice both started burying themselves in work to avoid grief. Kris and Noelle socially shut down for a few years, it's why neither of them have any real friends other than the strained relationship they have with each other. Asriel took on Dess' habit of "be anywhere but home" when his parents started having marital problems, and Kris latched onto him even harder to avoid losing any more people in their life. Through all this, Dess was nowhere, silently wondering if anyone even noticed she's gone, if her life was even real to begin with.
One of the strange things that happened to her while stranded in nothingness was almost being able to hear someone mumbling to themselves. When she called out, the voice vanished, only to re-emerge an uncertain amount of time later and excuse himself for getting startled. He just doesn't get guests often, you see. And guests get him even more rarely. It was refreshing to hear a consciousness separate from her own, but his mind was even more broken than hers, unable to answer her questions about what was real and what was imagined as he seemed to think he himself was a product of unreality. Plus, he never really stayed for too long and he never wanted to talk about himself either, as if mentioning his own name could shatter him to pieces.
The reason Dess didn't lose her mind from to his influence like Jevil and Spamton did was because she's just fundamentally pragmatic. You can throw philosophy and existential questions at her all you want but as long as she talks and thinks, she exists, which means reality is Something, even if it's completely eluding her grasp. It might also have something to do with her being a (homestuck warning) Void player, meaning the idea of the innate meaninglessness of life and unanswerable questions about reality itself don't really sound earth-shattering to her.
She used her knife to open fountains at first, the one she brought with her from the light world, but along the way she picked up a rapier and decided it was way cooler than a knife so it's her go-to now. She's not actually that good with swords, though. She uses them like baseball bats. Despite this, Spade King still praises her as if she's the best warrior they've seen in generations. It might've gone to her head.
Her relationship with King is fundamentally a mentor and a student. He gave her flawed information, but taught her a lot about herself, the world she found herself in, and the role she could choose. And, that's the most important part, he let her CHOOSE, because he was genuinely under the impression that she was just a really powerful darkner and not a lightner. His strictness and high standards reminded her of her parents, mostly her mom, but his willingness to give HER control over her own destiny is what made her favour him over every other adult in her life. Discipline that treated her like a valued person rather than an asset was basically unheard of for her until then. Plus, reminding her of her parents gave Spade the bonus of every time he encouraged her on anything it'd activate the "parental approval" neurons in her brain that were terribly starved up to that point.
From Spade's point of view, the Knight (as a darkner) is everything he wants to be, but can't be. At first he mentored her mostly as an excuse to live vicariously through her, but in getting to know her better he discovered they have a lot more in common than he first thought. Unregulated emotions, unresolved pasts, the constant feeling that you need to do More and Louder in order to make any kind of impact... he started to genuinely care about her. If/when he's redeemed, finding out the Knight has been a lightner this whole time might not even be that much of a betrayal. Seeing her face and learning her name as she apologies for lying is like reconnecting with his own wounded, younger self. Letting it be water under the bridge means he doesn't lose connection to himself again, doesn't lose connection with his best student. Plus, December IS a nice name.
She met Lancer, but didn't pay him much mind. She was busy with overthrowing the other Kings and was too tired to be a babysitter again. Due to her rancid vibes as the Knight (and the fact that she quickly became the favoured child even though it wasn't her intention) Lancer doesn't like her that much. She left Card Kingdom pretty quickly, anyway (Spade's advice to seek another worthy kingdom to grant a fountain to), so she never got much of a chance to get to know him, even if she wanted to.
Her relationship with Queen is even more fraught. Due to Queen's tendency to mimic the "mother" personality for every lightner she meets individually, as well as her more Explicitly Controlling tendencies, Dess quickly became rebellious and then antagonistic towards her. Queen tried to choose FOR her, to get her to open fountains on HER terms, and Dess wasn't having it. Yes, following Queen's instructions would've caused the Roaring much, MUCH sooner, but, like. Not at ALL in a satisfying way.
She has no idea who Gaster is. When asked, she'll assume he's a Darkner. If asked about the man in the nothingness, she'll shrug it off. Now that she's out, she doesn't know if he's actually real or something she just made up in her head, though she laughs that off as well. "I sound a lot like him when saying that, huh?"
