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foli-vora · 2 years ago

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once again in your arms

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: mwahah, hello boys i’m baaack (10 points to whoever knows what movie that quote's from). took an unexpected break coz life, but i’m ready to get back on track. this was requested by a beautiful anon a while back (sorry for the wait angel), but i hope you enjoy! x

Request: hello! so this is kinda angsty: joel and the reader are married and have a baby (plus sarah, obviously). the day of the outbreak, reader and baby were in town and she couldnt call joel (or viceversa) cause the phone lines were down. they were separated for a few years until they arrives at the quarantine zone he's in, and he recognizes them in the crowd.

Word count: 4.5k-ish

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth and having a baby, domestic fluff, angst, pre and post outbreak, some spoilery things if you haven’t seen the show yet, heartbreak, loss of a child, apocalypse things, i sweat at the idea of caring for a baby during the end of the world, soft reunions, fluff, cameos of my fave oc’s made in a different series

It’s a fact you had learnt in the very early days of your relationship... the Miller men knew how to care for a lady. Whether it was Tommy sliding in to open the door for you before you could reach for the handle, or Joel draping you in blankets and taking on the responsibility of keeping your hot water bottle warm to fend off cramps for the evening, not a moment went by when you didn’t feel the constant reassurance of their care.

Especially now, fresh from the hospital and tender from your days of excruciating pain and an extensively long labour, Tommy quickly slaps the pillows into something plusher, hands gentle as they guide you down until you’re reclining into the armchair.

Joel keeps an eye on you from across the room, the brief wash of concern slipping away with the easy smile that grows along his lips when your eyes meet.

He rocks the wrapped bundle in his arms softly, a big hand dwarfing the small head that peaks from the blankets. His fingers brush through the light smattering of hair peeking out from the cotton burrito, his index running along the tiny peak of a nose and you feel your heart swell in your chest.

“Dad,” Sarah whines with an eager smile, shifting restlessly on the couch, “come on, I’ve been waiting all weekend.”

“Oh my god,” Joel drawls sarcastically, “all weekend? Baby girl, how are you survivin’ right now?”

“Shut up,” her grin widens, “give me my baby brother before I explode.”

“Well, we don’t want that mess all in the livin’ room,” Joel quips, stepping over your weekend bags tossed on the floor and closer to the couch, “ain’t treadin’ your brain all into the rug—thing was damn expensive.”

Sarah shrugs, readjusting her body to sit straighter and holding her arms out expectantly, “Least I have a brain.”

Tommy snorts in amusement, grinning at his brother's expense, “That’s true.”

“Are you still here?” Joel side eyes him, barely fighting the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

They bicker, throwing their little snippy sibling comments back and forth before Sarah clears her throat, her eyebrows rising in impatience.

“Alright, alright. Here, watch his head,” Joel instructs gently, a smile playing along his lips, “that’s it, baby, you got him.”

It’s a beautiful picture, Sarah carefully bringing the baby closer and tucking him carefully into her arms, and the sentiment is shared with Tommy as the flash and click of a camera goes off. He removes the polaroid sliding from the slot and sits it on the coffee table to develop before instructing Joel to slide in next to her and smile.

Both Joel and Sarah are oblivious to his instruction, lost in the bubble that has overcome them. You find peace watching them, warmth spreading along your limbs by the sweet tenderness of it all. The love is clear between the three of them cuddled on the couch, and it’s almost too much for your heart to bear.

Sarah beams down at her baby brother, cooing soft words and stroking a gentle finger down Matthew’s cheek. Joel throws an arm to rest on the top of the couch behind Sarah, turning into her and answering her questions quietly.

8 pounds, 3 ounces. Smaller than you. No, he didn’t cry at all—gave me and the docs a damn heart attack. She sure did a great job.

Your Joel was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the emotion shines from his eyes, bleeds through the lines in his face and it’s enough to bring tears building along your lash line.

“You okay over there?”

His familiar drawl brings your attention to him, and you smile at him, tired and fully at peace. It’s bliss, despite the ache of birth still hanging in your limbs. M

“I’m fine,” you respond quietly, lids heavy with exhaustion, “I’m just so happy.”

He fucking beams. His grin creases his cheeks and he nods softly.

“Me too, honey,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his children and playing with a strand of Sarah’s hair as he gazes down at Matthew, “me too.”

—

Four months later.

Chaos.

Matthew wails against your chest, the deafening sounds of screams, bullets, sirens and explosions setting him off into hysterics. Your arms tighten around him, keeping his face tucked closely into your throat so your scent could hopefully provide him some reassurance.

You crouch beside cars, you run until your legs ache. You take cover in stores, the soles of your shoes crunching over broken glass of the shattered windows. Every phone you try gives nothing but a dull tone. Radios are filled with static and emergency broadcasts play on the view screens you run past in your effort to escape whatever the hell is happening.

Worry stirs along the edges of your mind. Is Joel okay? Sarah? Tommy? You can’t call him, you can only run and hope nothing takes you down in your effort to get back to your car. You pass people crouched over others, blood smearing along their lips as they tear unforgivingly into the flesh of another.

It’s a nightmare, and it’s everywhere you look.

