#Also my ocs being a little too able bodied | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orchidyoonkook · 6 months ago

Text

PG | KTH

Title: PG

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point.

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends.

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother.

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out.

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too.

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two.

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay.

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him.

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long.

Every time you could get it.

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team.

For four years.

And then the university swim team.

For another four.

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then.

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would.

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you.

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet?

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile.

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong.

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you.

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung.

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt.

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that.

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught.

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt.

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart.

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water.

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool.

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days.

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun.

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really.

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped.

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking.

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that.

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches.

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets.

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?”

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat.

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes.

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?”

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him.

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager.

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit.

And it works like a charm.

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that.

Definitely not.

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again.

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding.

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air.

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend.

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say.

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand.

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end.

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother.

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction.

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen.

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool.

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel.

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you.

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch.

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge.

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell.

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims.

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven.

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday.

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for.

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids.

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you.

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed.

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break.

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you.

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually.

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit.

So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer.

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks.

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close.

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you.

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there.

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed.

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends.

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays.

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating.

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother.

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall.

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent.

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained.

And yet.

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot.

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you.

But you push him away.

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t.

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend.

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’.

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more.

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment.

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air.

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages.

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself.

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did.

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left.

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist.

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think.

Because Fourteen isn't here.

And old habits die hard.

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt.

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising.

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner.

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him.

Safe.

You’re safe.

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body.

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous.

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years.

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung.

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan.

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety.

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions.

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight.

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood.

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor.

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment.

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by.

It’s private.

It’s safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?”

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now.

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth.

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth.

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed.

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back.

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it.

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him.

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black.

Oh you are so fucked.

“As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like.

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine.

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once.

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up.

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth.

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips.

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does.

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes.

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck.

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows, the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing.

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it.

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine.

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it.

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night.

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere.

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you.

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone.

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part.

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently.

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end.

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.”

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders.

It makes you smile wickedly.

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you.

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick.

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything.

Yet.

“Can you behave for that long?”

You smirk.

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe.

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well.

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby.

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need.

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs.

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae.

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky.

Mesmerizing.

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his.

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him.

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge.

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat.

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure.

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you.

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks.

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips.

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees.

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it.

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well.

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you.

Taehyung.

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung.

Wants you.

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving.

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned.

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side.

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming.

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess.

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis.

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes.

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body.

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again.

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time.

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed.

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again.

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it.

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out.

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth.

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time.

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents.

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact.

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.”

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine.

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks.

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.”

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled.

Blissful.

Then pushes back in, methodically.

Torturous.

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is.

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over.

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas.

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well.

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you.

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough.

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own.

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless.

It’s a great move but it’s exerting.

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone.

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around.

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass.

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance.

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you.

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care.

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane.

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be.

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you.

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion.

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and drown in once another’s embrace.

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another.

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect.

Before consequences kick in and regrets form.

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets.

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning.

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away.

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning.

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out.

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies.

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground.

“All of it. Any of it.”

There.

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him.

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened.

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts.

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself.

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion.

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg.

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place.

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move.

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right.

An idea strikes.

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door.

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Masterlist

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

Note

i’m back to give you my iw!couple brain rot 🤲, please handle with care.

but !! imagine jungkook and oc doing that “see how long we can go without kissing” challenge !! how would fold first? they’re both so competitive but smitten it makes me conflicted. 😣😣

knowing them, jungkook would be twitching his eye just from the thought of being deprived kissies so would oc give in first to let him win? or would jungkook just take what’s his?? 🤔

imagine oc being a blushing mess from staring at jungkook’s face for too long 😵‍💫 THEYRE SO CUTE I CANT THINK STRAIGHT😭🫶

summary: in which jungkook is twenty-six years old and yet… you still give him butterflies.

idol!jk x reader, established relationship / word count: 0.7k

content/warnings: sexual tension, making out, it’s honestly just them fighting over who gets to be on top

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe hi anonie… sorry… i kindaaa got carried away… i had to write out the thing or else i would’ve gone insane just talking about it <3 (written with love and care) <3

—

“i don’t understand this challenge.”

“me neither,”

jungkook remains in a hypnotic-like trance, doe eyes trained to your lips stained with a lighter shade of mixed red and brown.

“we’re this close and we can’t kiss…? this is absurd.”

“do they actually do this in bed? with someone on top?” you chuckle as you coyly twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “i don’t think so?”

“i don’t know. i just wanted you to be comfortable.” he teasingly brushes his nose against yours, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended. “since, you know, we’ll be here a while.”

“oh wow. bringing me to bed, really? you’re that confident?”

he cockily raises an eyebrow. “hm, we both know you won’t be able to resist me here. you’re all over me all the time.”

you try not to roll your eyes in annoyance. and you also both know that you’re just as competitive, if not more.

“oh my god, you,” you mumble. the calm of your voice contrasts the aggressive push of your hand against your boyfriend’s naked chest. “and your stupid arrogance and your stupid need to flaunt your stupid hot body.”

in the blink of an eye, jungkook finds you stradding him, and himself, trapped underneath your body. he blinks in disbelief, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“this is dirty.”

you remove his glasses, moving it aside without care. “that’s just your mind.”

okay, perhaps bringing you to bed was a bad idea.

you lean down, slowly, close and then closer— it’s quite ridiculous that he’s nervous as if he doesn’t know what is bound to happen next: he’s thoroughly convinced that you’re going to kiss him.

once he feels your lips ghost over his, mere millimeters away, his eyelids flutter shut.

terrible idea. terrible.

the kiss, much to his disappointment, never happens.

he opens his eyes and your face is suddenly tucked in the space between his neck and shoulders, giggling and shaking and positively amused.

he turns away and squeezes his eyes shut. a painful admit of defeat against your infinite allure. “ah, i’m fucked.”

“we’ll get there later,” you lift your head, tilting his chin to face you.

you smile and scoot closer. so close that your bottom lips grazes his. he fails to remember the last time the two of you touched as chastely, as softly, but it felt like accidentally touching a live wire. he gets a funny feeling in his stomach. butterflies…? he’s twenty-six years old. he must be losing his mind.

“after you lose.”

“that’s not happening, baby.”

“yes, it will.”

“i won’t give up so easily.”

you give him an innocent look. “but i really think you will.”

you stare at each other for a little while, anticipating the other’s next move.

“fuck- yeah, okay-” he grits his teeth, taking advantage of his strength to finally flip back your positions. you’ve had your fun. “you’re right.”

“babe! ru-”

your surprised gasp is cut off by jungkook’s lips crashing on yours— curved into a smirk, you can feel it. your whines are muffled and swallowed by him, wrists caught in his hands and over your head because you were hitting his shoulder and he just wanted to kiss his baby properly.

“you lost,” you remark quietly when he draws back, only inches away, to scatter kisses along your face and down to your neck.

it tickles, you squirm in pleasure when he reaches near your collarbone, but your hands are still tied.

you were supposed to have him underneath you as a hot and flustered mess, not the other way around. damn it.

“really?” he feigns interest, lips finding their way back to yours. “doesn’t feel like it.”

#art’s post office ☁️#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook au #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts reaction

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borathae · 4 months ago

Text

Grief is a funny thing

"Grief is a funny thing. You think that you got over it until you are sitting on a random bench, on a random Monday night and it comes back to remind you that it will always be part of you."

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: Angst, married life!AU, Hurt & Comfort

Warnings: OC graduated yaay!!, but it brings up old memories for her and she is in a state of guilt & grief, talk about loss of family and grief that won't leave, tears, but Jungkook is there for her and he is such a comfort, i love him a lot

Wordcount: 2.1k

a/n: sometimes i have the desire to write something angsty for the aaol!couple. listennn, i reread some of the main chapters again and i wanted to write something about OC's grief over her brother and how Kook handles her grief episodes. soo that's why this was created <3

You graduated. You actually did it. You are officially a person with a masters degree. You are something. The degree is at home where you left it. On the living room coffee table next to an empty glass of water.

You can’t look at it.

Nobody would get you if you told them that you don’t want to look at it, because it’s insane. You are aware of it. For years, all you dreamt of was being something one day. And then it happened and you were able to pursue your dream education and to graduate. You literally fulfilled your biggest dream, it should make you happy and it does, but it also doesn’t. Deep down in your heart you know the reason for it, but you aren’t ready to admit it to yourself yet. It would make you cry. You hate crying for negative reasons.

Your phone rings. This is the third time it does and you know that you can’t ignore whoever is calling you any longer.

Your heart stings when you check their ID.

Your Jungkookie is calling. You pick up, feeling guilty as you do.

“Yes?”

“Oh my god, finally. Thank god. Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for what feels like hours. Are you okay?” Jungkook sounds distressed on the other side of the line. Understandably. It is currently one in the morning and you left without warning.

“I’m okay, just went for a walk.”

“At one in the morning?” he sounds confused. Understandably so. You are normally sleeping at this time of day.

“Yeah, well. Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s pouring buckets right now.”

“I guess it is.”

Silence on his side where he clearly tries to process what you are saying.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up”, he says in the end.

“Paradis. The bench in front of it.”

Another silence. Understandably. You never went back there again after quitting your job.

“Just…just stay there. I’ll be quick”, Jungkook tries to sound neutral, but the anxiety is clear in his voice.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I adore you.”

“I adore you too.”

The call ends. You shove the phone back into your jacket pocket and continue to stare at the sign while the rain pours down on you. Jungkook doesn’t need to worry. You weren’t planning on leaving this bench for quite a while. All of this studying about how to help people and you feel helpless. It almost paralyzes you and makes time pass in a blur.

Jungkook runs to get to you, getting wet even under the umbrella as the water slaps against him. He calls out your name. You turn your head slowly, looking at him with tired, empty eyes.

“Oh my god, my love. You scared me so much. Why would you leave without saying anything?” he says, falling around your neck to hug you against him.

Your body falls into him. He is warm and his hug is tight. He cradles the back of your head, twisting parts of your jacket with his other hand.

“You made me worry like crazy. Please don’t ever do this again”, he says between little kisses all over your face and head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted, my love. Just tell me what’s wrong, please.”

Now that he is with you and you are in his arms, the state of you is so clear to you.

“I’m really cold.”

“No wonder. It’s fucking November and you’re sitting here getting drenched.” He says, trying to warm you by rubbing your back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let him help you to your feet. You hook arms with him, hugging his arm with both hands. You even go as far as to rest your head against it. Jungkook holds the umbrella even though you and he are already soaked to the bones.

“You’re worrying me, my love. What’s the matter?” he asks.

You and he walk back to his car at a slow pace.

“I don’t know”, you say.

“Why did you come here? Out of all the places?”

“I don’t know. I was at my old place too. It’s a storehouse for the restaurant these days.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t really get why you’re here and what you’re doing. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t look at it.”

“Look at what?”

“My masters.”

Silence. You can watch him as he processes what you said. You can also see how he is trying so hard to be supportive.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way, but why? I’m not judging, just having a hard time understanding this correctly.”

You cuddle closer. He always knows exactly what to say. It feels reassuring when he is honest. He might not understand, but he wants to. This is what unconditional love feels like.

“Whenever I look at it, I feel sick. I fulfilled my biggest dream and I’m happy, but I also feel lost.”

“I see. Now I understand. It’s scary knowing that something as big as college is over, but didn’t you play with the idea of doing your PhDs too?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“See? It’s not over yet if you want to. You have all the choices in the world. You can open your praxis or pursue your doctor’s degree. You have all the possibilities in the world. I’ll support you in any of them.”

“I guess.”

“Unless that’s what you’re lost with. Do you struggle with deciding?”

“I struggle with accepting the reality that I am something.”

“No, my love”, he gasps.

“I feel unworthy of it. I had this life”, you say, gesturing at the general direction of Paradis. “And now I have a Masters in psychology with chances of becoming a fucking doctor. It’s insane. I shouldn’t have this.”

“Yes, you should”, Jungkook insists loudly, furrowing his brows, “you worked so hard for it. I had to carry you to bed sometimes when you fell asleep by your desk because you were so exhausted from studying. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“See? You literally worked your ass off for it. You should have it, for fuck’s sake. You wanted it for years and I won’t let you feel like this now.”

You and he stop in front of his car. He shakes you by your shoulders gently as if to shake you awake from your self-deprecating nightmare.

“You’re intelligent, resourceful and hardworking, ambitious and resilient and you got your degree because of that. You are amazing and you worked hard for it. You deserve it.”

You nod your head, but say nothing to it.

“Okay, my love?”

He looks at you. You look at your feet.

“Okay, my love?” he stresses, caressing your cheek gently.

“Jungkook, I miss my brother”, you confess what truly hurts so bad, instantly breaking into tears.

“Oh ___ my love, I’m sorry. Come here”, Jungkook gasps, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you.

You melt into his chest, sobbing into it while he holds you and comforts you.

“He and I, we always fantasised about how it would be to become something. He always talked about sending me off to college one day. But he’s dead and he won’t ever see that I actually did it. He’s dead. Why is he fucking dead?”

“Oh my love. I’m sorry. Life is so unfair”, Jungkook gets out, crying with you.

“It hurts so bad. He was supposed to see me off to college and, and see me graduate.”

“He was. He really was”, Jungkook agrees, sobbing afterwards which gives you so much comfort. It feels so reassuring and comforting so cry with him. You don’t even mind crying for negative reasons when he is with you.

“I feel so guilty. He was supposed to escape this life with me. We were supposed to get healthy and be happy.”

“You were, my love. But it’s not your fault. He wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for changing your life for the better.”

“I know, but it still hurts.”

You look up at Jungkook, spilling tears. He does as well, cradling your cheek.

“He was supposed to know you. He was supposed to walk me down the aisle and, and be happy for me because I fell in love with someone like you.”

Jungkook smiles, sniffling.

“He was supposed to be there on my happiest days. Why did he have to die?”

“I don’t know and it’s so unfair.”

“It is. He, he was supposed to be there for me on those days. He was…” A sob interrupts you. Jungkook soothes it with gentle touches to your arms. “It hurts so much to know that he won’t ever see who I became. I will always stay this little, drug addicted orphan girl to him. It hurts so bad that I never became someone different to him.”

“No, my love no. I’m sure that his spirit is still somewhere out there and he watched you grow up and become who you are today, my love.”

“Do you really think that?” you ask, looking at him with child-like hopefulness in your eyes.

“I do. I’m sure he is currently looking down at you and he feels proud and happy.”

“I hope so”, you say and lower your head. Tears drip down from your cheeks. “Urgh god, I hate crying”, you get out, wiping at your own face aggressively.

“Hey no.” Jungkook stops you gently. “Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

You look up at him while he holds your hands. He caresses your chin with the same hand, using his thumb for it.

“Let’s go home, okay?” he suggests in a soft voice.

You nod your head.

“Come on, I’ll drive.”

You let him help you into the car. You stare outside as he drives off and you continue to stare outside as he drives through the city. It’s late and it's raining, which means that the streets are almost empty for a change. Jungkook doesn’t have the radio on. The purring of the car and the rain against the window are all the noises you hear. He has his hand on your thigh, giving you constant rubs of comfort. It’s warm and it’s nice.

You and he drove for a while when you break the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances at you.

“For what?”

“For running off without warning. For being so ungrateful for my masters. For dumping all of my stuff on you.”

“I’m not even gonna play into this right now because there’s nothing for you to be sorry for”, Jungkook answers you with slight anger in his voice. He isn’t angry at you, but your self-deprecating use of words.

You hold his hand.

“I’m just so messy and you’re so good”, you confess.

“You’re tired and you’re exhausted. Today was a very overwhelming day. Don’t believe your thoughts anymore, my love.”

You and he stop at a red light.

“You love me, right?”

Jungkook instantly leans over to kiss you. First your lips, then your forehead.

“I love you so much”, he whispers, cradling your cheek and gazing deep into your eyes. “I love everything about you, even the messiest and darkest parts. I always have and always will.”

You can’t bear to look into his eyes anymore, lowering your head shyly. The red light switches from red to green back to red again in the time you and he sit in the car and let his words sink in. The rain sounds calming as it hits the car.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asks in a quiet, gentle voice.

“A lot. Grief and guilt and, and… I guess, I’m thinking that I don’t feel overwhelmed anymore now that I talked about it with you.”

“Yes? This makes me happy to hear. I’ll always be there for you. And I’ll always come and get you from wherever you run off to.”