Learning Asriel goes to college is complete whiplash for her. Her sense of time is WRECKED. Like, yeah, she can wrap her head around Noelle and Kris being teens now, but ASRIEL??? What do you MEAN he's not still stressing over chemistry exams and cramming for spanish class, and is, like, actually studying something he's interested in???? Unheard of.
She makes fun of him SO much for his little beard stubble, dude. It's all in good fun, but like, you can only be called "mini Asgore" so many times by your childhood best friend before it starts to cut deeper. On the flipside he has literally nothing bad to say to her. She nearly caused the apocalypse, but like, he gets it. He would've done the same in her shoes (hooves??). He thinks her Dark World armour is so kickass and he could never pull it off like she can.
Unsurprisingly Asriel has a crush on Dess. He always kinda had one, even when they were kids, but reconnecting as adults just Fully bashed him over the head with the fact that he's had repressed feelings for her and he has NO idea what to do about it. He's anxiety incarnate and thinks Dess already KNOWS he has a crush on her and just isn't saying anything because she's playing it cool, or doesn't wanna hurt his feelings, or thinks he's too lame to date or something. He thinks she's the coolest person who ever lived and has no idea how to cope.
Meanwhile in reality, Dess is a clueless aro/ace. She doesn't really know what having a crush even means. She thinks being a couple is, like, flirting and fighting behind closed doors (you can tell the only couples she knew personally were her parents and Asriel's parents), so she thinks it's just exhausting and doesn't know why anyone bothers. When Noelle tells her she has a crush on Susie Dess is like "Hell yeah, love is love........ wait do you mean you like her or you want her to crush you with a boulder" and Noelle sweats for a while before replying with "b-both?"
Dess has never been to Castletown. Most likely will never go.
Her and Kris reconnecting is a bit awkward at first, mostly on account of the fact that Kris and their posse are the ones that had her bash her over the head as the Knight to get her to behave in the first place, but Dess doesn't really focus on that. Kris thinks they hurt her, she just thinks of them as a little hero. Susie kinda helps facilitate them talking like people again, at least at first, because she has no baggage with Dess other than hitting her with an ax over dark fountains and getting stabbed in return, but like... Out of all the people they fought Dess is the only one who actually said sorry for being a jackass, so it's all good in Susie's book. Kris is just happy to have Dess back, man, that bunker and their memory of it has been haunting them for entirely too long, now.
Like Kris and Asriel, Dess learned how to play piano in church. Unlike them, and unlike Noelle, Dess has actually become fully agnostic after her time in the void. If there IS an angel looking out for her, it certainly isn't one that could've helped her, so what's the point of worship? Plus, Asriel and Noelle are two angels looking out for her as is! Why add divinity to that? (I am extremely subtle, I know.)
To this day, she's still apologising to Asgore for getting him fired. He is still apologising for not being able to find her. It's a pity party.
No-one tell her parents but she smokes weed. Once she reformed from being the Knight, she had a lot on her mind, man, weed is the most harmless thing she could've taken to cope. Seam is a good dealer, they have the good stuff.
She's absolutely called King "dad" by accident before. He doesn't really mind. No-one tell Rudy though, he's gonna be pissed.
On that note, I feel the need to add that she was never as close to him as Noelle was, because he only really started being an active parent after Dess went missing. It's kinda tragic, and he feels REALLY guilty about it, but if he ever verbalises that guilt he's gonna actually crumble into dust. His confidence is all a mask as is, actually admitting that he was kind of garbage at being a dad with his first kid is just gonna make it so much worse. But, until Dess hears an apology, she's not really gonna be able to actually mend their relationship, so they're at an impasse.
Inversely, her time away from the light world kinda made Dess forget the way her mother acts. She sorta got a bit of "once away from the abuser you forget the abuse", especially knowing she herself was a kid when it all happened so she kinda started justifying her mother's actions to herself when away from her. After like 2 weeks of living with her again Dess fully remembers why she ran away and packs her bags to live literally anywhere else. Preferably with King if that's an option, though that might just make Lancer move out as well.
She doesn't know what minecraft is.
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rayveneyed · 6 months ago
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cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires đŸ§›â€â™€ïž / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /
choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.
in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.
to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.
it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—
“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”
control which he now flounders to grab.
a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.
you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.