Almost there.

You see the sign of the parking lot and it only makes you run that much faster, even though your legs threaten to give out at any minute. You pass an elderly man crouching beside a woman, blood flowing from the open gash on her throat, and the ache clutching your heart only increases when his pleas reach your ears over the mayhem.

“Gloria,” he mutters in an aged rasp, “up you get, love. You’re alright, come on now—”

You can’t help it.

Somewhere in your mind you can feel Joel screaming at you to keep running, to get yourself to safety and not give a damn about anyone other than Matthew, but the image of this man cradling his wife’s wrinkled, bloodied hand is enough to get you advancing to him before anyone could hurt him.

“Sir—”

He ignores you, too busy with brushing the woman’s blood soaked white hair from her face.

“Sir, we have to move—”

You wrap your fingers around his shoulder and shake firmly. His head gives a shake of denial as he clutches his wife’s hand tighter.

“No… no, she’ll need help—she has a bad ankle.”

Shifting Matthew unsteadily onto your hip, your fingers wrap under his arm and tug him onto his feet. He fights you, bats your hold away with an infuriated expression at your rough handling of him.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s gone—we have to run. I—I have a car, please… just come with me, please!”

“I won’t leave her—”

“Please… they’re coming! I—would she want this for you? To die like this?”

He blinks, his frown softening ever so slightly before screams pierce the air, much closer than you anticipated, and terror claws up your throat until you feel you’ll vomit.

You hold out a hand, relieved when his own rough, calloused hand finally takes it, and then you’re running, albeit slower than before, but you make it to your car with no issues.

You dive into the driver's seat, passing Matthew over to the stranger when he makes an impatient gesture to hold him and then you’re tearing out of the lot, running down the few rabid looking beings that advance on you with bloodied expressions of hunger.

You don’t think you take a proper breath until you’re past a military barricade that had seemingly been destroyed in the attack, flying down the highway and around other panicked drivers with sweat slicking your skin.

Taking a deep breath to slow the brutal pounding of your heart, you look at Matthew, now calmed and looking up at the stranger with an obvious shine of curiosity. The old man is clearly softened by the baby, letting his small hand wrap around his finger and wiggling it playfully in his hold.

“That’s Matthew,” you mutter shakily, meeting the eyes of the elderly man before gazing back out the windscreen. You take another breath before giving your own name, tears biting at your eyes when you utter the name Miller.

Do you still have a husband? A step daughter? A brother in law? The unknown scares you, outright fucking terrifies you.

The man nods in your peripheral vision.

“Harold,” he finally says, voice rough and tired.

—

There are people everywhere, screaming, crying.

People run, shout, wail over family and friends.

Tears have long dried on his face, his head thumping relentlessly with the remnants of his heartbreak. Tommy’s grip is firm on him, tugging him out of the way of people tearing down in their direction, pulling him to where a makeshift table is thrust under a tent as a reception of sorts.

He doesn’t care about the people already there asking about their family and friends. He shoves them out of the way, hands shaking as they clutch the edge of the weak table.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman… she’d be with a baby boy, not even four months old—”

His voice shakes. He can’t get it to stop. He struggles to get out the detailed descriptions of you both down to the clothes you were wearing, speaking your names through trembling lips. His stomach jolts at the thought of you somewhere, lying helplessly on the floor with your flesh getting torn into while Matthew screams in his car seat.

He’s a damn baby. He wouldn’t know what’s happening, wouldn’t know why his mama’s not there with him—

The woman gives a small expression of sympathy over the thin surgical mask covering her mouth, “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had no babies that young come through, and nothing like that has come in over the radios.”

He retches.

His body heaves, almost as if it’s rejecting the mere idea that you weren’t somewhere safe waiting for him. He had failed. Failed to keep Sarah safe, failed to keep Matthew safe, you—the vows he had made now meant shit. He hadn’t been there for better or worse. He’d hadn’t done what a father should have and kept his kids free from harm.

Sarah had died, terrified and in agony, in his hold. Her bloodied handprints remain dry and caked on his arms. Matthew had died, not even making it to six months. A baby, still fresh to the world, only just able to hold his own head up. You had died, not knowing where he and Sarah were, if they were even safe.

Tommy hauls him to a close trash can, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back as he chokes on vomit, tears soon streaming down his cheeks when his body eventually has nothing left to give. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering against his ribs and filling his ears until he’s unaware of the noises around him.

“They’re gone,” he whispers hoarsely, clutching at the rim of the trash can in an effort to keep himself up.

“Now we don’t know that—”

“God damn it, Tommy, you saw what it was like out there!”

Tommy sighs, his own eyes filling with tears. “We gotta keep hope, Joel—”

“Hope?” Joel spits at his brother, “What good is hope against that shit out there? She would’ve been alone, you know as well as I Matthew only would’ve slowed her down. They were in the city. We couldn’t even keep safe out here! They’re—they’re gone. My wife… my baby boy, my baby girl—”

The sobs tear from his chest, harsh and painful. He mourns for hours, unseeing of the flurried movement still happening around him, his sorrow mixing with the flood of agony filling the makeshift safe zone with every new unhurt civilian looking for someone familiar.