He makes you laugh. Jungkook laughs with you, kissing your forehead. The light switches to green. He takes this chance and drives off, holding your hand as he does.

“Jungkook, I wanna take a shower and then talk in bed”, you tell him.

“That sounds good. We’ll shower and then we’ll cuddle and you can tell me all about your brother.”

“But I already told you everything.”

“And? It won’t ever be boring to me.”

“Oh.”

A deep breath fills your lungs and as it leaves you again, you feel lighter. You rest your head against the window, looking at him. The rainy night city passes him, the changing lights paint the prettiest of artworks onto his face.

“You’re the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me.”

Jungkook squeezes your hand because that is all he can do right now in fear of looking away from traffic for too long.

“I can say the same about you, my love.”

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sierrale8ne · 3 months ago

Text

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWELVE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch

warnings a lot of angst this time whoops 🤭

kalena speakss 🪽! so there’s like four chapters left guys woah. i’m sorry for this one and the next one because it’s lowkey just angst but you’ll live 😆

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You did what?”

“Azz—”

“No you dumbass, you did what?” Nika cuts in, her voice echoing through my phone speaker as she repeats Azzi’s question.

I had just landed from our latest road trip, mindlessly trying to unpack and clean up around the apartment. Maraye was coming over and I wanted to have everything looking good by the time she showed up.

I’ve kept our conversations brief over the last couple days. Every time I hear her voice it just triggers my throat to close up and my mouth to get all dry.

But I can’t avoid her anymore. Whether I tell her about Nyla or not, she’s bound to find out. So I’m left with no other choice to tell her.

“You really want me to say it again?” I ask them, turning down the volume on my phone. Each time one of them yells it feels like my ear drum is seconds away from being ruptured.

“You had sex with Nyla? Why the hell would you do that?” Azzi yells again, confirming the fact that she heard me the first time.

Azzi is filled in on the lore more than anyone. So I know she’s irritated, she almost gave me a concussion when I told her about hooking up with her before the championship. I know if we were in the same room now she might actually render my abilities to play.

“I already told you it was an accident.”

“Oh, you accidentally fell into some pussy? Good luck explaining that to Maraye.” Nika laughs at me. I just know if I could see her face she’d be red from laughter.

“You didn’t tell her yet? Oh my—”

Azzi obvious exasperation is cut off when I hear my front door knock. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat and reach for my phone.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s at the door so we can talk later.” I breathe, not even waiting for a response before hanging up on the group call.

My feet drag against the floor on the way to the door.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous for a girl to come over to my place. Even when she was here last week, it felt natural. Like she was supposed to be here anyway.

But now my palms are all sweaty and slipping against the silver doorknob.

I think I might stop breathing the second I see her. Raye’s always been perfect, she could be wearing a garbage bag and I’d still think that’s true. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in person completely barefaced, not even a little blush on her cheeks or mascara on her lashes.

Just her. No enhancers, and looking as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her.

Raye wears that one jacket that every girl in LA seems to own, the Lululemon one. I didn’t get it at first but now I totally get the hype, the navy fabric clings to her arms and waist and everything in between, making her body look otherworldly. The matching shorts, however, are too damn short. I might not be able to control myself.

“So, can I come in?” Her nose scrunches as she asks almost like she’s shy but also teasing me over my gawking.

I don’t even waste any time tugging her arm and pulling her body into mine for me to hold.

I can’t help but grin to myself at how fast she returns the gesture, her arms wrapped around my neck and mine pressed to her lower back. Raye kicks the door shut behind her, humming softly.

It feels light, the hug. Almost like thousands of pounds of weight were lifted off of both of us and now we’re just floating together.

“Someone missed me, huh.”

I let out a breathless laugh, resting my head on top of hers. She smells incredible. “So fuckin’ bad, Raye.”

Raye is pulling back from me slowly, limb by limb detaching from me with a little fight as if they were stuck.

My lip travels between my teeth, looking over her whole outfit once again. Navy looks so good on her, and I start thinking that I might have to buy her more colors of this exact set because of what it’s doing to me.

“This lil set is cute.” I compliment, tugging at the spandex material on her mid thigh.

“Yeah?” Raye asks, looking over her own body. “I was supposed to go to the gym and then you called.”

The statement brings an embarrassing smile to my face. The fact that she dropped what she was doing, changed her plans to come and see me.

I’m embarrassingly whipped over her.

“We can do sum exercise here. No worries.” I smirk. She’s quick to drop a hand from my shoulder to mush my face off to the side.

“Shut up.” Raye giggles, “you wanna get some food?”

I lick my lips as slyly as I can, which really is a lot harder than I thought. There’s something, something that makes my mind run a thousand miles a minute. Her eyes, which I swear I’ve been obsessed with since we first met. Her skin, it’s glowing, looking like glitter that covers her skin. The smell of whatever curl cream she used lingers in my nose.

“Well I needa shower first, and then I wanted to talk.” I explain. My hands trail down to the backs of her thighs, just under the curve of her ass. She lets me, not even fighting me off or telling me that all of this is wrong. It’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with her that hasn’t led to kissing her.

Which makes me want to do it even more.

“About?”

"You." I say gently pushing her back against my front door and Raye raises her eyebrows. "And me." I add on.

Her tongue slightly slips from her lips, poking at the corner in the way it does when she’s concentrating or listening or thinking. She holds the back of my neck with one hand, her acrylics grazing the hair at my nape. I shudder, finger nails subconsciously digging into her skin.

“Okay.”

—

I’m not sure what I thought Paige’s room would look like. Her apartment— large and spacious, floor to ceiling windows, lights that set the mood so well that i’m sure every girl she’s had in here was throwing themselves at her— fits her completely. But her bedroom, is almost bare.

Cream white walls and a bed in the center. Oddly enough, there’s no purple decorating it like I assumed. Her duvet is a tan color, pillows that match, and a white throw blanket that is a nice addition to it.

The mattress nearly sucks me in when I lay back on her bed. Her phone in my hand as I order us some Chinese as per her request.

I can’t help but let my eyes wander. The room is clean. So clean, not a single book or pencil or sock out of place.

A bible sits on her beside table, along with a journal and some pens.

Then the more I look around the more the room becomes Paige. The bible is her, the picture on her full length mirror of her and her siblings, the framed piece of nylon she cut down from the net in April, the affirmations on sticky notes above her dresser. It’s all Paige. Everything that I know makes her the annoyingly smart, beautiful, and sweet blonde that I know her to be.

And she gets to be mine. As soon as I tell her that Julian isn’t my boyfriend anymore, things get to be the way they should be. I get to feel good around her rather than guilty.

Even if I do. If I do feel guilty for enjoying myself around her, I’d live with it. Because it’s Paige, and no matter what she always finds a way to get my mind off of everything.

My ears perk up the second I hear the shower turn off and I swing my feet off the side of the bed, almost in excitement of seeing her face again.

Her phone buzzes avidly on the blanket, just slightly muffled but I still hear it. I reach for it immediately, thinking that It’s our DoorDasher confirming our order. I type in the password she told me, clicking on the message notification.

lmk when you get bored of that LA girl again

i’ll be right here like i always am 😂

When you’re like me, and have been in your fair share of shitty relationships, you sort of become numb to it all. The lying, the hurt, the yelling.

I deal with it through music. Spending hours in the studio or in my room writing. It works. It helps me remember that the Earth will keep spinning.

But for a second, it does feel like the world has stopped. Like the planet, that spins a thousand miles an hour, has come to a complete halt and everything is just crashing around on me.

I have to stop looking, protect what’s left of that goodness in my heart and not keep fucking reading. But my thumb moves anyway. I read this girl’s text to Paige from last Sunday. The day after I stood in her arms and told her I’d make a decision. The night after she told me she’d wait for it.

A texts that reads: “had fun ;)”

That fucking wink. It makes me seethe. I swear it’s meant for me, just to rub it all in my face. My heart thumps so loud, and I feel like I’m underwater just drowning.

Within seconds I’m scrolling through what seems like years of texts messages, years of pictures and intimate texts that make me nauseous.

This has to be what karma feels like. I did it to Julian, right? I kissed and touched on someone else while making a promise to him. And now it’s all getting thrown back at me.

Paige took everything I gave to her, and went and gave it to someone else.

Her bathroom door glides open, a cast of steam coming into the room and she follows. “Are you sure y’on’t want anything more comfy to wear? Y’look sexy, but I can—”

Paige stops when she sees I’m not looking at her but rather that my eyes are trained to her phone.

“Ma, you aight?”

“Let me know when you get bored of that LA girl again, I’ll be right here like I always am. Paige, do you take me for a joke?” I ask her, rereading the text out loud to her before finally looking up.

I can’t let her see my tears, the ones that build and poole at my waterline, but Goddamnit they sting. Everything does. My throat feels small, the lump in my throat huge in contrast. And I want to cry. Like all this, all the confusion and the trust and the happiness she made me feel was all for nothing.

I see all the color drain from her face in an instant. Her shoulders dropping.

Paige only has on a sports bra and some sweatpants, the white towel around her neck picks up all the water that drips from that perfect blonde hair, and I’m so mad at myself for thinking about how irresistible she looks.

It’s entirely too reminiscent of the first time we met, when she was all flushed as sweaty and standing there looking like everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now I look at her and just feel like a boulder is crushing my chest.

“Raye.” She starts, stalking over to me and I stand up, feeling like that’s the best thing I can do to stop her from touching me. “Baby, just listen.”

“Me? Listen? To what. Listen to you lie to me about how you just want me? Because you obviously don’t.” I shake my head at her. “It took you 24 hours, Paige. 24 hours and you were fucking some other girl.”

“I—” She starts, sighing and tossing the towel in her hand on the bed. “I thought you chose him and I got drunk.” She babbles. Each step she takes towards me sets me off just a little more, and I feel suffocated.

“I didn’t! God!”

“What?”

“I didn’t fucking choose him, Paige. We broke up, I ended it. But instead of communicating with me when I called you, you went all silent on me.”

My voice cracks as I feel my composure slipping. It’s unbelievable, the entirety of it all.

“But now it all makes sense. You were with her.” I laugh, except it’s not funny. I think it’s the only thing I can do to stop me from lashing out at her, screaming and crying and fighting her in a way that makes me look like the bad guy.

Paige’s eyes flicker. And I know her. The confident and slightly cocky blonde girl that would double down on anything. She’s stubborn, more than me, so when I see it; the slight hint of guilt in those crystalline blue eyes, I know she’s not going to say anything I want her to.

“Wait a minute, you don’t get to be mad at me over this.” She shoots. The words hit my heart violently, sharp, like a knife. “You were with him. The whole time, who I was with is not something you get to be mad over.”

“You knew, Paige! You knew I was with Julian. And I fuckin’ told you over and over that this had to stop. Don’t turn it back on me when it’s what you wanted.” I defend, my voice cracking under her gaze.

She’s nearly unrecognizable. This isn’t Paige. Or at least the Paige I knew and fell for, because I thought she would never do something like this to me, yet she did.

Paige takes a step back from me, running her fingers through her wet hair.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what I can and can’t be mad about. I trusted you.”

“Julian trusted you.” She says, bitter and harsh. “But that didn’t stop you from kissin’ me and tellin’ me you have feelings for me, right?”

“That’s not the same—”

“It’s exactly the same, Maraye!” She yells. “But I’m tellin’ you the truth. I’m tellin’ you straight what happened, and you ain’t even do that for him.”

Maybe it’s the way she says it all like it certain. Like she knows me so well that she assumed I didn’t tell Julian anything. Or even the way her voice is so animalistic, full of emotion that I’ve never heard from her. But I lose it. All that is left of my composure, if you could even call it that, goes down the drain and I’m breaking down.

The tears in my eyes finally slip, making my lashes stick together. They’re hot, burning my cheeks.

I hate that I’m letting her see me cry, hate that she gets to see me this emotional. She doesn’t deserve to see me cry. Paige doesn’t deserve to know that she hurt me this bad.

At the same time, I want her to see it. To understand how fucking stupid her actions were. That what she did hurt me to my core, because I don’t even cry in front of people like this. But I am for her. I’m crying, and the tears don’t fucking stop falling.

“You think you know me! You don’t know me, Paige.” My eyes narrow and my arms fall to my sides. “I told him everything. I told him that you made me feel different, so much better than he ever could. A-and I told him I was sorry. I fuckin’ apologized for having feelings for you. I owned up to it, and I messed up so many times but you, God, Paige, you made it all worth it.”

When I look at Paige she isn’t even looking at my eyes. She always does, but now she looks at the ceiling, frustratingly running her hand over her chin.

“And you didn’t. You didn’t tell me the truth, I found out myself like an idiot.” I scream until my voice is raw. Her phone in my hand feels like hot coal, burning my hand and then burning a hole in her sheets when I throw it there. “Fell for you like an idiot.” I murmur under my breath.

“Hol’ on, Angel. C’mon.” Paige says. It’s soft, the quietest her voice has been all night. Of course Paige hears me. She steps to me again, reaching for my hand that I pull back with haste.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“I made a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this shit out.” Paige reaches for me again, I throw my hands away from her, hitting my hand on her bedside table and breaking a nail in the process.

“Fuck.” I groan, shaking my hand off and turning away from her. “Move!” I yell, stepping to the side so she isn’t that damn close to me.

“Raye—”

“I don’t trust you.” I breathe, shrugging my shoulders at her and trying to wipe the tears that stain my cheeks. “It’s not about working this out. You broke my trust and y’can’t even apologize for it.”

“Jus’ listen. Please.” I hear her voice crack, that guilt I could pick up on when she first came out of the bathroom so evident in the way she looks at me.

Paige’s blue eyes are rimmed with red, I nearly scoff. She doesn’t get to cry. She did this, she went to her, confided in her instead of talking to me. I shake my head in an attempt to wrap my head around all of this.

“I’m sorry.” And I thought that hearing it would make it all better but my chest just burns. I’m honestly running out of patience because this isn’t working. I’ve made up my mind, she’s done something so fucking unforgivable and it’s sad. I never would’ve imagined it from Paige.

“Really, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I can’t do this.” I blurt like word vomit. “I just can’t. Ion even wanna look at you right now, Paige.”

“Maraye.”

“I’m gonna go.” I say under my breath, nodding as if that’s what I’ve decided to do. I reach for my phone on the dresser, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling in my broken fingernail. The room suddenly feels so small, suffocating. Filled with hot air and lingering insults.

Paige looks at me incredulously. Almost shocked that I was willing to leave it at this, that I didn’t want to hear her out. “I-that’s it? We’re not gonna talk? You just gonna leave like none of this shit matters.” Her voice is low, throat almost scratched raw.

“I don’t know what to say to you that’s not gonna make this worse.” I explain.

“I can fix it, Raye. Please.”

It’s so hard. Hard to not fall victim to everything that she is and give her what she wants.

Believe it or not, I want to, I want to hear her out and have her tell me just how much she regrets it all.

But every time I look at her, I keep thinking about that girl. That girl who had Paige first, seemingly long before I did. Who had her hands in Paige’s hair the same way I do when she’s laying on my couch with her head on my shoulder.

That girl who got to feel Paige’s lips. Soft and plump with that enticing color of pink. The same lips that told me she felt something for me, told me that she’d give me time. The lips that made me feel like I was the only person in the world to her.

Don’t even start on the image of the two of them— a girl who’s probably prettier than I am or funnier or impossibly more into her than I am, and my perfect blue eyed Paige— being together in a way that we haven’t. Kissing and touching and moaning together.

Being together.

It’s nauseating.

So I just turn around, dragging myself to her hallway and to her front door. I can hear her soft footsteps following after me fast. I sniffle as I slip my shoes on, hoping that if I leave just fast enough I can hang on to the words she said to me before she slept with someone else. The words that let me know that it was just us.

Maybe those are enough to get me to forgive her, eventually.

But right now. I can’t.

So I leave. The door slamming shut behind me, and more tears falling before I even get a chance to stop them.

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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professorsnape394 · 4 months ago

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Day 5: Staying with Severus

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Pillow

Summary: Y/N is forced to stay with Severus after Peeves destroys her living quarters and secrets are exposed.

A/N: Part 2 to Snapetober Day 3 'Haunt'. Again this one kind of ran away from me and turned out being a lot longer than I expected.

Warnings: casual drinking?

Word Count: 3314

Credits to the artist.

DAY 1

“Alright, let’s hear it.” I said, dropping my bags at my feet upon entry.

“Excuse me?” Severus looked at me inquisitively.

“You said you’d have stipulations for me staying with you, let’s hear them.”