“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”
that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.
“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”
his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”
“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”
his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.
you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?
a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirĂ©e. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.
“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”
“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”
all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.
you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—
“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”
his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.
metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.
“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”
he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.
“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”
oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.
he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.
“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”
and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.
“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”
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rootspiral · 1 month ago
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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 6 part 3
(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])
(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])
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I think this might actually be my favorite Agatha, for real? Like, the ring binder. The pOUTING. She's SO serious. I want to talk to her in a baby voice, just like, to be supportive of her little things.
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And the Bohner family reunion shirt, of course. the gray socks, the garden hose sprayer as a gun. To use tumblr lingo, that's the saddest meow meow of a woman I've ever seen, and I'm obsessed with her.
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GAY ON GAY VIOLENCE
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joe was holding for dear life, but he didn't laugh. because he's a professional.
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billy putting all the hours he spent on tvtropes dot com to good use
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he's always a little smug, like he thinks he's in control, that he knows better. when he actually doesn't know shit! that's the whole attitude he brought to the Road.
and that's detective agnes o'connor to you, you little punk.
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the click pen gag destroys me. this is 5 minutes of kathryn and joe being silly and, look, does it further the plot? no. am I having fun? sure am! so who's to say it's wasted time?
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and the way she looks so small and lost when reality slips in for a moment, she is so precious to me.
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look at the hand going in witchy position, the real agatha fighting to regain control. what a great acting choice.
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for context he spent all of five minutes in the closet before bursting out in a a cloud of nail polish fumes. and it still was five minutes too many
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the draMATIC zoOM IN
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you thought quicksand would be enough to kill thee agatha harkness?? you're gonna need to put some more effort to it, some flair! and what's more, she's gonna complain about it the whooooole time
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fare thee well swooshy coat
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I just realized all the little innocent questions billy keeps peppering agatha with are exactly because he can't read her mind, so he's trying to get information for the Road on the down low
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you guys keep accidentally shaping reality. it's a fairly big tell.
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she tries to joke as usual, but when billy doesn't respond she sighs and tries to be soft and thoughtful. she's not AT ALL comfortable opening up so it's laced with manipulation, but hey, she tries
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goddamnit she's crying again. I told you she loves billy for being billy, and not just as a nicky stand-in. this is the brilliant little boy who could always see right through her, and agatha has loved him since the day he was born.
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hey there kiddo. so you've killed a few witches, happens to the best of us. look at me, killing witches never opened a gaping black chasm in my soul or anything. you're going to be fine.
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billy is so not amused
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just like with wanda, there's so much there. sympathy, thirst for power, genuine interest in cool witchcraft, self preservation, fear, desire. she wants to connect, she wants to squash him like a bug, she wants to steal his powers and run, she wants to MOTHER him
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and in all this whirlwind of emotions, mothering wins out. and it's projecting and it's selfish, she's telling him what she wishes her own mother would have told her.
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she is uplifting billy and giving him a pep talk, but she's also giving herself a pep talk. she's proudly claiming her status as a survivor, while also trying to justify - to herself and to billy - all she atrocities she's committed. like I said, there's always so much there. at least 90% of her is purely selfish, and then there's a luminous little corner of her soul that is capable of so much love.
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and at the end of a speech that started calculated and became all passion, she reclaims her identity as a witch, despite all the difficult history there. her mother passed on overwhelming internalized hatred and fear of witchfolk and - inevitably, some serious self-hatred. Her sense of identity and belonging is all fucked up, she must have been trying to negotiate and come to terms with it since she was a child.
and of course, being agatha, she hates herself while still believing she's the greatest witch that ever lived.
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oooh, who's an edgy boy! I've been thinking about billy's defense mechanisms too, he usually goes for the innocent teen persona (a bit like agatha chooses to play cheesy characters) but he gets so very edgy and dramatic when upset. I think deep down he's more proud and self-involved that he'd be comfortable admitting, and why wouldn't he? he's so powerful. he can read everyone around him like an open book, a part of him genuinely thinks he's figured it all out. he doesn't like being told that he's wrong because ultimately he's TERRIFIED of being wrong and making a mess of things like agatha or wanda.
and he's carrying so much destructive potential that his growing pains, the mistakes that every young person ought to make, could have catastrophic consequences. that's why he so badly needs agatha's guidance, she's the only one who could possibly understand all that. if, you know, she could only work through her own shit first.