Tommy doesn’t take his arms away from around his brother until dawn starts to pierce the horizon,

—

Two years later.

He still fills your thoughts daily.

Your life, your old life, would flash behind your eyelids at night when sleep would finally claim you. You’d feel his touch, kiss his lips, touch his face. It all felt so normal. The dreams would be nothing but memories, and somehow, it made them feel more like nightmares.

Mornings making breakfast with Sarah, dancing to the music falling from the radio. Family game nights, watching Tommy and Joel get more and more competitive with each game. Grocery shopping with Joel, simply wandering down the aisles and relishing in his comforting touch warming your lower back.

You could never quite make peace with the possibility that he was dead. It didn’t sit right. The idea that your Joel had been lost to the disaster that had claimed the world just seemed impossible. Your heart rejected the notion, refused to accept that its counterpart wasn’t somewhere out there, living, breathing, surviving,

Sarah and Tommy, too.

They had to be somewhere, holed up safely and keeping well. They had to.

“They’ve established a quarantine zone close by,” you say quietly, mindful of Matthew sleeping on your lap, “it’ll be a lot safer there than out here. I think we should give it a go… find a more secure place to live. I’ve heard they have work available, good flow of food and medicine…”

Harry snorts quietly, shifting under his old, thick jacket, “That doesn’t mean they’re happy giving it out. There’ll be a catch somewhere.”

You eye the long carved frown in his features and lean forward to fix the blanket covering his tired legs, “Don’t you think we should try at least?”

“Maybe they’ll put a bullet in me,” Harry grumbles moodily, “I’m old—I can’t work like they’ll want me to. Although, it’ll beat living through this bloody nightmare any longer.”

“Harold,” you chide softly, heart aching at the thought of losing the grumpy old man after spending so long by his side.

He’d quickly become a grandfather figure of sorts, to both you and Matthew. The little boy was obsessed with him, and had been since the day you had come together, and though he tried to hide it behind his usual icy facade, Harry was smitten, weak from the boy learning to call him pa.

“He’ll be safer in there,” Harry finally grumbles, gazing at the sleeping toddler. “This is no life for him out here. It’s getting worse and worse. Stability will do him good.”

“And you’ll come with us?”

He sighs sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine—I’ll come. But if they don’t kill me, I’ll be bloody upset with you.”

You snort in amusement, a grin curling your lips. “Fair enough. Now drink your soup.”

“I’m not hungry. You have it.”

He shoves it away, pushing it in your direction, as he usually does. It’s a daily fight—him refusing food in favour of giving you and Matthew more, ensuring you both never went hungry despite his own hunger and rapid weight loss due to the sudden lack of food.

You give him a playful frown and hold the small cup out to him.

“Don’t make me force feed you, old man, drink it.”

—

The walls of the Quarantine Zone are a lot more daunting than you had originally thought they would be. They tower high, and the barely there movement of soldiers along the front and top of it have nerves start to build in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Surely they wouldn’t shoot without asking questions? Would they even give you a chance? What happens to you if the zone is full? Would they let you go on your merry little way?

God, you feel sick.

The ice creeping along your skin doubles, and you tighten your grip on the baby carrier strapped to your chest. Matthew hums quietly against your back, his little fingers tracing random patterns along your shirt as he bounces with your each step. Harry walks somewhat steadily beside you, his cheeks reddening with the more distance you cover.

He gives you a reassuring nod when you look to him for guidance, and you continue forward, swallowing the lump building in your throat when you become aware of them yelling about your presence.

Their guns are raised when you eventually make it closer, and it’s automatic to throw your hands up in surrender.

“We’re not infected!” you shout, hoping they’d listen.

A soldier steps forward. “On the ground, now!”

“Shit. Okay! Please, I—we’re not infected—”

“Get. On. The. Ground!”

“I have a kid! I have a—please, we’re not—”

“Get the kid out.”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You fight the tremble in your fingers as they raise to the clip across your chest, winding a supportive hand around to your back to keep Matthew from falling out of the carrier as it loosens from your torso.

After a bit of shifting, Matthew stands on shaky legs, his eyes darting between you and the few soldiers with their weapons raised.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe softly, “we gotta do what the man says, okay? Can you do that for mama?”

You continue to lower until your front hits the rubble covered ground, and you motion for Matthew to do the same, heart breaking as he cowers in fear and falls to his knees before copying your posture and hiding his face against the road.

More voices fill your ears, the obvious presence of more soldiers swarming from the gate causing your pulse to skyrocket as Harry lowers on the other side of the small toddler.

“Check ‘em.”

“Everything’s fine,” you murmur, keeping your gaze on Matthew and smiling when he peeks at you from between his fingers, “we’re okay. Keep your eyes on me, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It stings.

You automatically flinch away from the device someone holds at your neck, freezing when more weapons are raised in your direction. The device gives a small beep and the soldier gives a loud clear, before moving for Matthew.

He cries out at the pain, his chest heaving with his growing sobs. The guns move in his direction and you’re flying towards him before you can even think, yelping when arms pull you away from your baby before you can console him. His screams worsen.

“Please,” you beg, “he’s just a baby—!”