“Very well.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “As there is no spare bedroom you will unfortunately have to sleep here on the couch. This means, you are to wait until nightfall to arrange your sheets accordingly. Similarly, I don’t want to see them in the morning, I would like them to be removed before I awake.”

“Not a problem, I’m just grateful to be able to escape that pesky poltergeist. Anything else?”

“I expect all the living areas to be kept clean and tidy.”

“Of course.” So far nothing too unreasonable.

“No excessive noise; this means no music or singing or anything else I might consider grating.”

“Not even in the shower?” Snape raised a single eyebrow at me. “I’m kidding. I’ll keep to myself I promise.”

“No wandering, I don’t want you messing with my things. And no guests whatsoever; I do not wish to stumble upon anything I do not wish to see.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” I smirked. If only he knew.

“I have some marking to do in my office tonight, so that will let you get settled in peace.”

“No worries, I’m just excited to take a long shower in a bathroom that’s actually clean for once. I’ll probably spend the night reading on the couch by the fire, if that’s alright with you. I haven’t had peace and quiet for so long.”

“I’ll be back around 10, until then you are free to do as you wish.”

Severus quickly made his way to the door, seemingly wanting to get out of my way as soon as humanly possible.

“Severus.” I called after him. “Thank you for this. I really do appreciate it.”

With a curt nod he way on his way.

It was a struggle to stay awake after my shower; the heat of the fire making my eyes droop almost instantly. It was the first time in weeks I was had complete silence and my body was starting to naturally shut itself down. Unable to wait until Severus returned to set up my bed, I fell asleep right there on the sofa, curled into myself to keep warm.

DAY 2

I awoke the next morning in exactly the same with the exception of a fluffy blanket that had been gently placed over my body.

It seemed not only had Severus silently entered last night, but had also already left before I awoke this morning. There was practically no sign of any life having ever been in the small apartment that were his living quarters.

Knowing I didn’t have long until breakfast I quickly made my way about getting ready for the day, making sure to leave as little trace of myself as possible.

As I arrived in the Great Hall I flashed Severus a large smile he had no in intention of returning, his cold demeanour never having changed despite his uncharacteristically kind gesture.

“You’re looking awfully chipper this morning.” Minerva commented as I took my seat next to her.

“Let’s just say I’ve found a temporary living situation, completely devoid of poltergeists.”

“How did you manage to pull that off?”

“I took your advice.” I smiled, unable to help myself from glancing towards to the potions master.

“I see.” She grinned. “And how is it going so far?”

“Fine. I’ve pretty much had the place to myself.” I shrugged.

“You mean the two of you haven’t spent any time together yet?”

“Not really. And to be honest it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to at all.”

“Hmm.” She turned her attention to her mug of tea.

My peace didn’t last as long as I had initially hoped with Peeves showing up half way through breakfast, beginning once again to annoy the living daylights out of me. Despite his taunting getting worst a decent night’s sleep made all the difference and I was finally able to endure his taunting. My sudden disappearance from my chambers only seemed to spur the ghost on; seemingly pissed off that I had managed to find a loophole in his agreement.

From verbal taunts to disruptive actions; Peeves quickly changed tactics to more disturbing forms of chaos. He started with turning the heating off to my classroom, causing issues for not only myself but my pupils for the day. Then he took it as far as to tear up my students test sheets, using the remnants of parchment as confetti while he followed me around for the rest of the day. Yes, it was frustrating to say the least but nothing I couldn’t endure until the end of the week.

It didn’t come as a shock to me that Severus was not in his chambers when I returned later that evening. I almost felt guilty for spending more time in his quarters than he was; not fully expecting how inconvenient my staying here would be for him, but at the same time I wasn’t willing to spend any more time being tortured by Peeves than was absolutely necessary.

This time I managed to stay awake to see him return, hoping to ask him a question that had been on my mind all day.

“Hey.” I greeted him as he crept through the door.

Severus faltered at my words, clearly not expecting me to be awake.

“Good evening.” He said without stopping.

“Do you want to sit with me for a bit?” I offered, not wanting to chase him out of his own living room.

“I don’t think so, I’m not really in the mood to talk.”

“Oh okay, no worries.” The disappointment in my voice evident.

His eyes fluttered shut, a short sigh escaping his lips.

“If you’re still up for it tomorrow, we can talk then.” He compromised.

“Sounds great.”

He began to leave again.

“Wait, Severus, one more thing. Was this you?” I gripped onto the blanket I had taken the liberty of wrapping around myself again.

“You looked cold.” He said simply before disappearing into his bedroom.

DAY 3

“Hey.” I smiled, tucking my feet under myself as Snape returned from yet another night hidden away in his office.

Snape didn’t even bother to look in my direction, stalking over to his liquor cabinet on the opposite side of the room. Pouring himself a large glass of Firewhiskey, Severus raised the bottle in my direction, cocking a single eyebrow to silently offer me a drink.

“No thanks.” I smiled, lifting up my half-drunk mug. “I’m good with tea.”

He grunted in response. Taking his sweet time to drain his glass, before pouring himself another, Snape slowly made his way over to the couch.

Patting the empty seat beside me I encouraged him to join me. Unsurprisingly, he opted for the solitary leather armchair.

“So…” I tried to break the awkwardness of the silence. “How was your day?”

“Perfectly adequate.”

“Oh.” I focused my stare into my lap. I knew Severus wasn’t the warmest of men, but we had known each other well over a decade now and yet he was speaking to me like he barely knew me. While we were never friends, and I knew Severus didn’t get along with James and Sirius, I wasn’t aware he felt the same hatred towards me.

Starting to regret my want to reconnect with him, I considered maybe it would be best to keep my distance. That was until he spoke again.

“Better than your day, anyway. I hear the poltergeist hasn’t let up.” He elaborated.

“Yeah, I think he’s pissed I’ve found a hack in his system. But I can put up with it for a few days if it means I get to come home to peace and quiet every night. I never fully appreciated how truly tranquil it is down here, I understand why you want to keep it that way.”

“I’m not entirely sure if it’s a natural quality of the place or just that the students stay clear of the halls at risk of running into me.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not that bad.” I giggled, though he seemed deadly serious.

He shot me a glaring look.

“You forget I knew you before you were like this, Severus.”

“And what exactly is this.” He sneered, taking another large gulp of his whiskey.

“I don’t know…. Intimidating? Scary? Dark and brooding. Whatever persona you’re trying to portrait, you’ve not always been that way.”

“And you would know how I used to be?”

I bit my lip nervously.

“You’re clever.” I stated, deciding it would be better to prove how well I knew him rather than to try and explain myself. “Probably the most intelligent person I’ve ever meet, to be honest. And you’re and mysterious, in a way that’s sort of intriguing. And you can be kind… when you want to be.”

“You’re an interesting woman, Y/N.”

I couldn’t help but blush at the sudden intensity of his stare.

“How’d you mean?”

“You’re so … likeable.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s confusing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How could a girl like you end up friends with those infernal boys. I’ve never understood it.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t really know how it happened, we were in the same house I guess it was inevitable. I would study with Remus after class and Sirius seemed to take a shine to me from day one. They we’re really the kind of people I would have chosen as friends, but c’est la vie.” I shrugged.

“Did you two ever….” Snape eyed me intently before taking another swig of whiskey.

“Me and Sirius?” I scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. He was never my type.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, seemingly satisfied.

“It seemed to me that you and I would have been perfect friends, Severus. We always frequented the same secluded spots.”

“I liked to keep to myself.”

“I noticed. I was always just trying to find a moments peace from those boys, but I don’t imagine you ever saw me.”

“I did.”

“I just figured I was one of those people who were easily overlooked, I didn’t expect to be noticed by anyone.”

“I always noticed you.” His eyes met mine once more, daring me to be the first to look away.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at his once again empty class. I win.

“Well, I think I better turn in for the night.” The eery silence of the room threatened to swallow us whole.

“No worries.” I smiled, bashfully. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He smirked.

DAY 4

The following night Severus returned from dinner and joined me by the fire without prompting.

He took his usual path to the back of the room; fumbling about with his glass decanter as he always had before speaking a word to me. Watching him I realised; he did this not because he was rude, as I had initially suspected, but that he was nervous and he needed a moment to himself to mentally prepare himself before joining me by the fire. The moment the tight muscles in his shoulders dropped, I knew he was ready to chat.

“Tea?” He called without looking back.

“Oh. Eh… yeah, go on then.” I said, caught off guard by his offer.

Falling back into silence I continued to watch as Severus busied himself making my drink.

Despite clearing room for him on the opposite side of the couch, he once again opted for his singular worn down arm chair.

“Coping any better with the haunting today?” He asked, still preoccupied with his drink.

“Oh definitely. I think just knowing I don’t have to deal with him when I come back here has taken so much weight off my shoulders. I was struggling there for a while, but I don’t think there is anything he could do to me now that I can’t handle.”

“Good. That’s… good.”

The awkwardness in the air threatened to halt the conversation all together.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” I asked in a panic.

“No.” He answered a little too quickly. “I don’t tend to… socialise much.”

“I remember.” I chuckled, earning a stern glare from the professor. “If you want, we could go get a drink together. I’ve yet to take a wander into Hogsmeade, maybe you could remind me of the way? That is unless you’d prefer to be alone.”

“I usually do.” He hesitated. “Though there is a select few I can tolerate spending time with.”

“I don’t suppose I fall into that category.” I blushed, realising he was avoiding my question.

“You’re getting there.” He admitted. “It hasn’t been nearly as inconvenient having you stay here as I expected.”

“If you were dreading it so much, why did you say yes?” I was suddenly very conscious that I was imposing by staying here and that maybe I should have just stuck it out another week like everyone else had.

“Because you asked me to.” Severus spoke softly.

“But I was only joking, you didn’t really have to agree if it made you uncomfortable.”

“I wanted to.” He confirmed, his eyes telling me he meant it.

“Well, I know I’ve said it plenty of times, but I really do appreciate it.” I gulped, finding it hard to relax again.

“Stop stressing, Y/N, I’ll accompany you to Hogsmeade.” The tension I was holding in my body instantly eased at his words.

DAY 5

“What is this?” Snape questioned upon my entry, for once he hadn’t returned to his office after dinner. He held a weathered old book between his hands, his eyes scanning page after page.

“No idea.” I shrugged, barely looking away from my book.

“It belongs to you; a diary I believe.”

“What?” I paled. “Where did you get that?”

I had only kept a diary once in my life; I poured my heart and soul into it through my teen years at school. It contained every thought I had, every emotion I felt, and worst of all, my biggest secret I had tried so hard to hide. I kept the for the sentimental value but had otherwise forgotten it existed, buried it in a drawer somewhere in my chambers.

“It was pinned to the door… with this note.”

He held up a singular yellow post it baring the words; READ ME.

Peeves. That ghost had gone too far now.

“Give it back.” I demanded, jumping from my chair,

“Why? Is there something you don’t want me to see?” He raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“No.” I blushed. “It’s just private.” I tried to snatch it from his grasp.

“Ah, I see. Wouldn’t want to reveal any hidden emotions or… artistic abilities.”

I blanched further.

“You’ve seen them.”

“I may have stumbled upon a few drawings, yes.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’ve read it.”

“Afraid so.” He stated simply, but made no effort to stop the huge grin spreading across his face.

I hastily flicked through the pages, scanning as much as I could to gauge what he knew. The text was damning. Severus Snape knew that I was in love with him.

“You’ve read all this?”

“Yep.”

“So… you know?”

“Every. Last. Detail.”

“It’s really old; I was a hormonal teenager and I wrote down anything that popped into my head. It doesn’t mean anything, I promise.”

“I see. And the pictures?”

“They’re just sketches, I… thought you had an interesting face.”

“You never drew your friends?”

“I tried but they mostly annoyed me the whole time.”

“They’re impressive.” He noted simply, reaching for them again.

“Thank you.” I gulped.

We took to the couch again that night, Severus enjoying the embarrassment that showed on my face time he spared a glance at my sketches still spread over the coffee table.

DAY 6

“I’ve been thinking about your journal.” Severus brought up the following night.

“Hmm?” I hummed, pretending to preoccupy myself, despite the burning feeling starting to crawl up my neck once more.

“You said it was old, that your feelings for me ending during our time together at school.”

“Of course. It was just a teenage crush, nothing more.”

“So you say but upon leaving for breakfast this morning. I happened upon something else pinned to the door.”

“Really, what?” I sipped my tea, trying hard not to sound invested.

All sense of composure left my body the minute he lay a further pile of parchment on the coffee table.

“Oh.” My stomach dropped at the sight.

Another set of drawings of the potions master stared back at me; this time more recent depictions of the man.

Despite the previous sketches having taken place over a number of years the second pile was just as large.

“Care to explain?” His words were curt but his tone had a hint of amusement to it.

There was no hiding the scarlet hue of my face nor the fact I obviously continued to draw Snape in my free periods since I started at Hogwarts.

“They’re from memory.” I blurted. “It’s not like I’m sitting watching you or anything. I… I just like to draw your face.”

“Is there a reason you like my face in particular?”

“I already told you; I find it interesting.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I…”

“Y/N.” He cut me off.

“Yes?” I squeaked.

“Are you still in love with me?”

I bit my lip nervously, having to force myself from spilling my life long secret.

Snape stared me down.

I nodded before I had a chance to think too much about it. Instantly my mind went into overdrive.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s inappropriate of me to stay here when I feel this way. I just really needed help and you-“

My rambling was cut off by the crashing of his lips against mine.

“I feel the same way.” He admitted, mouth hungrily moving against mine.

“You do?” The air had almost completely left my body, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Now it was his turn to nod.

“Why do you think I was so nervous to speak to you when you first arrived. I was always jealous of those boys for getting to spend time so much time with you when I liked you so much. All I wanted was you all to myself. I just never knew how to approach you.”

“I was worried you couldn’t even remember I existed.” I let out a breathless laugh.

“Believe me, I always remembered.” He pressed his lips against mine once more, this time deepening the kiss.

DAY 7

For the first time that week I didn’t wake up on that old green velvet couch, but instead on the chest of Severus Snape.

After our revelation last night we waited no longer than walk to the bedroom to finally let out our years long pent-up emotions for one another.

We immediately fell into his dark satin sheets; our bodies becoming a tangled mess of moans and gasps until we collapsed breathlessly against one another. Severus with his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and me with my head using his body as a pillow.

The first thing I remember thinking when I opened my eyes was that I never wanted to go back to real pillows ever again.

“I guess I’m finally free to leave then.” I commented as we drank our morning coffee together, still snuggled under the sheets of his bed.

My month long haunting had finally come to an end.

“That’s true.” Severus responded. “Or… you could stay.”

“What, here?” My eyes nearly burst out my head.

“For a while.” He shrugged. “Or just tonight?”

“How about we start with tonight.” I grinned, leaning into touch.

We had plenty of time to spend together from here on out.

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #alan rickman #severus snape x reader #severus x oc #severus snape fluff #severus x y/n #severus snape smut #severus snape headcanon #severus snape love #severus snape imagines #severus snape one shots #severus snape oneshot #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x oc #severus snape angst

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grayskies2525 · 2 months ago

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A Sneezy Little Christmas

This is just an incredibly self-indulgent 2,500 word one-shot about one of my OC's who has a cold on Christmas (well, Christmas Eve) and can't stop sneezing. That's it -- that's the whole story. I can't emphasize that enough. This is literally just sneezing 😅 Warning for a tiny bit of mess toward the end.

***

Felix isn’t going to sneeze. He isn’t going to sneeze because he’s already sneezed what must be one hundred times today, alone, and surely that should be enough to satisfy his body. There’s no rational reason he should continue having to endure sneeze after sneeze. So, he makes the decision that he is done. With his lips slightly parted, he pushes out a slow, steady breath and then slowly inhales the same way. He smiles at the victory. One whole breath and no sneeze! He deserves a medal, or trophy, or a bench dedicated to him, or—

“HEP-NkxxT!”

“Bless you,” Connor says, his voice low, from his spot next to him at the dining table, as he rubs Felix’s back soothingly.

Felix narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. His annoyance isn’t from being blessed, but is instead from the simple fact that now he’s going to have to open his mouth to speak. Here he is, fighting for his life desperately trying to keep breathing from triggering a sneeze — and now he has to try speaking.

“Connor heh! Hhhhh hehhhh HEN-NKT’choooo!” Felix pitches forward, capturing the sneeze in his pitifully used tissue. “I think may-maybe we should hhh hhhh put a moratorium on blessings during this dinner be-because —” Felix can’t finish the sentence. He just can’t. His nose is brimming with itchy, burning sneezes that are begging to topple out of him. His eyelids flutter as he focuses on the Santa Clause painting hung on the dining room wall. He stares at it as he continues letting out little gasps of air. “Heehhhh hhhhh Hhhhhh!”