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lmao that was such an elaborate (and cruel) way to land a joke. and she KNOWS tommy's name, she's just being a bitch
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mustache!
billy getting in her face to yell at her reminds me of when she's confronted by jen in the finale, she tries to joke and deflect until jen no longer allows it. she is so afraid of facing her own responsibilities.
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and she gets serious just for a moment, just long enough to betray how much billy's rejection actually hurts her. and she didn't expect anything else, so she keeps rejecting people first only to be heartbroken again when they do too. such a vicious cycle.
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and the walls are up again.
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and she swaggers off, the wretched muddy little creature. she looks almost cool.
next up:
yeah, it's lilia's episode.
goddammit.
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gloryy-vs · 2 years ago
Note
Hii! I hope ure doing good.
Id like to request Neteyam w a human reader whos very feminine? Like she wears makeup n nail polish n is very... classy (i think that theyd be wondering about makeup tho bc they only wear paint to war?)
You don't have to write it if u don't have any ideas for it tho! 😊 thank u
Face Paint
|| this is so cute i can imagine them being like ‘wtf is that shit on your eyes babe’
characters: neteyam x human! fem! reader
ratings: SFW , reader is v feminine , neteyam is lost asf , fluff , bonding moment
||
He was sitting there confused, towering over you even while he was sitting and watching you put this black stick of goop on your lashes. It was intriguing to him, it was like your own warrior fave paint except you made it look prettier. His large hand grabbed a makeup brush of youre, patting it against his own cheek in curiosity.
“What is it called?” He said, wiping off his face afterwards and putting it back in your bag. “It’s called makeup, Teyam. That’s my contour brush. Makes my face skinnier basically.” Neteyams ears perked up, “Your face is fine as is? Why put it on?” He seemed slightly offended as to why you used makeup, he found you perfect without it. But who was he to judge? It was a human thing.
“It’s just to accentuate features I already have. I like it. Makeup, nail polish, skin care..” You trailed off, looking at him for a reaction. His tail flicked around, looking through your bag as he pulled out an eyeshadow palette. “Can you do my tourcon with this?” He said innocently while pointing to a brown color. You cackled, taking the palette away from him. “No, baby. It’s contour, and we have to use a dark blue for your cheeks right here.” You said softly, tracing his cheekbones and nose. Neteyams ears flicked happily and he looked down when you grabbed a brush. Even your nails were a different color.
“Is that makeup too? Can we do that too?” Neteyam said, holding your small hand into his large blue ones. You gripped onto them, a small laughing escaping your glossed lips again. “It’s nail polish, my love. We can if you want to.” He scooted closer, careful as he bent down, and you dipped your brush into a blue color, dusting his cheeks lightly to frame his face with contour. He would never let his brother see him like this, or his father. This was just between you two, content with being alone together and you practicing all kinds of looks on him, he was still confused by the idea of it and all the different names for things that you could just call paint, but he loved how passionate you were about it. You gave him a small kiss, and he returned one gently, not wanting to amish you from how cute you looked. You wiped off his lips so it wouldn’t be sticky for him from the gloss, and was thankful.
He loved you with or without the face paint, and that’s all that was important to you.
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its-the-allure · 4 days ago
Text
My year in review
Can't remember who tagged me, but thank you! I joined fandom in late 2023 and started writing just this year, so this is very resident for me. So grateful to be here, and so grateful to all the amazing folks I have collabed with, alpha/beta/cheergirled for and had A/B/C for me! It's the best. You are the best. ILY.
Hot Boy Summer
Explicit | 3.3k words
Art collab with @ree-dee-art, Gift for @edieblakee
Summary: A surprise visitor leads to more than Harry was expecting.
lost for you i am so lost
Explicit | 758 words
Gift for my first fandom bestie @phoenixortheflame, seven deadly sins challenge for DCC Monthly Microcreations
Summary: Harry didn’t sleep well, and often came to bed late. Draco never minded being woken like this.
Worshipping at the altar of Harry James Potter
Explicit | 2.4k words
Inspired by art by @itsphantasmagoria, Gift for Harry's birthday!