The soldiers remain emotionless.

Another beep, another clear.

The fingers digging into your arms loosen and then you’re free, hurriedly crawling on all fours until Matthew’s in your arms, his tear stricken face pressing into your throat. You soothe him softly, murmuring how well he did and that he’s safe with you while the soldiers move their attention to Harry.

When the device gives a final clear, another soldier steps forward, a small smile stretching his lips.

“Sorry about that,” he says, stepping forward until he’s only a step away, “but we can’t be too careful.”

It’s surreal being around people again.

For the longest time, it’s just been you, Matthew and Harry. The people left after the event had turned cruel, desperate for any remaining resources and resulting to violence left, right and centre. It’d been sheer luck that you three had escaped some of the nastier characters you’d come across during your treks. Sure, you’d lost a few supplies every now and then, but you were thankful you all were still here at least.

The man leads you into an office of sorts, with rusted old chairs to sit on while he goes about ‘registering’ you. You’re surprised at the process of it all, confused when he says you’re in luck because after this morning, there are new rooms available. What does that mean? Had something happened to the occupants?

Your stomach turns, but you dare not dwell on it.

Safety for Matthew, that’s all that matters. That’s why you’re here.

It feels like hours before you’re stepping into the sun again, lead out onto a relatively normal looking street with written directions to your new accommodation. The door bangs loudly behind you, fully closing you from the horrors of the outside world, and you try not to focus on the looks of curiosity, borderline hostility, as you start to walk further into the QZ, the height of the wall casting a large shadow over your path.

There’s a main square of sorts, filled with small stations of people selling various items. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of shitty looking food, desperate to eat something other than the random old bits and pieces you’d find through your looting, but you’d have to begin work to even afford a single half burnt bread roll. The two ration cards you had received at your ‘registration’ wouldn’t make a dent in what you’d need to afford any of it.

You pass the sellers, sharing a sullen look with Harry as he too realises he wouldn’t have enough for any of it.

There’s crowds, and you try to keep to yourself as you move, but something catches your eye, as if your sight had been automatically pulled to that direction and you’re oblivious to the people bumping into your frame.

For a moment, you’re sure you’re dreaming.

Did they end up shooting you at the gate? This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be unfolding right before your very eyes. You feel alive. You feel your pulse, your breath. You feel Matthew shift in the carrier, you hear Harry making comments about the people and the surrounding buildings.

You can’t look away.

You’re pulled in his direction, certain with every bone in your body that it’s him. It’s him.

The man turns, and his eyes are meeting yours through the crowds before you can even brace for it, and you see the moment it hits him.

He freezes, his eyes unblinking as if they don’t want to risk losing the hallucination his mind had conjured. He steps forward, and again, and again, slow in his movements, cautious.

“Joel?” You breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the bustle of your surroundings and the distance between you, but he must see your lips mould his name because then he’s running, ducking through the people and heading straight your way.

You start to jog, careful not to disturb the carrier holding Matthew too much, and then he’s there. He’s there and he’s real and he’s saying your name so sweetly, a broken rasp of disbelief and a tremble taking over his hands as they raise to cup your cheeks.

You sob at his touch.

The tears flow from your eyes and you grasp at whatever you can on him, your fingers tightening around the jacket hanging from his frame as you attempt to pour two years of loss into your embrace. He cradles the back of your head, keeps your face pressed tightly against the dirtied skin of his throat as he mutters brokenly about how he thought you were dead and that he’d missed you so damn much.

“Oh baby boy,” he rumbles, noticing the baby carrier and the toddler within it with tears filling his lash line, “look at you.”

You hurriedly unclip the harness and sweep Matthew out of it, bringing him into the middle of your embrace. Joel runs a hand along Matthew’s cheek before sweeping down and kissing him on the forehead, his tears dropping over the toddler’s cheeks in obvious relief and utter joy.

“How—”

You shake your head, nuzzling into the rough hand holding your cheek. “Later. We’ll talk later about everything, I just—god, I’ve missed you so fucking much, Joel.”

His head lowers until his forehead is pressed against yours, and his eyes flutter closed. You feel it in the simple gesture, how much he had missed you, mourned for you. He gives a small nod, followed by a quiet okay, before another presence suddenly makes themselves known.

Your body jolts with the weight hitting your side, and you jump in fright before your eyes come across a slightly skinny looking Australian Shepherd desperate for attention.

His tongue lolls from his mouth as he attempts to lap at your cheek, and you chuckle through your stream of steady flowing tears at the cheerful dog.

“Chip,” Joel grunts in slight annoyance, shoving the fluffy beast away from where he tries to jump and sniff at Matthew’s cheeks, “down—down, boy!”

“You have a dog?” You ask in curiosity, reaching out to pet the animal. Your smile widens when he eagerly nuzzles into your touch with an excited whine.

“He was wanderin’ the QZ when I came in,” Joel replies, one of his hands leaving your waist to deliver a rough rub to the dogs head, “followed me home one night and hasn’t stopped botherin’ me since. Tommy said he’d be good for me.”

“Tommy’s here? And Sarah?” You perk immediately in excitement, your eyes flying past his shoulder to look for his brother and the other part of your heart that’s been missing for years. “I’m so glad they’re alright, where are they?”