“Oh dear,” he hears his mother say from her spot at the table across from him. “Okay, well, Felix is obviously too occupied by his cold right now to offer much to our conversations. So, Ben, why don’t you tell us how things have been with your jobs?”

Felix is thankful for attention being redirected to his best friend. Ben is, for all intents and purposes, his brother and is one of the closest people he has in his life. Ben also has a propensity to talk a lot about nothing, which is exactly what Felix needs right now because all Felix is capable of doing — all he’s been capable of since he woke up on this horrible Christmas Eve — is sneeze. Felix sits, fork in hand, in a futile attempt to maintain the pretense of actually being able to eat the dinner his parents cooked.

He takes a shockingly deep breath — a breath that seems to draw in as much air as his lungs can physically hold— and continues staring at the picture on the wall. This time, there’s no gasping or hitching. He’s trapped in this one single breath while his eyes prickle with tears and his nostrils flare as his body prepares for the inevitable. He clenches one fist at his side. He uses his other hand to frantically wave his tissue — a tissue that is, admittedly, strikingly damp and likely useless at the moment — in front of his face. He silently begs for the release to finally just come — to please, please just come already.

And it does.

“EEHHHHH-ETzz’SCHIEWWWW!”

As prepared as he was for the sneeze, he’s still shocked by the force at which his entire body snaps forward. The way Ben suddenly jerks away from him — putting an almost comical amount of distance between them — and his subsequent exclamation of “Christ, Felix!” gives Felix the impression that he may not have captured as much of the spray with his tissue as he had intended. He supposes it would have been better to have had the tissues actually covering his nose and face instead of held out a foot in front of him. In his defense, he can normally stifle with ease, so he wasn’t exactly prepared for the harsh release of spray.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles, sheepishly. He looks around as his father, mother, boyfriend, and best friend all stare at him. “I, uh… I think I must have picked up an especially bad cold from somewhere because I just can’t stop heehhh I can’t-can’t stop hep-NKT! HEH-NxxT! AH’NKT-chooo! At’NKT! HEP-nkt! I can’t stop sneezing hhhh hhh no matter h-h-how how hard I HEP-N’GKT! Holy shit,” he mumbles, blinking hard, keeping his harm pressed to his face. “Uh pardon my language, Mom. I just really can’t stop, oh my god.” His chest is heaving and more sneezes quickly begin tumbling out of him. “Eh-NKt’chooo! NKT’choooo! HmpKT’choooo! EH-TCHOOO! NKT’shooo! HMP’tshoooo!”

“Damn,” Ben says, sounding awed. “You know he’s really sick when he stops holding them in like he normally does.”

“Okay, um, excuse me. I need to uh st-step away MMpt’shhhhhhh! MPPT’SHOOO! HMPT’ShOOOOO!” Felix continues muffling sneezes into his arm as he makes his way to the bathroom.

__________

Felix stands in the bathroom for a couple of minutes and still doesn’t think he’s ready to come out. His breaths are coming out erratically and there’s still such a sharp tickle buried deep inside his sinuses. He has already sneezed an astonishing amount, and he’s not proud of how many germs he’s sure he’s released into this small room. He’s just helplessly under control of this cold. He’s lost all autonomy when it comes to choosing to sneeze or not to sneeze.

He hears a knock on the door and a “Felix, are you all right in there? Is it okay if I come in?”

Felix sniffles. “Y-yes you can come in HET-NgT’CHOO!” The failed stifle bursts free in what Felix thinks to be a rather dramatic fashion with droplets of various sizes glistening on the bathroom mirror’s reflective glass.

Connor opens the unlocked door and steps in, wearing a sympathetic smile. “Hey there. How are you feeling?” he asks as he places his hand comfortingly on Felix’s back.

“Uh…” Felix says, then sniffles deeply. “Babe, I think I’m, like, super sick,” he says before sneezing down at the floor.

“Really?” Connor asks, letting out a light chuckle. “I think we may need further evidence before we can draw a definitive conclusion.”

Felix tries to glare, but only succeeds in sneezing. “This is no time for jokes. I’m dying, Connor. I know people joke about dying when they have colds but I’m — I’m — I’m? HeeEEHHH’NGT’CHUUUHH!”

And with that, the air becomes tainted with yet another contagious, germ-filled cloud. “Connor, I — I can’t even fucking cover anymore. They just — they won’t stop. To catch all of them, I’d have to have a perpetual arm held up or a ti-tissue heh-it’shhoooooo!" Felix lets out an exasperated sigh. "And, quite frankly, I’m too exhausted for that. Why? Why why why do they just keep coming?” he asks, mostly rhetorically.

Connor hums in thought next to him. “I think it’s your body’s way of banishing the cold from your body.”

“I know. I teach biology. I understand viruses, but — but why so — so many heh-m’KTshoooo!”

“Well, uh, something tells me you have a lot of that cold virus in you and your immune system is kind of… well, it’s freaking the fuck out. I think it’s trying to expel all those little viral demons out of you all at once,” Connor says with a gentle smile

“Well, personally, I find this to be an overly aggressive reaction and — EH-mpfft’shuuuh! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I’m going to tear this whole thing off my face!” Felix exclaims in anguish, throwing back his head and groaning.

“Oh, don’t do that. I love your little nose,” Connor says, smiling fondly at him.

“You wouldn’t love it if it were yours, Connor,” Felix says, voiced laced with annoyance as he rubs his nose. Feeling fatigue settle deep in his bones, he wanders over to the toilet to shut the lid and sit down. He rests his head against the wall, keeping his eyes shut.

He feels Connor’s cool hand against his forehead. Felix hums in contentment at the soothing touch.

“You don’t feel like you have a fever,” Connor says.

“No,” Felix agrees. “No fever, but I feel like I could sleep for 20,000 years,” he says, not having the strength to open his eyes.

“Aw, don’t do that. I’m afraid I would miss you.”

“You’d be better off,” Felix says, hating how it comes out as a whine. “I’m useless now.”

“Aww, Felix. You look so pitiful,” Connor says, though Felix doesn’t miss the small laugh Connor lets out. “We’ll get you feeling better soon, okay? Do you want to go ahead and leave? So you can get some rest?” Connor asks.

Felix contemplates this, but his nostrils are flaring and his breath is hitching and he’s about to —

He feels something clasp around his nose and opens his eyes to see Connor pressing tissues against Felix’s face. “You look like you’re about to sneeze, and I don’t mean to offend you, but your sniffles sound… well, let’s just say that your next sneeze doesn’t sound like it’ll be a pretty sight if you leave it uncovered.”

Felix can’t process the words. He’s preoccupied with more pressing matters.

“HEFF-mph’ssshhhhttttt! MMg’shuuuhhhh! Eck’fshhuuuhhh! Aff’shhhtt! K’SHUUUH!”

Connor was certainly correct in his assessment of the current state of Felix’s nose. It is not a pretty situation. Even with the tissues, he can still feel steady trickle of warm wetness seeping past his nostrils and down his lips. He sees Connor’s wide-eyed, shocked expression and has a single millisecond to feel shame course through him before his body’s lost to another violent paroxysm.

“HEP’NKxxxT’SHOOO!”

Felix truly did attempt a stifle out of courtesy, considering Connor’s hand had still been firmly pressing tissues over his nose. It seems, though, that the attempt created even more of a mess.

“Sorry,” Felix says, voice mangled by an obscene amount of congestion and the tissues still clasped against his nose.

Connor clearly attempts a smile, but it resembles more of a wince. “Bless you…. Uh, I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I thought this decision through entirely. I guess I thought you’d just have one sneeze? You kind of just kept going, though.... But, that was totally my bad. Nothing about today has indicated that your nose would be happy with one single sneeze. Do you… do you mind taking over now, sweetie?” Connor asks and Felix realizes he’s still sitting there while his nose drips with Connor holding Felix’s soaked tissues.

Felix slowly brings up his own hand to take over. Connor hands Felix over several more tissues. Felix blows his nose, feeling its contents pour into the tissue. It's a gurgling, long-lasting blow that easily drenches his tissues. He’s vaguely aware of Connor washing his hands. He winces slightly as he realizes that Connor had surely gotten some of Felix’s mess on his fingers.

Felix finishes blowing his nose, dropping the used tissues into the wastebasket. He scrunches up his nose at the itch he still feels present.

“Oh, your poor nose,” Connor says, frowning.

“I know,” Felix says with a sniffle. “I’m one step away from Santa asking me to guide his sleigh tonight.”

Connor laughs, then cards his hand through Felix’s mess of wavy hair. He lowers his head, placing a gentle kiss on Felix’s forehead. When Connor draws back, he smiles and locks his gaze with Felix’s. “You know,” Connor starts. “I do recall someone warning you to be careful at the mall the other day. When there were… oh, I don’t know, dozens of people coughing and sneezing literally everywhere. In fact, if my memory serves correct, you seemed to completely ignore these suggestions, choosing instead to walk directly into the path someone openly coughed in.”

Felix cringes at the memory. “That may have been a mistake.”

Connor smiles, and Felix appreciates how it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. As annoyed as he is at Connor’s taunting — though truthful — words, when Connor smiles like that, Felix will melt every single time.

“You’re cute when you wiggle your nose like that,” Connor says. Then, to Felix’s horror, he touches Felix’s nose. It’s only the tip of it and Connor is quick to pull his finger away, but the touch is firm and with Felix’s nose full of a cold, that’s all it takes.

He shakes his head violently and holds his hand out in front of him. He feels his warm, hitching breaths hitting the palm of his hand.

Felix sits on the toilet seat, his chest heaving and eyes streaming tears. “HEHHHH Hhhhhh HHH HHHHH hhhhhhhh HHHHH!”

He sees, through watery eyes, Connor roll his eyes and huff out a laugh. “I think I’m going to do us both a favor and hurry this along.” With that ominous statement, Connor hands Felix several tissues. Felix, breath still hitching, gives Connor a questioning look.

Connor brings his long, slender finger up to Felix’s nose and begins to lightly trace over the bridge. Feeling the vibrations radiate throughout his entire sinus cavity, Felix throws his head back, using one hand fiercely to grip the side of the toilet seat and his other to clutch the tissues over his nose, while his breaths come out in desperate gasps until sneeze after sneeze begins to explode out of him..

“AAHHHHHH N’GXXT! N’GXXT! G’NXXT! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T!” Felix’s shoulders shake and his head pounds with the force of the stifled sneezes, but he instinctively continues stifling because that’s always been his natural response. “NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! HAAHHHHHH NGT’choooo! NGT’chooooooo! NGxT’choooooo! HEP’NKt! HEP-NKT! NKT’SHOOOOO! EP’nkt’choooo! ET’SCHIEWWWW! ET’SCHIEWWWWW! ET-SCHOOOOO! ECK-SHOOOO! ”

Though many of the sneezes were stifled, he still manages to flood the tissues. He blows, sneezes some more, then looks up at Connor.

“Babe, I’m literally dying,” Felix says, his eyes still pouring tears and his nose is dripping like a faucet.

Connor is looking at Felix the way one typically looks at a swarm of ants feasting upon a rotten piece of food — as though Felix is disgusting but too interesting to look away from.

“You’re not dying,” Connor says, rolling his eyes, though still smiling fondly in that way he often does. “You just have a really bad head cold. Like, really bad — to a truly impressive degree."

Felix feels another itch burrowing out from the depths up his sinuses, slowly crawling along to the surface. Felix can’t hold back a whimper as his shoulders sag and his expression crumples in defeat.

“More?” Connor asks, sounding incredulous.

“More,” Felix confirms, breath already hitching.

“Maybe you are dying,” Connor says with an expression mixed with concern and amusement.

Felix can’t roll his eyes, or shoot Connor the glare he deserves, or respond in any way other than to sneeze. So he does.

Then, he sneezes again. And again. And again.

Felix hears Connor muttering something about Felix needing rest and maybe some Benadryl, but Felix is helpless to respond. He’s at complete and total mercy of this cold. Felix resigns himself to the fact that this is simply going to be how he spends Christmas this year.

#snz #snz fic #snzblr #snz kink

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mononijikayu · 9 months ago

Text

already gone – gojo satoru.

(manga spoilers for chapter 261)

His eyes flicked to yours, a flicker of pain and understanding passing between you. In that moment, you both knew that there would be no going back to the way things were. The choices made here would haunt you, but you also knew that you would face the future together, bound by the shared weight of your decisions and the unspoken promise of support.

GENRE: shinjiku showdown arc (spoilers for chapter 261)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: already gone by sleeping at last

NOTE: im mourning so hard, i haven't stopped crying. but i cried more because i can't imagine how my oc would feel considering genmei views satoru as her lifeline. im not even at that part of the story writing, but genmei would be hit hard. she wouldnt be able to move on. she wouldn't be able to stop crying either. but i needed to write this, to get the emotional brunt off my chest. i hope that this comforts you a little as it did with me. i love you all. hugs for everyone.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

THERE REALLY WAS NO GOING BACK FROM THIS. You and Satoru sat alone amidst the aftermath, the bodies of the higher-ups lying around you, a grim testament to the brutal reality you both faced.

The silence was heavy, a suffocating weight that pressed down on your chest as you stared at the carnage. The acrid scent of blood and death hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang that coated your tongue. Each breath felt like an effort, the gravity of what had transpired settling over you like a dark cloud.

Satoru, usually so carefree and unbothered, looked uncharacteristically solemn. His usually bright, mischievous eyes were shadowed with emotions embroiling into a chaotic harmony.

He sat close to you, his hand resting on the ground beside yours, fingers almost brushing but not quite. The unspoken connection between you had always been palpable. Even when both of you were a bit younger. It was if anything, even when you both lost Suguru, a thin thread of solace in the midst of the horror.

You glanced at Satoru, seeking some form of reassurance, but his gaze was fixed on the bodies, his jaw clenched tight. The weight of the recent events bore down on you both, the decisions made, the lives taken, all swirling in a chaotic maelstrom of regret and necessity.

There was no other choice. Not when there was such little time, when there was no way you would leave this for the kids to wrap up. It was a moment where the true cost of your responsibilities became painfully clear, the price paid in blood and sacrifice. This is all that will secure the future.

Satoru finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "We did what we had to." he said, more to himself than to you, as if trying to convince himself of the necessity of their actions. “Don’t think too much.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the truth of his words. "I know." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But after all this time, I thought it would be easier.”

You did think it was easier. You knew what it was like to kill human beings. The act of taking a life was not foreign to you; it had been part of your existence as a jujutsu sorcerer for as long as you could remember. The initial shock and horror of it had dulled over time, replaced by a grim acceptance of necessity. Each death was a means to an end, a way to protect the innocent, to rid the world of curses, to maintain balance. Yet, today felt different.

The bodies of the higher-ups lay sprawled around you, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. These were not faceless enemies or malevolent curses; these were people you had known, some for years. Their ambitions, their fears, their humanity—it all lay exposed in the finality of their deaths. You and Satoru had made a choice, one born out of desperation and the need for a new order, but the cost of that choice now weighed heavily on your soul.

You have always been able to justify your actions in the past. Each kill had been a step toward a greater good, a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. But this? This felt like a betrayal of the very essence of what you stood for. These were your peers, your allies, albeit flawed and corrupt. The distinction between right and wrong blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity.

Satoru's hand tightened around yours, a silent anchor in the storm of your thoughts. His presence was a reminder that you were not alone in this, that he too bore the weight of what you had done. You glanced at him, searching for some semblance of solace in his expression. His face was a mask of determination, but his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—betrayed a depth of sorrow that mirrored your own.

“Hm, it doesn’t.”

Silence engulfs you both.

Your eyes flared downward.

A sigh passes through your lips.

"It's not in you to have liked to do this." you finally said, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the sorrow churning in layers unknown. “To decide the upper floors had to go.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. "We had no choice," he replied, his voice devoid of its usual lightheartedness. "We have no more time to indulge in the future."

There was so much you wanted to say, so many arguments and pleas that burned on the tip of your tongue. But the words refused to come, trapped in the maelstrom of your conflicted heart. Satoru seemed to sense your turmoil, turning to face you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours.

"Just say it," he urged gently. "Tell me how you hate me for what Yuuta and I agreed to do, should I lose to Sukuna."

You met his gaze, the pain and love in your eyes reflected in his own. "I do hate you," you whispered, the confession tearing at your soul. "Because I love you too much."

Satoru's expression softened, and he stood, walking over to you. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. "The loss of me will pass," he murmured against your hair, his breath warm on your skin. “Hm? You will always move forward. You have to.”