Summary: “You had mentioned you were interested in adding a little play,” Draco said to Harry. “I thought you might enjoy giving it a go today, to celebrate your birthday.”
Down and (nearly) out
Explicit | 6.6k words
Art collab with an anon friend, Gift for my bestie @kamaela
Summary: A story told over several evenings out, during which Harry Potter rapidly becomes obsessed with Draco Malfoy for a whole new reason. In his defense, everyone loves a crop top.
Eyeliner!Harry, Part 1 of The Eyeliner Chronicles
Explicit | 3.5k words
Art collab with @itsphantasmagoria, gift for my bestie @jelliewrites
Summary: Draco Malfoy returns to a mandatory eighth year at Hogwarts with a massive crush on Harry Potter. Harry has returned wearing eyeliner and black nail polish. Draco never thought he’d be into this look on a man, but has to admit, it’s working for Potter. It’s also working for Draco.
Magie Noire
Pansmione | Mature | 7.2k words
Art collab with an anon pal, Gift for @sleepstxtic
Summary: Pansy is checking email on her mobile when another witch gets into the lift. Their eyes meet, Pansy’s shock mirrored on the face of Hermione Granger. Pansy’s wand slips from her sleeve without a thought, and suddenly she’s gripping it tightly, her heart hammering. “Hello, Granger. What are you doing in Paris?” Or, the time Pansy and Hermione keep running into each other. Mischief follows.
[podfic] The Scariest Witch by sweaters_in_the_summer
Gen | 0-10 min
My first podfic! Collab with @sweatersinthesummer (who wrote!), get outside your comfort zone challenge for DCC Monthly Microcreations
Summary: Harry and Draco celebrate their first Halloween together with Harry’s babies.
Come As You Are
Explicit | 35k words
My first anon fest submission! For @hd-fan-fair. And my longest fic to date. Collab with the amazing and wonderful and supremely talented @itsphantasmagoria
Summary: When Harry Potter visits a sexy internet chatroom site, he does so with the hope of answering a niggling question: Am I interested in men? He finds more than he anticipated when he stumbles upon a free strip show starring a very familiar person. Just what is Draco Malfoy doing on a Muggle pay-per-view site? And when did he get so fucking fit?
[ART] HJP is the sun
A gift for the amazing peu_a_peu, for the HP Fuck You Fest
Summary: A truly terrible comic, made with the utmost love and respect. Inspired by peu_a_peu’s The Sun (chapter 4 of the legendary Crack This Thing Wide Open).
Cease and Desist
Explicit | 1.2k words
A gift for @saijordison, inspired by his art, for the HP Fuck You Fest
Summary: After the war Draco makes a fortune selling Potter fan merch, and Harry Potter wants to shut it down. He sends a cease-and-desist letter. What's Draco to do but show up to court wearing their bestselling "Future Mrs. Potter" jumper?
Little Black Dress, Part 2 of The Eyeliner Chronicles
Explicit | 4.9k words
Art collab with @itsphantasmagoria, Gift for @tessacrowley, for the @hd-tarot fest
Summary: Returning for a mandatory eighth year and secretly dating Harry Potter, Draco is a bit of a mess. Harry wants to go public with their relationship, but the last thing Draco needs is another reason for people to hate him. As they work on their Tarot assignment for Advanced Divination, could a change of heart be in the cards?
Oroboros
Mature | 558 words
Gift for @thisbloodycat, for the DCC Holiday Exchange
Summary: Through eight years at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy cannot keep his eyes off Harry Potter.
Leather Cheerio
Explicit | 2.2k words
Gift for @itsphantasmagoria, for HP Fuck You Fest
Summary: I hate writing summaries. Just fucking read it. 😈
Or, when Allure wrote crack smut for Phanta's birthday, using the worst words from the Lewd Vocabulary in Erotic Fiction survey results.
Tagging @kamaela @dodgerkedavra @itsphantasmagoria @sweatersinthesummer @cailynwrites @phoenixortheflame @jelliewrites @smehur @sleepstxtic @pl0tty @fastbrother @faiell @drwhoisginnyholmes @thusspoketrish and everyone else who sees this and wants to! Let's celebrate!!!
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