You don’t notice how considerably quiet he’s gone until you look at him. He’s defeated, guarded, his dark eyes drawn to the floor. He can’t look at you. Why can’t he look at you? What’s happened?

“Joel?”

“Sarah… she—she—”

He struggles to finish the sentence, the words stick uncomfortably on his tongue. His features twist in clear anguish and you feel the world around you shatter. Sarah, she… she’s gone? When? How?

Your heart sinks, weak and broken by the unexpected news. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the notion that you’d never see her again, that the last time you saw her was truly the last.

Regret begins to build in the pit of your stomach. That last day… you should’ve hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead, told her how much she meant to you and how lucky you were to be in her life—

The tears begin again.

“Oh Joel, I-I’m so sorry,”

You both share the heartache, wrapped in each other's arms and breathing in the other. His tight hold doesn’t loosen for a second, and you attempt to put every ounce of energy in your tired body into returning it.

The world stands still, just like it did that cursed day.

How can you be so elated that he’s here, and yet be filled with so much pain at the same time? How long has he been lost, no doubt blaming himself for his baby girl not making it to where he is now? You mourn her, mourn him for being lost, stuck on a path of despair and believing he had lost everything for so long.

What had become of him? What had the pain done to him? Surely it would’ve been pure torture for the man who practically breathed family.

Harry can wait. Introductions can wait. Food, drink, sleep—you care for none of it. Not now. All that matters is that Joel is here, truly here in the flesh, wrapped in your arms and holding the child he hasn’t seen for two years. All that matters is that you had found one another in the violent hellscape the world had become.

Peace, but that tranquillity will forever be tainted by loss, a void hanging in the midst of relief, never to be filled again.

tag list 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld,

tags that have continuously not worked will be deleted from my taglist soon x

#joel miller x reader #joel miller f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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orchidyoonkook · 4 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

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nymphea0 · 29 days ago

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Then can I request a continuation of that oneshot with Matthias? I was wondering what their marriage life and parenthood is like. Thank you in advance!! 🥰

The Duke And His Secret

Yan! Matthias x Reader

Oneshot Story (Special Chapter).

(Warnings : Balcony mature scene at the end.)

*Minors are prohibited from reading this story🚫*

Manhwa : 울어 봐, 빌어도 좋고.Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Cry, Even if You Pray.

Author & Ilustration : Solche & Van Ji

Word Count ; 1.395 word.

Hello this is Neva🦋, hope you have a nice and happy day, it's been a long time since I updated any story whether it's manhwa or Oc. sorry about that, I'm currently very focused on making a "supernatural" expecially Vampire character series project investigating and deepening it so that the character I make doesn't seem stiff and my darlings enjoy reading it. So heres some matthias cup of tea story (^3^), hope you like it Anon🦋, Lots of love - Neva🦋🦋

Might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story, much love.- Neva🦋

- Main story : The Duke and His Secret

The residence of the Duke of Arvis, the kingdom of Berg.

The atmosphere of the residence was very cheerful, full of laughter from the 2 children of the opposite sex.

One had jet black hair like the color of a crow's feathers, with bright blue eyes like the sky. The other had snow-white hair with amethyst purple eyes.

The servants in the residence could only blush in excitement seeing the two children who were only 8 years old.

2 children, siblings, with different genders. The older brother was a man with black hair like a crow, while the younger sister, a woman with snow-colored hair.

Both of them played and ran with each other in the garden

While on the other side of the garden under the tree, there was a table with a complete set of tea and also a light side dish for the mouth that went well with tea, Pastry.

There were two women sitting there, one was no longer young, estimated to be 80 years old, while the other, still looked young but not so young, estimated to be 50 years old.

The two women were, Elysee von herhardt, and Norma Catharina Von herhardt, daughter-in-law and mother-in-law, who were both watching their grandchildren.

Felix Von Herhard and Airedith Von Herhard. Felix and Aire. Siblings who were only 1 year apart. The servants said they were Irish twins. Because they were only 1 year apart.

Norma stared at the two little children playing with each other, the woman was no longer young, she felt very sad if she couldn't play with them.

While Elysee occasionally smiled and drank tea elegantly, her eyes staring towards the balcony of their manor house. There Elysee could see her affectionate son and daughter-in-law.

In fact, as Elysee remembered when Matthias brought you to the Herhardt residence for the first time, a forced marriage that made your parents agree, you really didn't like being close to Matthias, but as the saying goes, struggle will never give disappointing results. The fact that Matthias desperately shows that he does love you, sincerely even though his way at the beginning was wrong.

Slowly you accepted Matthias, he never forced you to make love or do things he wanted but you didn't like, he listened to your wishes, all your anger, even though at the beginning you were afraid Matthias would hurt you, but he didn't do that.

Matthias even went to a psychiatrist to help overcome how to eliminate apathy and grow an attitude of sympathy and become caring and willing to accept differences of opinion, rejection and so on.

There Elysee could see how Matthias kissed your cheek affectionately, if Elysee remembered again the woman wanted to laugh at how Matthias' expression said love but with a flat expression.