You clung to him, the thought of losing him more than you could bear. "You say it as it is. I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

He laughs a little, echoes of guilt layered among it.. “But you will this time too.”

This is what you think you hated the most about Satoru. How settled he was in his ways, how stubborn he was with his plan. It was a means to an end. As long as it brought down the system, he didn’t care about what happened. As long as his students lived, he didn’t care. And yet you wondered, what he would leave you with.

How much emptiness, how much grief he would let you settle for years and years — because he cared more about the world he wanted to build. In a way, you loved Satoru too much. You loved him so much you went against the world you had always known.

You had a dream of a normal life. Once when Kaiko and Namie were alive. Once with Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. When all you had left was Satoru, you were determined to live for him.

But you never gave up on that dream That you would have that white picket fence life. That you would raise a family. That you would grow old with him. But you should have known. You should have known that he was too far gone for you to reach.

Even with all the love that was between you, you should have known that love would not be enough to bring him back to life. Gojo Satoru had decided that love was a curse. And he lived by it. Geto Suguru had given it to him.

And he had accepted it. And since that day, you knew that he would have never let it go. Yet, what right do you have to judge him for it? You felt the same, when Kaiko died. And you never looked back.

“I loved you too much to let you just be a passerby in my life," you finally said, your voice breaking. "I've lost too much already, Satoru. But…. but to lose you would break me."

He held you tighter, his voice steady and resolute. "You have to be strong, for me and for everyone, y’know that." he said. "They'll need you when I'm gone."

His words cut deep, but you knew he was right. The world would keep turning. The sun would keep moving forward. The march of time, the echo of life would not change. It will go on and on. Even without him. People would need you to be there, to fight for them, to protect them. But the thought of a world without him was a dark, hollow void in your life, in your heart. In your soul. More tears flowed in your eyes.

Memories echoed in your head, as though they were just reels of your life in a picture show. You knew he could see it too, as though his six-eyes could see it as painfully as you could. As clearly as possible. Eleven years of life, motioned into small moments. Small moments that encompassed your whole world. Because he was your world. He was your whole world.

2011

You and Satoru spent a day at the beach, the sun high in the sky and the ocean waves crashing gently against the shore. He chased you along the sand, laughter bubbling up as you tried to escape his playful grasp. When he finally caught you, he lifted you up and spun you around, both of you dizzy with happiness.

You collapsed onto the sand together, breathless and smiling. "I wish we could stay here forever," you said, looking out at the endless horizon.

He squeezed your hand, his voice soft and sincere. "We can always come back. This place will always be here for us. We’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki with us next time too.”

You smile back at him. “I’d like that, Satoru. More than you know.”

2013

One quiet night, you both lay on a blanket under a canopy of stars, the world around you silent and still. Satoru pointed out constellations, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness.

"There's Orion," he said, tracing the outline with his finger. "And over there is Cassiopeia."

You nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Do you think we'll always have moments like this?" you asked softly.

He wrapped an arm around you, his voice filled with certainty. "Always. No matter what happens, we'll always find our way back to each other."

2014

Your New Year's together that year was magical. You stood on a rooftop, watching fireworks light up the night sky. The colors exploded in brilliant patterns, reflecting in Satoru's eyes as he pulled you close.

"Happy New Year," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

"Happy New Year," you replied, feeling a sense of hope and excitement for the future. "Let's make this year unforgettable."

He smiled, his arms wrapped securely around you. "Every year with you will be unforgettable."

“You guys make me sick.” Megumi whispered under his breath, taking a bite out of his cake.

“Megumi, don’t say that! They’re in love.” Tsumiki says, smiling at the sight of you and Satoru.

You both could only laugh.

2017

In the quiet of the night, you and Satoru sat together, your hearts heavy with grief for the loss of Suguru. The weight of his absence hung in the air like a tangible presence, a reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of duty and honor.

Satoru's normally bright eyes were dimmed with sorrow, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the burden he carried. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such profound loss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I had to do it. I had no choice."

You squeezed his hand, offering silent understanding and support. "I know," you replied softly. "It wasn't easy, but you did what had to be done. Suguru understood that."

Tears welled in Satoru's eyes as he leaned into your embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of your presence. In that moment of shared sorrow, you held each other close, finding strength in your love and the knowledge that you would always be there for one another, no matter what trials lay ahead.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful intensity. "Remember all the things we wanted?" he began softly. "Now all our memories, they're haunted."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words resonate deeply within you. "We were always meant to say goodbye." you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Even with our fists held high, it never would have worked out right," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were never meant for do or die, darling."

A sob escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I didn't want us to burn out, Satoru" you said, your voice breaking. "I didn't come here to hurt you now. I don't want to hurt you. But now I.... I can't stop."

Satoru gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter where we take this road. Someone's gotta go."

His words cut through you like a knife, the finality of it all hitting you hard. "It doesn't have to be you."

He smiles shaking his head.

"And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better," he said, his voice full of love and regret. "But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone."

“How do I do it?” You sobbed to him. “Without you?”

“You can.” He presses a kiss against your nose. “And you will.”

“You were meant to grow old with me.” You croaked to him.

"But now you’ll do it for me. For the both of us, hm? Live a long life." Satoru shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. "Keep Gakuganji in check. You know that old geezer can’t be trusted to keep the straight line.”

“Satoru….”

“Keep the jujutsu world at peace on my behalf.”

You shake your head against his chest.

You hit your arms against his figure.

Infinity was always down when it was you.

“Live long so that you have stories to tell me."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. "I hate you!" you repeated, the words laced with anguish. “I really really hate you.”

He laughed sadly, a bittersweet sound that echoed in the empty space around you. "I know, darling." he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I know."

In that moment, you both understood the depth of your bond, the unspoken promises and the inevitable heartache that lay ahead. But for now, you held onto each other, finding solace in the shared pain and the love that had brought you together.

When you let him go that day, you knew.

You would have to wait until you were gray.

You looked at Shoko and you shook your head.

Your eyes were too red to even look one last time..

As far as you were concerned, he was already gone.

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seancekitsch · 9 months ago

Note

Vox from Hazbin Hotel x siren! reader?? PLEASEE i love this concept sm-

i think i accidentally created myself an oc, also, if you spot the showgirls reference ill give you a cookie, this is inspired by the general flavor of moulin rouge and showgirls

“What the FUCK?!” you all but screech, throwing your blush frustratedly at your vanity. The small compact hits the cool marble, and immediately the product with the pan shatters, ruined. It was expensive. Fuck.

“I- I don’t know what happened…” Jinni, a succubus, your assistant and opening act, stutters from the door. Scared.

You deflate, rolling your eyes as you calm yourself and stop scaring the girl. You have to remember to stop raging near her. She’s young, too young.

Overlords in the club mean a good tip, mean security, mean you and girls like Jinni make rent safely and have some fun money to toss around as well. You practically fall into your chair, yank a fake eyelash off as you sigh, ready to put on the next pair for your closing number.

“There’s gotta be some reason the voice didn’t work on him,” you say, “I’m gonna find out why.”

“Are you sure thats a good idea?” Jinni asks, her tail curling around one of her legs. You have a soft spot for the girl, you really do. A place like this is gonna tear her apart; or at least, it would if you didn’t immediately take her under your wing. You pat the little chair beside you, and wrap your arms around the girl as soon as she takes the spot.

You both stare at each other’s eyes through the mirror, sweat and make up blurred against your complexions, a reassuring smile spreads across your face.

“I’ll check and see if he has the VIP package, and pull out the damsel in distress act,” you tell the little succubus, now cheek to cheek with her. She smiles at you through the mirror, knowing full well you’re ready to ham it up.

“Thats your best one,” she says, and comes closer to pick up a body glitter for you. Jinni leans on the chair behind you, resting her forearms on your shoulders. You gaze at her while your hand moves with the brush across your face, at this point muscle memory kicks in, flawless. She’s why you still play nice, you think.

“Gonna make sure you don’t have to go back to doggy chow for dinner,” you chide as you finish up your new look, a bit more dewy and innocent looking, as you shake her off and grab a lace robe to walk backstage in. Jinni laughs, and then takes your seat to take off her own make up.

You’ve done this walk thousands of times, the long dimly lit hallway, all of the girls rooms hidden behind flimsy curtains and makeshift doors, signed by girls current and long since past. Your feet feel light below you, though nerves course through your veins. The patrons cheering is almost quieted here, all the quiet white noise that sets you ablaze in excitement and anticipation for another performance.

But before the end of the hall can be reached, a meaty hand comes out to stop you, wrapping around your bicep.

“Outta my way, Flicker, I gotta tell the sound guy to switch my track,” You turn your head away from the stage manager, not willing to take a face full of his calamari breath.

“You ain’t goin’ out there again tonight,” he explains, “Got a private booking with a big spender.”

You sigh, right, just what you needed right now. You wish you could shoot a quick text to Jinni but… your phone is back in your dressing room with her. She’ll have to fair without you until this is over.

“Right now?” you meet his eyes, and you can tell he wanted you in there five minutes ago. Shit. Well, here goes the girls' good tips for the night, you sigh, and turn towards the stairwell that leads you up to the private boxes.

These rooms are gross; there’s no way to sugar coat it. You hate private bookings, much preferring to dance on the floor with any high spending patrons, giving them the girlfriend experience while you have the added safety of being able to slip away. These private rooms don't even have walls, more like private theater boxes so the managers can make sure you're keeping the clients happy. Up here, your talents are much more obvious, much harder to avoid blame.

You wonder what this guy will want. A champagne pour? A strip tease? Or worst of all, a dry hump or an over the pants job? You’d hate for this asshole to fuck up your costume or make up. That shits not cheap down here, and you only hope that after this private booking the overlord in the back of the hall might have loosened up and opened his wallets to one of the other girls or the house.

But it still digs at you, like an old wound you cannot help but pick at… that your voice didn’t work on—

Him.

Its him. You can see through the sheer curtain the overlord in a suit. An old fashioned in his hand as he leans against the railing, the finale of the show tonight kicking into full gear below, all of the patrons like dogs on leashes waiting to be released to dance and party with the girls until dawn once the stage is clear.

“Oh, Sir!” you call to him as you pull back the curtain, your flimsy robe fluttering behind you, “What is a man of your caliber doing in a place like this?”

Maybe you’re laying it on a little thick with the sultry little voice and the innocent act, but that’s what the men pay you for. He turns quickly, as if he didn’t expect you here so soon, but his smile quickly grows, teeth glowing against the low lighting of the private box.

“What do you mean?” HIs voice is smooth as butter, “Is a man of MY caliber not supposed to admire beautiful things? Consider me a patron of the arts.”

You lounge yourself on one of the couches, effortlessly parting the bottom of your robe, kicking your legs up, really giving him a show. The boning of your costume digs into your ribs, but you don’t move. You always win over the higher spenders by laying out the feast for them.

“Is that so?” you ask, a fake demure giggle leaving your lips, “Well then consider me confused, because you didn’t look so happy during my number earlier.”

The glow of his eyes distracted you, both out on stage earlier and now. His gaze intense, his posture rigid.

“Maybe,” he trails off, crossing the little box until he’s in reach. One of his large hands wraps around your ankle, and then carelessly yanks your ankle off the couch to force you sitting upright. Okay, you’re only a little offended. Moreso intrigued by his seemingly complete lack of attraction to you. You drop your robe from one shoulder, baring more skin to entice him. Men are men, after all. He moves to sit at the other end of the couch. Maybe not all is lost, you think, as you pour a glass of champagne from the side table. The girl they threw on stage instead of you is killing this performance from what you can tell, and you know she’ll finish strong by the aerial rig set up and ready to go for her. You sip your glass as he sips his, and lean in closer to him, hoping that a little more proximity to him will help you figure out his deal.

“But maybe I’m more wondering what the fuck someone like you is doing here,” he sneers as he stands, leaving you falling sideways into the space he vacated, nearly spilling your glass.

“I- I beg your pardon?” you splutter, the sultry voice gone for a moment as you check to make sure you didn’t waste a drop of champagne on your robe.

“And stop with the agreeable little whore act, you can talk to me,” he winks at you as he says it, red glowing eye rimmed with teal. You sigh as you brush yourself off from both he physical and metaphorical stumble. Okay, what does he know?

“Someone like me?” you ask, your real voice now dripping through.

“Someone with power, darling,” The overlord says as if it’s obvious, “Someone with a talent like mine.”

He finishes his drink, and tosses the glass over the railing into the patrons gallery below.

“I could use someone with talents like yours,” he says, and your blood runs cold. You know what overlords mean when they say that. Your eyes dart to the curtain, to the hallway. If you shouted, would Flicker hear you? Wait- What are you thinking? He doesn’t give a rats ass about his girls’ safety.

You do the only thing you can, you open your mouth to sing.

“Ah ah ah, nope,” he holds up a finger to silence you before you can begin, “That won’t work.”

You close your mouth, open it, close it again.

“How did you know?”

If he knows, he can tell. If he tells, you lose money. Girls back on the street, you without a plan here.

His scowl turns to a smile, his eyes glowing brighter, circular rimming pulsating within his sclera. A funny tickle passes over you, as if he was blowing on you, gentle and odd. You furrow your brow, and then your jaw drops. You get it now.

“Oh, Sir!” you play it up, ‘agreeable little whore’ voice as he called it back in full force, “I didn’t realize we were so evenly matched!”

“I’m glad the smartest girl in this joint is also the prettiest,” he flirts, walking back over to the couch until he’s leaning on the arm of it.

“How were you thinking of spending the evening mister…?” You stick to script if you trail off, not wanting to ask him outright what he wanted, now that you know what you’re dealing with.

He crackles, static, his glow dimming momentarily.

“Vox, darling. Where are my manners?” he finally introduces himself as he reaches over you for the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and the other glass. He knows this game too, you realize, as his cologne wafts over you; something rich and woodsy. Attractive and expensive.

“I’d like to offer my patronage, to your little,” he gestures around with the empty flute before pouring it, “artistic endeavors personally.”

That would be nice. A steady patron would mean steady money, steady numbers and acts, a bigger costume budget. His lap doesn't seem like a bad one to be perched on.

“Thats very generous, Mister Vox,” you say, holding out your glass for him to top it off, “But I can’t help but wonder what you want in return?”

His smile changes, less sharp, more real as he moves the neck of the bottle to your glass. He looks you up and down, scrutinizing every detail.

“Your voice,” he goes on to explain, “For some important events, some advertising. I can make you a star, darling.”

It dawns on you that he hasn’t even asked your name, but then again you also weren’t going to give a client your real name. The entire idea is attractive, desirable. The patronage of a handsome powerful man, a legitimate name for yourself in the entertainment industry, security.

You reach upward clink your glass against his, urging him to clink yours back.

“You’ll have to win me over with a dance,” you tease him, your lips curling into a downright vicious smile.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 3 months ago

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Idk if you've already answered this, but have you ever thought of Yuu having a different physiology than the rest of the twst cast? More or less in the way that isn't really noticeable, but enough to make their friends feel "off"

(Like, imagine if Yuu's blood is so different from the rest that it needs an entire different study solely dedicated to it)

I didnt get this in my notifs

I think about this so often. Esp cause my ocs are not any race in twst

Like in a slightly different way: Yuus body digesting nutrients differently— and no doubt the food in TWST is better suited for the natives so Yuu has to play a fun game of "am I allergic to this" and "will this thing I like in my world taste like utter shit here orr?" All while getting half the nutrition or not even being able to process it. "Yes Jamil, you make banger curry— sadly it fucks up my body and I gotta throw it up"

Even little things like they don't have a blood type that exists there so they're fucked if something happens. Their magic tolerance is lower, so they get sick from it. They're not allergic to cats, but Leona's shedding is making them wheeze. Or perhaps they're allergic to Fae? Not even counting the flu/diseases that go both ways. A common cold nearly kills them cause they aren't vaccinated there, but a cold from them puts Deuce in the hospital

Did humans in TWST evolve from the same things?? "Lol we were fishies" "huh"

This can go the other way too. Yuus body being much more complex or "stronger' than the humans there (maybe even beastmen). Like yeah they can also hear that along with Jack, what do you mean you can't, Ace? Their bloodtype doesn't exist but ooh boy Ortho just found the cure for cancer scanning it– your antibodies are very impressive! Of course they don't need that many hours of sleep. A Yuu built like Epel or Lilia yet their muscles are on par with Jack?? Vil tries to help them with their skin but they need extremely concentrated face wash. Their brain scans are incomprehensible.