Like father, like child. The fruit does not fall far from the tree, that's Matthias, just like his father.

You are relaxing on the balcony, enjoying the hot spring, so warm but shady.

Down there, in the garden, you see your mother-in-law, Elysee and Matthias' grandmother, Norma, busy staring at Felix and Aire who are playing with each other, your and Matthias' children.

While your husband? Matthias, the man is busy cooing affectionately behind you, kissing your bare shoulder affectionately because you are wearing an Off-shoulder dress. Damn, this man knows the opportunity in adversity.

Many things have happened during the 9 years you have been with Matthias, you have faced the ups and downs together, but you know that Matthias wants to learn and tries to prove himself. As a result, the man becomes like a cat in heat, always wanting to be close and not wanting to be far away.

"Matty! Don't bite! Later mom and grandma will see, I'll be embarrassed"

You complain because this time Matthias bites and sips lovingly leaving a mark on your bare shoulder.

While Matthias, the man is only busy kissing, sucking your shoulder and neck, his hands also don't stay still on your thigh, stroking affectionately. Never mind that it was currently in public, but fortunately the balcony railing was 100% covered with carved marble, so the people below only saw that Matthias and you were just hugging.

"Don't refuse like that my love, it's your own fault for wearing such revealing clothes, this is called an invitation for me"

Matthias continued kissing and nuzzling your shoulder and neck.

"Felix and Aire are already 8 years old, isn't it time for them to have a new sibling?"

"No! Wait until they are 10 years old, then a new sibling"

Too bad, your husband didn't accept the rejection, instead Matthias stared with a mischievous grin.

Elysee chuckled softly at what she had just seen, causing amazement at Norma and the 2 little kids who were currently sitting in front of them, resting because they were tired of running and playing.

Norma snorted and drank her tea slowly, softly asking.

"What made you chuckle so cutely Elysee?"

Elysee just smiled shaking her head, and poked Felix's cheek which was a copy of Matthias and also rubbed Aire who was busy eating pastry.

"Nothing mom, I think we need to build another house"

Blinking one eye mischievously at her mother-in-law Norma, while Norma who was given that just laughed happily.

Wiping away tears slowly because she was tired of laughing. Norma knew exactly what Elysee meant, a new presence, a new member, Felix and Aire's future sibling.

"Well, at least our Matthias is full of energy to want to have lots of children"

The two middle-aged women laughed together, making the two little children in front of them look at each other, shake their heads slowly and just continue eating the pastry served in front of them.

On the balcony, Matthias was still busy kissing your shoulder and neck affectionately which was so tempting to his desire.

His hands were so adept at entering your lower dress, rubbing your soft thighs gently with full squeezes passion.

"Matt! Not here!"

You tried to protest Matthias, but like talking to a wall, Matthias ignored your protest.

Until his ladder slipped into your underwear, rubbing your sensitive intimate area slowly.

"Matthias!?". The more firmly you refused, the wilder Matthias became.

"What love? I know you enjoy it"

Matthias naughtily sucked your neck slowly, while his 2 fingers were busy moving back and forth in your sensitive area, so deep and expert.

You were only able to hold back your moans, afraid that a servant would pass through the balcony door or Grandma and mother would see you both suspiciously from down there, as much as possible you acted normal.

"Come on love, don't be so shy, I know you enjoy it"

Your ass was slapped lightly by Matthias deliberately full of temptation.

His hands got faster when he felt your walls squeezing his fingers.

"Want to come out love? Yes? Come to me love, came to my hands"

Until, you came hard! Both of your hands covered your mouth to muffle your moans, your eyes closed while your legs shook unable to bear the weight.

While Matthias' fingers were still busy moving slowly, down there, Matthias could feel and see the puddles of water falling. You squirted, it turned out.

Matthias chuckled softly and kissed your cheek tenderly.

Matthias passionately devours your lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth, tracing every inch of your mouth. Claiming it to be his.

You who are out of breath try to pat Matthias' chest, but Matthias this man is full of passion, so you bite his lips and scratch his neck, causing blood spots on his lips and neck.

Matthias just winces softly before pulling your hair back, not too roughly but not too slowly, enough to make you look at him.

Matthias' passionate eyes stare directly at you, whispering sensually right in front of your lips, while licking the corner of your lips affectionately.

"Feels so good love? Do you want to continue here or in the room hmm?"

Damn, your fate is so unlucky to marry this shameless nobleman but god, you cant hold your heart, you love this man, as same as matthias love you.

His secret, his little heaven secret.

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @rai-xxx @thehopingfairy @ryusooze @yaoduriaa @merveeeeesworld

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Story.

#obsessed #possesive #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere x darling #manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa #yandere manhwa x reader #manhwa #cry or better yet beg #matthias x reader #manhwa x you #nevaerah

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peachypine · 2 months ago

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the roomies!!! i originally designed this ososan oc trio in full about a year ago to write on an rp blog. it's not really active rn, but i still want to talk and post about 'em, so here they are! just basic rundowns, but i'd be curious to hear which one (if any) is your fav of the three (feel free to leave it in the tags?? if u want!)

bonus transparent of them all together:

aaand some rambling under the cut about their designs

anzu:

i wanted to use orange as a character colour bc it's one that wasn't already used in the matsu rainbow, and i had a concept of a gyaru character named anzu kicking around in my head for a long time as well, so here we are. miwa from the mixer ep inspired the eyeshadow (orange rather than miwa's blue obv, to keep with her colour theme) and delinquent totoko's design inspired her ombre dyejob! i went with a blonde-to-orange look as a nod to anzu's namesake fruit (apricot).

the strands framing her face are split into 3 sections at the end (2/3 are grouped together and 1/3 flips in the other direction) which is a little nod to her being one of 3 siblings (eldest), as well as the "三" character used in her surname (mikado) meaning 3. the rest of her hairstyle is just because i thought it looked cute, though.

ososan's style is more simplified, but i wanted to convey makeup that was a little bold, but cute (long false lashes, eyeshadow, & and a soft pink or nude glossy lip). clothing-wise, she mixes and matches a few different substyles (agejo and onee are prominent, with some ane, tsuyome, and general old school gal influences as well?), with a particular fondness for animal prints, esp. tiger print. (that said, orange tiger print doesn't seem all that common in gyaru clothes, so in-universe i like to think that the top pictured above was originally a black-and-white zebra(?) stripe print she thrifted and dyed at home--close enough!)

her nails day to day are usually medium length since she has a lot of hobbies that involve her hands and anything longer makes those things a bit more cumbersome. sometimes they're decoden/bedazzled, sometimes they're just painted a cute colour/pattern, depends on the day! and i think she opts for press-ons over extensions for longer nails, since it's cheaper.

ran:

i'm just a bitch who loves purple, that's the reason for this one. i think the hime cut with shorter bangs is nice because you can showcase the eyebrows (i think eyebrows can really elevate a character design so i gave all 3 their own brow shape) without worrying about the lines for the eyebrows and bangs intersecting in an annoying way when you draw it. i like shorter, slightly sharp eyebrows like these because they're easy to draw, lol. i think they're usually furrowed like she's displeased with something, but that may just be her resting face. i also thought this blunter, sharper-looking cut (bold, standoffish) was a fun contrast to anzu's flippy half-updo (bright, bouncy) and yuzu's short, wavy hair (languid, relaxed).

5 piercings on each ear (2 spiked helix & 3 lobe) = 5 siblings including ran (4 older brothers). the other reason for this number of piercings was that her namesake flower (orchid) had--i thought--5 petals, but as it turns out i'm a fool, it's actually 3 petals (including the lip) and 3 sepals??? ah, well.

clothing-wise, influences from various punk/vkei styles alongside some rokku gyaru. (maybe anzu introduced her to this one?) this brash style is the total inverse of how she was expected to dress growing up. (when she and anzu first met, she was an OL with no piercings, undyed hair, and positively miserable, but that was a number of years ago now.) i'm really not reinventing the wheel with "small and angry", but y'know, we have fun here.

yuzu:

is teal distinct enough from blue to count as its own colour? i think so. for yuzu, i really loved the concept of a deadpan-looking character who is very much not the straightman, who in fact wants very badly to be the funnyman 99% of the time. that kind of straight-faced but silly comedic character is always really fun to me.

half-lidded/heavy-lidded eyes paired with thick brows are always a winner to me fsr, and i wanted to give her a more "handsome" looking face with a bit more of a defined jaw than you typically see on women in ososan. as a treat. i wanted her to look a bit like a mysterious prettyboy, but she's not actually mysterious, she's just a space cadet. (and very straightforward about her thoughts and feelings, saying them with little fuss or thought.) expectation vs reality, people deciding what you're like based on their own perception vs what you're actually like, etc. etc.

i don't have anything deep to say about her hairstyle, but maybe that's how yuzu would like it, what you see is what you get. (again, eyebrows vs hair... let that eyebrow scar that i gave her for no reason shine.) as for clothing, she prefers things that are easy to move around in, so her style is the most "matsuno"-like (t-shirts, hoodies, basketball shorts, sweats, etc.). in particular, she likes shirts with phrases, usually in english, that are funny or almost make sense but not quite ("for background visual gags" and "for the english speakers in the audience").

#ocmatsu #osomatsu san #osomatsu san oc #ososan oc #no clue what tag ppl use the most #fighting for my life to post this against my weird embarrassment abt showing my ocs outside of an rp blog #like yeah heres the little people i created in my head. yeah i made them to play pretend with. jesus christ #doing the equivalent of throwing this onto everyone's porch and then running away shielding my eyes #peach art #peach ocs #i had it in my head that anzu was a medabots fan as a kid which is where her fondness for robot characters comes from #wasn't even thinking about shake and ume LMAO i should draw that interaction tho #yuzu is THE hangyodon stan of all time btw. and that's half the reason she's so good at crane games. gotta win merch of the boy #ran liking ferrets im just like yeah i think she would like their little hands. childhood special interest perhaps #anzuranyuzu pj set perhaps i'll put her in a ferret kigurumi #anzu's would be a tiger and yuzu's idk....... pigeon? seal? up in the air #ran #anzu #yuzu #listed their age range instead of exact age because [gestures vaguely] ososan ages..... time...........#generally speaking i think yuzu is 1 year (maybe 2) younger than the matsus and ran and anzu are maybe 1-2 years older??? thereabouts

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painted-flag · 7 months ago

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From Eden, III - Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist

✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x velaryon!oc

✧.* warnings: 18+ MDNI. (oral, f receiving).