Take this to two other extremes and maybe the air there makes them 'sick' or is hard to adjust to. Maybe the sun there is too hot. Their eyes are "off putting" because too big/small. The oils on their skin are more corrosive— their stomach acid should kill them. Maybe they can eat "poisons" that the rest can't eat in large amounts or have to be cooked a certain way. Yet here is yuu swallowing cherry pits and that amount of capsaicin should make you sick— not even Cater can have that!

Yuu gets to exaggerate their body stuff and they're none the wiser. What if the cast are all very light for Yuu and you can pull students off each other when they fight? Vargas is impressed.

The other extreme is tolerance/defense. No diseases seem to affect you at all, neither does magic. In fact you seem to drain it from the world around you. A fireball your way fizzles out. You have to leave the magic exam room cause people keep failing in your presence. You can't be "beheaded" or turned to sand or cursed or hypnotized... there are exceptions to the magic that actually can affect you however, and once you're cursed, there's no going back.

Yuu gets critically injured and healing spells just won't work. They get a curse that will kill them and no potion or incantation cures it. It's a glass canon and people here are armed with bricks

Or– maybe yuu is a very conductor of magic (fav headdcanon). Which is why we strengthen people in game. We can unlock magic potential in others, and the simplest flame on a fingertip becomes an inferno when you step into a room. Aces magic well has tripled since being your friend. And Deuce and Epel got their UM very early with you around

Idk Humans are Space Orcs type things

#not writing #not requests #ramshackle #many thoughts

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spider-jaysart · 1 year ago

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Okay soooo, first time I'm doing something like this, but I wanna introduce a fave oc of mines today that I've been working on for a longtime now :)

Her name is Nadja Al Ghul-Wayne-Kent and she's a Damijon kid

(Click for better quality)

@camo-wolf @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

The name Nadja means "hope" in Arabic. My very dear friend @theredheaded-stuff was the one who helped me pick it. And her hero name is Super Canyon, which is inspired by the Canyon Wren bird

(More under the cut)

(Edited some stuff on this post now btw)

Backstory:

After being inspired by the story of how Kon was created, a secret group of no good scientists, who just love causing chaos with many of their inventions, decided one day to create a mixed clone of both Damian and Jon, thinking they can do better than Lex did, so they collected both of the boys DNA's after one of their recent battles in public and got to work. Once their experiment was supposed to be done, they saw that their machine had actually created a baby girl instead of a grown, powerful clone like they had wanted, so they were ready to dispose of her as a failed subject, but were suddenly stopped just on time by Damian and Jon who broke into the place and kicked their butts after finding out that a recently committed crime they were investigating was caused by them. When they were done, the boys found Nadja and were surprised to find out she's a clone related to them both. They decided to take her with them and made her their daughter to raise together after that.

Personality:

She's helpful, stubborn, is as intelligent as Damian is, friendly but also tough when she needs to be, observant, sometimes a little too honest about things but doesn't always mean it as rude, courageous (a trait that can be pretty helpful sometimes, but also get her into really big trouble during dangerous situations too), a prankster, and very protective of others, especially her loved ones

Abilities and skills:

She has the usual Kryptonian abilities, which are flying, super strength, superhearing, superspeed, superbreath, ice breath, invulnerablity, x-ray vision, and laser vision that's purple instead of the usual red (because Lois has purple eyes, so it's something unique that was passed onto her that way). Sometimes they don't always work though and can accidentally get out of hand too since she's still growing and learning, but Jon aways tries his best to help her get better at using and controlling them. Nadja also uses many concentrating tips from Damian too for improvement, like meditating for example and other things like that, and he helps her practice them

And because she's half Kryptonian, she also has a couple of unlocked special abilities of her own too, which is invisiblity, the ability to phase through walls and objects, plus the power to also transfer the heat of her laser vision into the palm of her hands to burn who or whatever she touches and she can also let it absorb her whole body too if she wants, which makes her even more untouchable and at the same time lets her release a strong fiery blast around herself onto enemies or incoming threats (her body glows completely purple whenever she does this and if it's just her hands, the same happens to them too). Nadja hasn't been able to properly master these special powers yet though, only one of them, which is the invisiblity one

For skills, thanks to teachings from Damian, plus Talia whenever she visits her, Nadja knows how to use a sword and fight well in combat in case her powers aren't working the way she urgently needs them to during patrols and missions

Random facts:

She calls Damian Baba and Jon Dad.

She calls Clark "Grampops" and Bruce "Grampbats". For Talia, she calls her "Grandmother" and for Lois, she calls her "Grandmama".

Her best friend is her same age Cousin Dick II, the Son of her much older Cousin Jake Grayson and his Wife Meredith Robinson. In the Batfamily (besides Damian), she's close with all her Aunt and Uncles. And for the Al Ghul's, she also gets excited whenever she visits Talia and Ra's. And while she definitely also gets along a lot with her other relatives who are in the Superfamily, the person she's most closest to there (besides Jon ofc) is Kon, due to them both being created as clones meant for evil but turned out good instead, which got them to bond even more as Uncle and Niece.

Her voice sounds like Clementine's from Telltales the walking dead games, but specifically the version of it from season 2 for the tween age she's in right now.

She has messy hair like Jon when she lets it loose. Jon is the one who always has to brush her hair whenever it gets tangled up, since the steel strength of it is just too difficult for Damian to actually handle himself.

Nadja laughs at Damian's jokes all the time since she gets his dark humor and he loves that. They always laugh a lot about it together but when Jon's around, they're Iike "You wouldn't get it" and he gets all offended.

Jon passed his love for noodles onto Najda and Damian's usually like "That's not healthy!!" And tries cooking her vegetarian meals more often or healthy ones that Talia would used to make him back when he was a kid, just so that Najda will eat real food lol. Najda also really loves the meals that comes from Damian's culture too and gets happy whenever he makes them for dinner.

For nicknames, Jon will sometimes call her "Sweetpea", "Sugar cookie", and "Tootsie pops", while Damian calls her "Habibti", "Thamin" (meaning "precious" in Arabic), and "Galbi" (which means "my heart" in Arabic)

Damian matches his outfits with Nadja all the time just like Talia would always used to do with him when he was a little kid. He does this with Jon included too and they take pictures together.

When making her hero suit, Damian was the one who helped Nadja out in drawing the designs and brainstormed ideas with her. When she had finally found one she liked and was ready to make it, Damian and Jon could've helped her sew it and everything, but they didn't have many materials that she could use or a sewing machine either, only a regular sewing kit that they use to fix up their own suits whenever they get damaged, so they let her make it with Ma's help instead at her place when they visit her and Pa again, since she actually owned a machine and also had a sewing room filled with many useful materials. When asked, Ma didn't mind letting Nadja use her stuff at all and was instead delighted about it since it would just give them the chance to spend time with eachother while doing one of her favorite hobbies together.

And next time, while having their usual Mother and Son days out together, Talia helped Damian pick out the sarong skirt for Nadja while hanging around stores, since they thought it would be nice for her to have one. Jon was the one who bought Nadja the red sneakers while shopping together with Kathy, since it reminded him of Kathy's old purple, rainbow ones, but with a twist of red thrown onto it, which also reminded him a lot of his favorite old ones that he used to always wear as a kid too. Dick and Cyborg helped her insert digital tech into her cuffs, which lets out hologram screens that let her know whenever she's over using her powers since she's still mastering them and it does plenty of other useful things for her too.

Najda was also given a mask to go with her suit at first too since she thinks it's annoying to wear glasses in her regular life everyday, but then it got lost during a fight and some villains saw her face, so she was still forced to go with the glasses route in the end anyways.

As adults, Jon's a scientist and Damian's a veterinarian. Najda likes visiting both of her Dads at their day jobs after school and doing her homework there while they work. She always promises to behave and not get in the way and if she has no work to do, she'll help them out too, which they appreciate. She also loves watching what they do and let's them happily explain their favorite stuff about the job to her. She knows a lot about taking care of animals and science because of this.

Nadja loves music and making it too. She even thinks about playing rock music for a living when she grows up. Damian and Jon support her in this and buy her the instruments she needs and they also listen to her songs when she wants to show it off to them. Because of them being in a band themselves back when they were kids, Damian, Jon, Chris, and Jake give her lessons sometimes on how to better play her instruments.

Civilians and especially interviewers always question about how they had Nadja and just assume that she's adopted or assume that just because she looks more like Damian, she's probably from a secret ex girlfriend he had before being with Jon. The last one annoys both Damian and Jon so much, especially Jon since Nadja is actually his kid too and he gets jealous at the thought of the ridiculous idea. Both him and Damian hate these rumors and just want everyone to mind their own business.

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asmolfolk · 10 months ago

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Boothill Romantic Headcanons.🍓☽。･:*:･

Just a quick heads up: This character had their history and dialogues leaked, if you haven't seen the leaks and don't to be spoiled by the character backstory: Please, save this to read for later! Stay safe! Also, as always: I will always try to make this as neutral as possible. Informations that could potentially be Canon x OC are NOT there (Such as your region, what you work with and etc.) And also, I use He/them for Boothill as I headcanon him as nbmasc!

Fandom: Honkai Star rail. Character: Boothill Idea: "How would the characters be as romantical partners?" TW: SPOILERS! 🍓☽。･:*:･

Boothill

Falling in Love.

Who fell in love first?

He fell first.

If you saw the leaks you know… This man can’t cry, this man lost everything that he once owned. His planet was considered uncivilized from the IPC, he lost everyone he cared about in one day. He became “Boothill”, a cyborg that hated the IPC… And, so, there’s the question: How did you fall for him? He can’t catch this. He doesn’t understand WHY or, better, HOW someone could ever love him. He wasn’t even HUMAN anymore, how could someone love “something” like that? Yet, you came. As a breeze in the summer, as a sweet taste in an unknown mix… You weren’t supposed to have his heart in your hands… But you have. Maybe it was the way you kept on talking to him, kept on helping him out whenever and anywhere. You two started to form some sort of alliance and have someone so pretty, such a pretty pal… Was not okay with his mechanical heart. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

How do they notice they have fallen in love?

He couldn’t understand WHY or HOW he fell in love. But, he realized that when he was talking to you and he started to feel some heat when he saw your smile, heard your laugh or just held your hand, he felt like he could combust. This was enough for him to realize that he liked you, but… Not that he was falling in love. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the details - he knew when he was in love with someone, even if he never felt it so deeply like this. But, even then, it was too early. You had known each other only for a few weeks, he decided to wait… And when he noticed some action on your part or even something that he could be delusional over you liking him back… ONLY THEN, he would confess. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Confession.

Who confessed first?

It depends.

Now, we came into a difficult subject. Even if I said that he would confess… If he never saw something that could clarify his head and to make sure you like him back, he wouldn’t confess. Now, the reasoning: He already lost so much. Somewhere in his head, being with another person can mean a lot of things… And one of them is feeling, he doesn’t know how he will handle not being able to cry, not being able to feel you with all his body. He doesn’t want to make you suffer… So, if he doesn’t see anything: He wouldn’t confess.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

And there he was, overthinking every single little thing that happened in those couple of weeks… And he couldn’t get his head in the problem that he built. Do you love him or not?

He was asking himself this question over every communication that you guys had, he would do anything to try to prove to himself that you don’t. Every action you take, everything that you do… Oh, those little things that he loved. Every single movement was put into his hard drive, his memory wouldn’t let him know how much he loves you… And, just like that…

You don’t know how surprised he was when those words came out of your mouth. He would ask you to repeat your confession, again, again and again… IF only he could cry while listening to you, pouring your heart out to him…. Oh, darling, he loves you way too much. He would immediately hold you and spin you around, he wants you to feel what he can’t… To feel his loving hands holding you just like the awesome, pretty and important lil’ thing.

“Hah, Doll… Didn’t expect ya’ to be so forward… Are my actions not enough answer? I want ya’ too. I love ya’… And I don’t think I will ever feel something like this again.” - He said, his words were sugarsweet and held a sincerity that no one could ever see before.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Now… What if he confesses first? What could potentially happen if Boothill decides: “Fudge this! Let’s do it”?

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

You knew something was happening when Boothill was not looking directly at you. They seemed to be a bit off today, holding a box that he seemed to grip a bit too strongly while they guided you to a private place.

It was one of the calmest day in your life… For once, you could enjoy their company happily. You two were alone, sitting close to the hill while looking at the sky… It was already night, but, somehow, you didn’t feel tired.

“Darlin’...” - They called, seemed to be thinking a bit too much before they let the box right in your lap - “Juss’ wanna make sure you… Understand it.”

When you opened the box, it had everything you talked to them about. Every item you liked, every item you told them you would love to receive from a boyfriend… For a second, you thought they misunderstood you until you reached for a letter, it had their black lipstick and just a simple phrase: “Wanna be my partner forever?” with a silly doodle of them.

They, seeing your reaction, would say; “Just to make sure: It’s romantical alright? I wouldn’t do this kind of thing for some friend… Just for you.”

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Language of Love.

What's their language of love?

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Quality of Time, Gifts and Words of Affirmation.

Now, HEAR. ME. OUT. This dude, this bro, this cowboy bebop!!!!! They want NOTHING but you to be happy, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU WANT: YOU GET! THEY DON’T SEE REASONS OR ANY ARGUMENT FOR NOT MAKE YOU THEIR QUEENIE/KINGIE/ROYAL! The truth is: Boothill feels like his words, his time and gifts are the only thing that he can do to make things “better”. He can’t… Feel you the way he wants, he can’t cry for you, he can’t provide you with those things - so he provides you with things he can. He can tell you how pretty you are, how amazing you are, how everything you do is incredible. He can gift you - He can give you anything you want, he can go into an adventure and come back with so many gifts that your house gets flooded with them. He normally comes home with a lot of gifts, so: When you pull for him, remember that! He also makes sure to spend lots and lots of time with you. Always making sure for you to feel loved and unmatchable!

“Ma doll, didn’t expect you to be here so soon! Well, look at the goods I got ya. Hm, hm… Yeah, I know that it’s too much, but all of them remind me of ya’ pretty face. Especially those lil’ cat cakes thingies.” - They would chuckle as he saw your reaction… It was those moments that made him sure: He may have lost his family but he found a new one.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Reaction of your language of love.

Lemme tell you one thing: He doesn’t care, he is gonna take all of your love like the greedy robocop he is. He says he doesn’t have a preference and he is going to love everything you give to him, but the truth is: NOTHING shows him more love than you just being yourself. Not you trying to make him feel loved or anything, just you being you. You doing things you love, you talking to people about your favorite things… All those little situations are enough for him. He loves it. But, being honest here… I think he loves the way you touch his face - THIS MAN IS TOUCH STARVED - it’s actually the only place he can feel. He feels like - for just a moment - you two could be a normal couple. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

As boyfriend/partner.

How do they treat you?

Do I need to repeat myself? HE LOOOVES YOU SO SO MUCH! He is 100% one to take you out to many different places just because he wants to see you smiling for a bit. When you two start dating, he seems to be on cloud 9 for the first time in forever… He is still asking you to repeat those three words that make his mechanical heart plump as if it was human's. He still asks you to accompany you instead of asking you for a date. Give him a bit of time, he’s still understanding that you truly accepted his confession and that you didn’t leave him behind. Sometimes, when you two sleep close or together he stops everything he’s doing just to observe you, to have every moment with you in his memory card. In those moments, he normally notices: “You are real, THIS is real.” You would receive double the care on those moments, being treated just like the sweet lil’ thing you are. He would say some corny shit, I will admit. He is the type to make jokes just to crack a smile on you, he is also always trying to make you feel lighter - feel like you have no such thing as a sad day and to make you… Feel like you could fly, be free for once.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Jealous.

I’ll tell you: I THINK HE’S A JELLY GUY! Boothill gets jealous more to think: “You are going to leave him for someone that CAN feel you.” and he just can’t let that happen, right? He wants to be with you and he is scared that, maybe, you will come to the realization that you aren’t interested in this mess anymore. He is a scared man, scared of losing the only family he has left.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Resume.

As a boyfriend, Boothill is a sweet and loving one. Yeah, you guys can have REALLY nasty discussions that can only result in both of you getting hurt, but, HE IS ALWAYS THE ONE to come up to you - telling you that you two need to talk without fighting. He is also someone who will cherish you. As I’m married to him I can assure you: He is going to be a perfect hubby… You just need patience!

#x reader #reader insert #genderneutral reader #gender neutral reader #headcanon #gn reader #boothill x reader #boothill #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons

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assassin-artist · 9 months ago

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My X-Men OC, "Solar Flare". Infodump and random info below the cut

so first things first, she was originally a Destiny 2 OC. In d2 she was an immortal warrior with fire powers and complete amnesia about her past... When I first decided to revamp her into an X-Men OC I thought I should change that bc, umm, immortal with amnesia, that sounds like a familiar xmen character lol... but then I decided fuck it, she's my OC I get to make her however I want.

So, as an xmen OC, she is a mutant with a very strong healing factor, and the power to control/manipulate solar radiation, which mainly comes off in the form of fire. Her body naturally runs at a higher temp than normal, and though people assume this means she's resistant to heat, that's not true at all. Her body might be able to handle more heat than a normal human could, but she's still at risk of burning herself with her own powers if she's not careful - which, when it comes to herself, she's usually not. She's doesn't worry about it because of her healing factor, willing to burn herself if needed, but she is very worried about burning others or doing too much damage to the area around her. She absolutely hates the summer because of this, and loves the cold. Will have the AC blasting in her bedroom at all times lol

She still has complete amnesia regarding her past. Her first memory is of waking up in a decimated library on the outskirts of a ruined village in France. She sought information about her past for years, but kept "getting distracted" with wanting to help the people she came across in her travels. During this period of wandering, she went by a lot of different names - none of them chosen by her, though, as she enjoyed letting other people pick a new name for her to go by. She would eventually wind up making her way into America, where she ran into the early X-Men for the first time. After explaining her situation and powers, she's invited to join them in Xavier's school, but she's too hesitant to commit to a group that she doesn't fully trust, so she turns them down. Thus, she went back to searching for her memories.

Though she was afraid to commit to being a full time member of their group, she was still willing to help them in combat if she was nearby, and she still formed bonds with some of the members. In general she was easy to get along with, as others found her to be very patient and easygoing, she didn't like to argue over things. She became very fast friends with Wolverine due to their similar amnesiac circumstances, and he liked to call her Red-Hot as a nickname. She also got along well with Hank McCoy and liked having philosophical and religious conversations with Kurt Wagner.

Her personality is very... calm. She likes to just 'go with the flow' of things in life, so she rarely gets angry or loses her temper. Insult her and she'll probably just laugh it off, or ask why you're in such a bad mood. She loves kids and animals, and she tries to always be patient with others, especially those who are difficult to get along with. She's of the belief that the people who are hardest to love are those who might need it the most, and she's always willing to extend a helping hand to others with little in return. Patience is her strongest virtue.

Her biggest flaw is her fear of commitment. She's afraid of joining the X-Men as a full time member because she's worried she won't want to stay, she didn't want to be in any relationships despite being in love with someone because she was afraid she'd get flighty and want to leave it, and she won't even pick a proper name for herself because she's worried it wouldn't be right for her.

Eventually, with a lot of time and soul searching (much of which was done in deep, hours long conversations she would have with Nightcrawler from time to time), she decided to leave the past behind and instead enjoy the present and look forward to the future. She made peace with not knowing who she used to be, and finally decided to settle on the name of "Claire", instead of hopping from name to name.

She also has a god-awful sense of humor. Very punny. Nobody ever laughs at her jokes. RIP Claire's pride

Cringe is dead, we love selfshipping and oc/canon on my art blog, so I like to ship her with Wolverine :3c (of course I give Wolverine a redhead girlfriend). Look I even filled out this silly ship chart for them lol (I put Logan down as "?bisexual?" bc apparently there are multiple comics where he's with men? I haven't read them but we love a bisexual short king).

Logan the canonical truck freak fr... She liked him from the moment they met, but as they got to know each other, her feelings grew deeper. At the time she realized these feelings, she was still deeply afraid of commitment, and so she kept it to herself and tried to just be a good friend. Eventually, when she got over her fears and was a valued member of the X-Men for good, she finally asked him out on a date (right after a very tough mission, and she was still giddy with adrenaline and feeling bold lol). They've been together ever since 👍 Claire tries to be a calming influence on Wolverine, but honestly, sometimes she agrees with him when he loses his temper at awful people. She sees him as someone who's willing to do whatever it takes to get a job done, and he sees her as someone too kindhearted to be getting her hands dirty with the work he does. She only wishes he were kinder to himself, and chides him when he gets self-deprecating.

Now for a few random facts about her, hrm... Her favorite food is watermelon. She has a sweet tooth and likes to bake, she often drops by random classes at Xavier's with home-made goodies for the kids. She loves the idea of having children but is worried she won't be a good mother. The kids at Xavier's know that if they want something and Logan says no, they could probably go to Claire and beg her for it. She's a softie towards kids and can't say no when they get their puppy dog eyes out...

It's become a running joke to celebrate her birthday on a random day since they don't know when her real one is. They pick a new date every year. She's got a decent singing voice and is trying to learn the guitar from Hank McCoy. She jokes about Northstar having a messy love life, and calls Dr. Nemesis a crotchety old man even though she might be older than him.

Mmm... that's all off the top of my head. I'm the kind of person who likes to make a new OC every time I have a cool idea, so I have a ton of them... maybe I'll make posts about other ones as well some day.

#my oc #allie rambling time #maybe ill make that the tag for when i infodump and stuff lol #xmen #xmen oc #x men #x men oc #x-men #x-men oc #Solar Flare OC

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bigcowboydyke · 2 years ago

Note

about your disability pride month post: is there anything important/significant you think people should take notes on when writing a character with an upper arm prosthetic? (like starting from the elbow if i phrased correctly)?

Yeah! I think the biggest is that you ought to consider first, esp if its an OC, your reasoning for making the character disabled- you wanna make sure you're not fetishizing or exploiting their disability to prop up abled characters. I've got a list of questions for authors to ask themselves along those lines that I can post or dm

Secondly, you have to consider what level of realism you wanna go with. If you have a character where, in universe, the prosthesis functions in exactly the way an arm does, you could just go with that if you want - it's the path of least resistance, right? BUT you ought to consider that most prostheses in media exist in that way AT THE EXPENSE of good representation of disability. Erasing disability or "curing" it with magical prostheses IS a form of ableism that is so pervasive it just goes unnoticed by most. I believe personally that disabled bodies are worth portraying well even when the creators of the source material did not do that. SO if you want to go with real well thought our representation, here are some common things I think authors and artists often miss (specifically as it pertains to upper limb prostheses):

1) I already said this, but seriously, I cannot emphasize enough that upper limb prosthetics ain't cheap and are usually uncomfortable. Your character, if they are poor, or even like middle class, won't have access to multiple high tech popular mechanics cover story type robo arms. Even if they did ...

2) Not all limb different folks use prosthetics! I personally have used multiple and I disliked them. I tried very hard to learn, but there are multiple requirements to be able to use each model and sometimes, a lot of times actually, limb different people - especially people without a hand or an arm function Better without prosthetics. Be aware in your art that limb different people are Whole. How you ask can somebody without an arm, say, do all that stuff?

3) Consider the idea of adaptation in your writing and art instead of relying only on magicking disability away with prosthetics. Disabled People live in a world full of barriers and tend to be Very creative about navigating it, adapting to our environment through just being a little clever about how we do things is the biggest way i see other people with upper limb differences interact with the world. There are three main ways that we go about this without prosthetics: Using adaptive equipment, Finding an alternate method, or as a last resort, asking for help.

Example 1: I have like 1.5 arms ok so obviously only 1 hand, and I need to clip my fingernails every once in a while. The obvious solution to me, while it may seem gross, is just to bite them off. Bad habit, but efficient. I could use those horrible little nail clippers, with my remaining stump and a little finagling but it takes forever. I could also get some adaptive nail clippers - they make great big handled ones for ppl that can't grab the little ones. Or, I could ask my partner to trim them, but I'm usually too proud to do that. Let disabled people have their flaws too lol!

Example 2: I love to rock climb. This is where adaptive equipment comes in. I could slip off a rock climbing wall pretty easily right? So bouldering (rock climbing without harnesses) is totally inaccessible to me. But if I go to a gym that has harnesses, then that's fine - they catch me if I fall and that's adaptive for me.

Adaptive equipment comes in many shapes and sizes and can be regular items repurposed.

3. If after all that you Must create art or write about an OC or preexisting character that uses upper limb prosthetics, consider that in general, limb different people's prosthetics are not equivalent to having two arms. Prosthetics are only practical for limb different people if they enhance your life or are useful in some way, however, getting one high tech enough to do that is unlikely because they are expensive. There are different groups, clinics, and charities that make lower cost options but they tend to be much lower tech than is depicted (and often are clunky). My first prosthetic was a long flat piece of metal, similar to a doctors tongue depressor, attached to a plaster cuff velcroed around my stump. The idea was that since I had a little bit of stump poking out, I could pin objects against the metal and it would work like a crab's pincers. It was okay, but I did accidentally smack many. Many. Things with it, including my own face and since it was metal, that was unpleasant. Obviously hindered more than helped. Also it did not look even remotely like a hand.

4. Which prosthetics you can get generally depend on what you got on you. Literally. Bodily. With upper limb prostheses, If you don't have an elbow or wrist, your options are almost exclusively limited to the pricier electric options that are both super futuristic, unavailable to many, and also like new car priced. Many of the manual, non-electric models depend on the ability to flex a wrist or elbow, so if you have those things are a little more accessible overall. It also matters whether you are born limb different like me, or if you are an amputee. Amputees are more likely to be candidates for prostheses than people like me because they have all those preexisting muscles and nerves for prosthetics that are higher tech and require surgical attachment Also prosthetics might be an easier learning curve, and more useful for somebody who has been abled bodied than it would be for somebody who never had that limb in the first place.

5. This is a little thing and ... Not to get too medical with it ( and neither should yall) but limb different people often have physical changes associated with lack of or loss of limb. If you do not have a limb, you are not going to be developing the muscles that are surrounding it in the way an a nondisabled person would. Again for example I have 1.5ish arms which means I've got plenty of stump on my "affected" limb. Even when I did Varsity sports and everything, I was never able to get beefy on that side. It is a pet peeve of mine that many people do not seem to get this - Most art I see of vash the stampede has him with two super beefy shoulders and like yeah i get it that's hot, but if hes got roughly the same amount of stump as me, he probably shouldn'tlook like that. Another thing in this vein is chronic pain is associated with limb loss and limb difference- I have it and its reasonable that any prosthetic user or nonprosthetic using limb different person is more likely to have it. Again these are little things but if you're looking to do good representation you need to consider that limb difference is not just a cool little stylistic choice to make a character look tough or what have you - limb loss and limb difference mean that that character will not only think differently than abled bodied people, but move differently, pose differently, have different routines and preferences than are ever represented in most media. Disability is not a style, and it's not a diagnosis, it's an identity. It's important above all to be respectful of that by letting go of centering able-bodied expectations and aesthetic in your art and writing. Hard to do but i believe in y'all!

Hope that helps! I've also got a bunch of links to go along with these points, if you want them lmk! I'm always happy to take asks about this stuff!

Tl;dr please consider making characters that don't use prosthetics, or don't use them excessively because it's more realistic, better representation, and makes me, a disabled dyke on the internet, really happy.

Lastly if y'all liked my advice and appreciate my time you are always welcome to tip me for it - my c*sh*pp is $neptunedrive

#cripple your art #disabled characters #vash the stampede #trigun #character design #disability justice

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sadceline · 7 months ago

Text

THE ENHYPEN HOST || 1

|| Reverse harem || ft. TXT, Minggyu (Seventeen) & BTS

PAIRING: FEM OC X ENHYPEN

WARNINGS: foul language, explicit content, group sex, humiliation, sex in public, threesome, foursoome, rough sex, red flags, immoral acts, unprotected sex, morbid jealousy, comedy, parody, possessiveness, violent quarrels, arguments, betrayals, lies, femdom sometimes.

GENTRE: +18, reverse harem, comedy, enemy to lovers, friends to lovers

SUMMARY: You moved to Seoul to start over after a bad experience, and everything seems to be going well, you even manage to work for HYBE. You discover, however, that you owe them almost a billion won, money you don't have and don't know how to recover: but don't worry because Hybe itself offers you a solution.

Your body in exchange for paying off your debt.

Do you accept?

Okay, follow me for a moment!

A little context is needed to understand the dire situation in witch I find myself.

I'm a graphic designer, I was born in Campania, Italy, but I moved very early to Bologna, still in Italy but in another region, with mom and dad who are now little more than acquaintances to me, where I spent my existence until my 22nd birthday, when I moreover found out that my idiot boyfriend was cheating on me, with his cousin.

I didn't have time to feel bad about it, because I was pretty disgusted in general. However, it wasn't that I was in love with him, I simply found myself a bit lost - with the only known relatives inhabitants of small remote little cities in the Campania hinterland, who haven't seen me in at least ten years, and a failed career as an advertising graphic designer.

Unable to maintain the hectic pace of business, not to mention the harassment and constant mansplaining I was suffering, I retreated into freelancing. By being able to manage my schedule, I could also manage me, and think about the future.

For several months I contemplated going to Spain but then one of the few friends I had left at the time, after hosting me in her house for some strange reason in Sorrento (in Campania!), always kept secret from her, proposed me to leave with her for Seoul.

It was the fashion of the moment, I had heard about it, but I was too focused on self-pity to be interested in such frivolities - as a matter of fact, while we had been planning the trip for months, I got a little obsessed myself.

She likes BTS, for me too overblown, too famous. I used to focus more on the up-and-comers, there was one band in particular, it consisted of one guy who was better looking than the other, however, not being a kpop senior yet I sometimes confused them, I couldn't even pronounce their name.

So you can imagine my excitement when, just two months after moving to Seoul, I was contacted by a Hybe agent who, after looking at my portfolio found on a website, said he was pleasantly impressed and would like something in my style, for the cover of ENYPHEN's next album, that's how he pronounced it!

After I heard him say those words over the phone I was silent, not because I was thinking about it - of course I was speechless.

It had to be some scam, it had to be! There can be no such coincidence in real life.

The man emailed me his calling card, so I could look up the information on the Internet, and a place to meet.

At Hybe's headquarters.

Are you kidding me? Ester said thus. "Do you think I would let you go alone? What if he is a maniac?"

I didn't speak Korean at the time, but I knew English pretty well, so, yes, I was able to get the job, but in the end, for some reason, my illustration was used for the SIDE B of the album, completely different, official but not primary concept version. I was quite hurt at first, but then I realized that it was already absurd to be able to work with them, I really had no complaints.

Of course, we never met either BTS or ENHYPEN, although once I went alone (I couldn't always go with Ester), I saw Beomgyu from TXT who I have a very heavy crush on, although he always gave me very strange vibes. I obviously didn't even get close to him and looked at him from a distance, however, he was in a hurry anyway, so it's not certain that he would stop.

Okay, let's move on!

After the collaboration was over, I pocketed good money, we ate takeout for at least two weeks in a row, we went in clubs all the time, while every now and then I had flashbacks of my ex-boyfriend, for whom I had begun to feel a strange empathy, as if he were mentally ill. It wasn't the cousin thing as the fact that he had no need to look for a lover - we pretty much did it all the time! It was one of the few things I did well and fucking gladly!

But maybe, I wasn't good enough?

Months passed, Ester taught me Korean, which she had taught herself, and while she was having fun with a lot of guys, I had entered a new state of paralysis. After working with Hybe I expected many requests, many contacts, would come, but instead nothing. Small jobs for small activities with small monetary and psychological rewards.

I didn't do the same as Ester not because I was demure - that adjective was never a part of me - as much as because I still couldn't understand let alone speak Korean, and not everyone knew English, so sometimes it happened that I felt uncomfortable, out of place. I managed to use the time of work paralysis to engage in study, I had to have a social life too! Independently of Ester!

Eventually I decided that for ten hours a day Ester and I could communicate only in Korean, she agreed without thinking and began the experiment. After three months I was able to speak Korean almost fluently, to the point that sometimes we did not even return to speaking Italian.

I was ready to embark on enterprising and exciting multi-ethnic relationships, socializing, and trying to understand South Korea better!

I discovered that it was a terrible place.

Not so much from the foreigner's point of view, but for the Koreans themselves, all very rigid with each other and with themselves, always competing, but also misogynistic, macho, not to mention the jokes about foreign women I heard! Terrible.

Tired of South Korea, after only a year, I talked to Ester about going back-it came out as a hypothetical, after all, I was going to do what she wanted anyway. I didn't want to be alone, and she seemed happy to live with me.

She convinced me to stay a little longer, she wanted to introduce me to her official boyfriend, a good one, really, not interested exclusively in sex! Yes, they are all like that, I had experienced it myself.

Just before I could meet him, however, the two broke up. Sad for Ester who looked devastated, but underneath happy, maybe to be able to go back to Sorrento, to breathe clean air, I consoled her for a whole night, we stayed up drinking and laughing, or crying.

Before I went to bed, in the early hours of dawn, I looked at my cell phone as usual and noticed that Hybe had texted me, again!

Sleep disappeared, I went back to Ester, who had fallen asleep on the floor in the living room, and woke her up to tell her the fantastic news, fuck, I was so excited! Who was I going to work for this time? TXT? BTS? Seventeen?

Copyright violation: that was the subject line, and oddly enough, the entire email was written completely and exclusively in Korean. I was being sued on behalf of Hybe for infringing the copyright of a Pakistan artist who had in turn sued Hybe, because of my design, and won!

What great news! I had gotten incredibly good at Korean.

"Ama, are you okay? Oh, Ama? You look pale!" Ester had said, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.

"Hybe wants compensation of eight hundred million won," I had said, under my breath, incredulously, "that's like five hundred thousand euros."

"But you don't have it!"

"I know I don't have it."

"Then you can't give it to them, sue them!"

Yes, it would have been nice and easy but I had no idea how the law worked in Korea, and anyway I couldn't sue them because the contract I had signed had exactly one copyright clause in it. If I had in any way caused damage to the agency's image, through copyright infringement, I would have been called upon to compensate them one billion won, which however had been generously raised to eight hundred million, to make it easier for me, understand?

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. Reach Mexico? Return to Italy? Apply for a loan? And would they grant it to me? Ester advised me to talk to them directly and look for a reasonable solution, offered to accompany me, but when we arranged to meet, they told me to show up alone, or with my lawyer, although this was not necessary because we would talk about it cordially.

I knew Korean quite well now, and inside Hybe practically everyone spoke English. I'll go alone.

I met the CEO himself, a man with round glasses and a kind, smiling, serene face, Park Jiwon. He told me to make myself comfortable and congratulated me for going without a lawyer, since what he was going to propose was best heard only by me.

"Changing the illustration from SIDE A to SIDE B, that was your greatest good fortune, wasn't it?" He had said, smiling in that gentle way that was now chilling.

"I am deeply sorry Mr. Park, I have never seen-"

"I know you can't pay - he had politely interrupted me, getting up from his desk and motioning his secretary to leave. - I'm here to offer you something beneficial, in which you'll always be safe and won't have to worry about, however, it's up to you to decide whether you'd rather return the money or not."

It's called the Jyp method.

Are you curious? This is a funny story.

Korean idols, whether male or female, are people of extreme beauty. It's unthinkable that they won't touch or let anyone touch them for years on end, but that's exactly what the fans want - who feel they are in complete control of their bodies.

Creepy, I realize, but it is quite normal in some parts of Asia.

So how can these poor boys "let off steam"?

The males are given a girl to live with them, together they can have as much fun as they want but within the limits of the host's safety and preferences.

For females it is a bit different but he still wanted to explain it to me, in fact for them multiple partners are needed and these partners do not live with them, but they can make appointments, as if they were gigolos working only for them.

The reason why this is used is because of scandals, any outside relationship cannot really be monitored by the agency. If girls and boys do not need to look for a stable partner and can simply take out their sexual desires on someone, the risk of scandal decreases significantly and their popularity is safe, as are the earnings on them.

In contrast to male guests, female guests tend to be a bit more problematic, which is why only one is usually chosen.

He makes it clear up front that it is forbidden to have relationships with idols, both parties must behave respectfully, and for any complaints from the guest, the agency will take appropriate action, so it is a completely safe situation, understand?

It is called the Jyp method because it was the CEO of the music label of the same name who invented it.

What do you care, you should do it! That's what I thought too, I mean - the band in question was really Enyphen! That way you won't have to pay for it anymore and you'll be hanging out with a lot of pretty boys! That's what you're thinking, it's obvious, really - I thought it first.

Yet to say yes, just offhand, I didn't feel like it.

Mr. Park told me to think about it calmly, giving me two days.

I talked to Ester about it; she did not give me any advice.

She just told me to read the contract well, this time, in case I wanted to accept it, but still she would not judge me, and then I could present them to her - even though I still knew nothing about how the matter was going to unfold.

Clearly I agreed, it was obvious, wasn't it? Otherwise we wouldn't be here.

NEXT CHAPTER:

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aylacavebear · 7 months ago

Text

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 7

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2936

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff, Dean being a sweetheart, Dealing with emotional stuff.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

It wasn't an instant adjustment, but it took you and Dean a couple of weeks to get into a comfortable rhythm of living together. After rearranging, the two of you hung the dark sheets in the living room around the couch so that Dean had a space all his own. When he wasn’t sleeping or needing to be by himself, the sheets were pulled back.

His cleanliness surprised you a bit. You figured most guys who were single were sloppier. That whole “bachelor life” stereotype you had heard as a teenager and young adult. Dean was anything but. He even did the dishes sometimes. What shocked you most was that he cleaned up after he shaved.

The two of you kept in contact with Ellen, Bobby, Jodi, John, Mary, and Sam, but only when required and only with the burner phones Dean had gotten. Jodi had managed to get a restraining order against the Vaught family, which was helpful. You and Dean both knew that it wouldn’t stop Azazel, though, so stayed in the bunker.

Sam had made it down two days after you and Dean had locked yourselves in the bunker. He went over all the paperwork you’d left with the adults and said he’d be able to not only help you but also Dean with what was there. Then, he took a copy of it all and headed back to California to get to work.

There were awkward times between you and Dean, but he always seemed to find a way to get you to laugh or pull you from your thoughts and ease the tension. It was something you were utterly thankful for.

That stupid little spark of hope had threatened to ignite around Dean more than once, and it was getting harder and harder to push it back down, no matter how many times you reminded yourself that he had a soulmate.

You’d taken a couple of showers, but you hadn’t noticed it, not until during that third week. You had gone into the bathroom, and after stripping down, you stared at yourself in the mirror for a few moments when what looked like a smudge of dirt near your collarbone caught your eye.

Narrowing your eyes and getting as close to the mirror as you could, now on your tiptoes, you rubbed what looked like light lines of dirt that didn’t make much sense. You even tried using some water out of the sink to get it to come off, but that didn’t work either.

You were far too focused on trying to get the “smudge” off of your skin that you weren’t paying attention to where the water had dripped on the counter. When you went to lean a little closer, your fingers slipped on the wet counter, and with a scream, you went tumbling sideways onto the floor. Luckily, you didn’t hurt more than your pride.

“What happened?!” Dean exclaimed, opening the bathroom door within seconds and froze, seeing you naked, half sitting on the floor, rubbing your asscheek where you’d landed.

“I slipped,” you grumbled. Then the realization dawned on you, and you quickly pulled down a towel, covering your body, barely.

His gaze was fixed on you, but yours was fixed to your right, too embarrassed to look up at him. You were sure you were blushing to your toes at this point.

Dean’s hand was still gripping the doorknob, still halfway into the bathroom. The door was completely open, and he was staring down at you, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Can, you, uh, go… so I can take my shower?” you finally asked quietly, still embarrassed.

“Oh, yeah. Shit, sorry,” he mumbled quickly, pulling the door closed as he left.

You sighed, then stood up, hanging the towel on the rack again. You inspected your asscheek where you’d landed, and it was a little red from the impact.

Great, I’m probably gonna end up with a bruise.

Ignoring what you assumed was a smudge of dirt, you got in the shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it trailed down your body. You did try to scrub off the “dirt” again, this time with soap, but it didn’t work, which only aggravated you. During the rest of your shower, while you dried and then dressed, your mind attempted to figure out what you could have gotten on yourself that wasn’t washing off.

When you did finally return to the living room, dressed in a tank top and jeans, Dean was sitting on the couch with the curtains closed. You had wanted to ask him about the “dirt,” but seeing that made you somewhat sad, so you just went back to your room.

He’s probably mad at me for scaring him for no reason. Then, he had to see me naked like that, and that probably bothered him. Not surprised he doesn’t want to see me right now.

There wasn’t much to do in your room. In fact, the only thing you really could do was read. The TV was in the living room, and you wanted to give Dean the space he was seeking. You rubbed the front part of your shoulder, where the “dirt” was, then sighed silently while sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your mind wouldn’t stop, the thoughts not helping any, knowing the two of you were stuck in this bunker together until things got figured out. When you were about to grab a random book off of the bookshelf in your room, you heard an alarm sound coming from your closet.

It startled you, but you ran in, quickly sliding into the chair and staring at the monitors. There were two men, both dressed in suits, knocking on your front door. You didn’t recognize either of them. The burner phone in your pocket began going off, so you pulled it out and answered it, never taking your eyes from the screen.

“Jodi, there are two men at my house,” you began, but she jumped in.

“Whatever you do, don’t leave. They are there to take you due to the wedding thing. Sam’s still working on getting your case heard in court. It’s taking far longer than anyone wanted,” Jodi quickly explained.

“I won’t leave, I promise,” you replied, then Jodi hung up.

You closed the phone and set it on the desk, then slumped back in the seat, sighing.

“What happened?” Dean asked from the doorway, making you jump from his sudden presence.

“Two guys are at the front door. Jodi said they are here to take me somewhere for the wedding and not to leave,” you sighed, looking from Dean back to the monitors.

He slowly entered the room and looked over your shoulder at the screen, then leaned back against the table, just watching.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you apologized quietly. “I wasn’t paying attention and slipped. I didn’t mean to scare you or make you have to see me naked.”

You were thankful that he couldn’t see your face. You were both blushing at the embarrassment and sad due to that stupid ember of hope you hadn’t been able to get rid of. However, that also meant you couldn’t see Dean’s face or how he reacted to what you’d said.

There was silence for quite some time. The two men on the monitors you and Dean had been watching left, and after their car drove away, the specific cameras stopped flashing red. Dean still hadn’t said anything, which worried you. It wasn’t until you went to get up that he finally spoke.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not like you did it on purpose. I can’t help it, I worry about you,” he told you, somewhat quietly, and you could have sworn he almost sounded nervous or shy even. “As for the whole naked thing, well, uh… I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and, I’m sorry for staring. Afterward, well… I needed some, uh, time- to myself,” he stuttered out.

Something you’d never really seen from Dean was him being shy or nervous, and his tone caused you to turn and look up at him curiously. “So, you’re not mad at me?” you asked, mildly confused, but you did understand what he meant by needing time to himself. The thought of that almost made you blush.

“Definitly not mad at you,” he chuckled shyly, which you found kind of cute.

“Wanna watch a movie then? Forget about the whole thing?” you asked, finally smiling a little and hoping to help take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

“A movie sounds great, but this time, it’s a western. You picked the last movie,” he teased you, but all you could do was chuckle at him.

As the two of you headed out of the living room, Dean spoke up from behind you, “What were you doing that ended with you being on the floor anyway?”

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot about that,” you replied, as you had forgotten with everything else going on. Dean was getting the movie set up while you got comfy on the couch and continued, “I’ve got dirt or something near my collarbone, but I couldn’t scrub it off. I was gonna ask you about it after my shower, but, uh… yeah. Your curtains were closed, so was gonna just wait.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at you, sliding the VHS into the player. Then, he narrowed his eyes a bit. You knew that expression to be his thinking face, which you were trying not to find adorable. “Lemme see,” he told you, now sitting on the coffee table in front of you as the movie began behind him on the TV.

You put your hair behind you and tilted your neck so he could easily see your collarbone. You were doing fine, up until his hand was on your upper arm, and his thumb was softly brushing over your skin where the “dirt” was.

He has a soulmate. He wouldn’t think of me as anything other than a friend. God, why does he have to smell so good? Stupid brain, stop it. I’m not losing my virginity to a man I can’t have. And I’m NOT gonna let myself get close to him like that. It’ll just hurt more when he finds his soulmate.

The argument in your brain was only partially distracting you from the feeling of Dean’s hand on you, but it was his words that pulled you completely from your thoughts.

“It looks like your soulmate’s name is trying to come through,” he mumbled, still staring intently at the lines that didn’t make any sense to you.

That was when your eyes locked with his. He was far closer than you’d realized he had gotten, now being able to lightly feel his warm breath on your lips. You swallowed hard but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from those beautiful emerald orbs that you were getting lost in. And at the same time you felt like you were getting lost, you also felt like you were being grounded. Your lips parted slightly, breathing shallowly, not even noticing that he’d moved a little closer before you finally looked away and apologized but also thanked him for looking at what you had thought was dirt.

Dean took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh before moving to the side of the couch he’d practically claimed as his. You hadn’t minded, though. Now, you were attempting to focus your thoughts, even though your mind was arguing with itself again.

You barely watched the movie, arguing within your mind with yourself all about Dean. The marks on your collarbone were only tiny pieces of letters, and they didn’t make any sense. All you could tell, from what you remembered from the bathroom, was that there had to be at least four letters. That only caused more thoughts to circle their way through your mind.

“Are you gonna stay in your head all night, or do you want to come cuddle and finish the movie with me?” he asked, making you squeak in surprise. That only made him chuckle at you. “I still find that cute.”

You gave him a playful glare before moving over and snuggling up to him, his arm now around your shoulders. “I don’t mean to be so spacey. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” you said as apologetically as you could without actually saying you were sorry.

He sighed, and you felt it with how his chest moved, “I keep telling you that you can talk to me about it. I won’t get mad at you, and I won’t treat you like everyone else has.”

“I know,” you mumbled through a pout, playing with a little crease on his shirt. “It’s just…,” you trailed off, not even sure how to tell him what had been running through your mind. “I’m… I keep reminding myself that you have a soulmate,” you finally mumbled.

It felt like your heart not only stopped but also sped up. Or, perhaps, it was only beating so fast that it felt like it had stopped. You weren’t entirely sure. There were plenty of implications in what you’d said, and now you were worried that it would affect your friendship with Dean. On top of that, you weren’t sure how you’d react no matter what he said.

You glanced at the TV, recognizing it only as a Clint Eastwood movie, but you had no idea what the title was. “What does me having a soulmate have anything-” he began, then froze where he was sitting. You could even hear his heartbeat speed up a little.

Pouting, you ducked your head a little lower against his chest, wishing you could go hide in some corner, and figured your cheeks were beat red at this point. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, almost inaudibly. That only made Dean sigh.

He gently lifted your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and when you met his gaze, you wished you could look away. “You really need to stop apologizing. I didn’t know what was bothering you, and I asked. I’m not upset. It just surprised me, if I’m taking it the way you’re implying it,” he told you softer than you thought he’d be with how he’d frozen a moment ago.

It was how his eyes seemed to be darker than before that made you want to look away. Your mind was thinking far too many thoughts about being this close to him. He almost seemed to be undressing you with his eyes, but you tried to tell your brain that was what you wanted him to do, not that that was what he was actually doing. Your eyes looked down momentarily when he slowly licked his lips, the movement catching your attention.

“How do you think I’m implying it?” you asked through a mix of nervousness, anticipation, hope, fear, and shyness. It was almost too much to feel all at once.

Your question only made him smirk in that delicious way that he did. Being this close to him was making thinking almost impossible. “That if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t tell me no or try to stop me,” he said in a low, almost seductive tone.

You wanted to melt into him, let him do just what he’d said, but you couldn’t. The pain of losing him to his soulmate after letting something that intimate happen with him would only hurt you more. So, using the last of the resolve you had left within you, you pushed away from him gently but to the middle of the couch.

“I… can’t…” you told him, staring at the coffee table.

He furrowed his brow in complete confusion and even shifted so that he was facing you. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s bothering you?” he asked, far more concerned than he had been earlier.

It was something you’d refused to even let your mind think, but with his question, the tears slowly slipped down your cheeks. You’d been denying it since the first week the two of you had worked together. You were constantly pushing the thoughts and feelings away.

“I like you more than I should. You have a soulmate, and one day, I’ll have one too. I’m sorry I fell for you and made things uncomfortable now that you’re stuck down here with me,” you managed through fighting the tears, some of them slipping out anyway.

You were too embarrassed to stay there and finish the movie with him, quickly getting to your feet and going to your room. You didn’t even give him a chance to respond, worried it would hurt more. For the first time since you’d been down there, you closed your bedroom door, intent on leaving it closed all night.

Burying your face into your pillow, you sobbed, letting out the pain at the thought of losing him, even though he wasn’t yours to begin with. You knew that other people fell in love with those who weren’t their soulmates and even lived happy lives together. You just figured Dean didn’t see you that way or feel that deeply for you. It had been your other reason for never making any sort of move.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. There was still a lot you didn’t know about and didn’t have the courage to ask. If you were being honest with yourself, it was more because you were terrified of what the answers were.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

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