✧.* summary: Ben promised to finish their activities after dinner and he is a man who always keeps his word.

✧.* word count: 2.3k.

Daenys and Benjicot were sitting on a plush rug in front of the hearth in her chamber. There were plush cushions arranged all around them and two cups of wine with a pitcher to share. The hour was late and darkness enveloped Dragonstone. Ben had Daenys leaning against his chest as they rested amongst the low lighting of the fire. His chin rested on her shoulder and held his gaze on the pages of a book she had in her hands. It was Valyrian, so he focused on the intricate drawings of dragons and battle scenes, rather than attempting to even comprehend what the words were.

She was reading the words out loud, despite him not understanding. It was something Ben wanted, for in his words, ‘he wished to hear her voice’. Ben moved his chin from her shoulder and leaned in to press soft kisses into her perfumed skin. He pulled back from her neck and took a lock of her loose hair in his hand, threading his fingers through it. He hummed lowly at the softness.

Daenys continued to read about a knight in the story, “Ziry brōztagon zirȳla gevie, Iā jaesa hen uēpa Valyria” (He called her beautiful, a goddess of Old Valyria).”

“Zery bruzagon zirela gevie,” Ben stuttered over the words she had read. Daenys laughed gently and craned her head to look at him. She kissed his cheek.

“Close, my love.” She trailed her pointer finger against his jaw in admiration.

“What does it mean?” Ben questioned.

“It said ‘he called her beautiful.’” Daenys then repeated the phrase in Valyrian, slowly so he could pick up on it. The two of them went through each word together. Daenys would say it in Valyrian and Ben would repeat it in the common tongue.

She finished the phrase, “Gevie.”

“Beautiful,” Benjicot repeated. Daenys gave him a nod of encouragement. He used his finger to rest on her chest, “Gevie.”

Daenys leaned further into him, finding the warmth there better than the fire in front of them. Ben reached for his cup of wine and took a sip to clear his throat. Daenys closed her book and shoved it out of the way. It had been difficult for her to relax all night and her antsy movements exposed her feelings.

“What bothers you, my princess?” No matter how many times he used her title, she still felt the heat that flushed her face each time.

“All of the planning. I did not know it would be so complicated.” Daenys ranted, “Though, I am thankful it will not be in Kings Landing.”

Daenys had, very early on in their courtship, confided in him the trouble that was the Hightower side of her family. She revealed the events of her childhood with them, and the taunts sent her and her siblings way. It was a topic that went surprisingly well, as Ben of all men would understand the deep-seated hatred houses could hold for each other.

“I am grateful not to meet them, for I do not know how I would act.”

Daenys moved forward and out of his hold. She leaned back on one arm and turned her torso to face him. “Must you always resort to aggression?”

Ben opened his mouth to answer but Daenys cut him off, “I do not think I actually need an answer to that. Look, I met your house’s enemy and did not act on my impulses. Granted, I suppose at that time I had only met you once, so there was not much I would have done…” She trailed off. Her attention was on the flames from the hearth as her hands felt the air for warmth. She did not notice Ben’s tense form behind her.

“You what?” Ben spoke. Daenys turned to see him sitting with his knees tucked in and arms resting on them. His mouth was opened in a grimace, with his tongue sweeping across his teeth. He sat up with his knees to his chest.

Daenys realized what she had done, “When I was Lord Tully’s guest. Do you remember that feast held just after we met? Well… my first dance there was with a Bracken.”

“A Bracken?” The word was uttered with such aggression and venom it could have been mistaken for the foulest of insults. Ben's hands gripped his knees with a ferocity she had scarcely seen from him. Daenys scrambled to control the situation. She crawled to him and placed her hands over his while she kneeled in from of him. She sat back on her legs.

“My love, you need not worry about such things. It was only a dance. I recall his name being Aeron or something.” She rubbed his hands.

“Did he do anything? Gods, that craven family. Degenerates and-”

“Benji, he did not do anything. If you recall, that feast was for men to meet me, so you cannot fault him for approaching.” Daenys used one hand to comb through his hair.

Ben scoffed, “I can and I will fault him and that whole damned family. It’s-”

“You are losing yourself to your anger.” Daenys kissed him on his forehead, “If anything, I offended him.”

Ben breathed deeply, in and out for a moment. All the while Daenys was physically assuring him through soft caresses. She had noticed early on that despite his shy exterior, Ben was quick to anger. A level of aggression that balanced on the edge of near insanity. It had not bothered her when she found out. It was a part of Ben and she wished to be with the whole of him, not any fake persona he would put on.

“And what offences did you give him?” Ben questioned.

“He had warned me about bad houses present at the feast. He cautioned me to avoid members of your house.” Daenys answered, though was nervous about setting him off.

“That craven. Too cowardly to fight me and must undermine my family. I swear-” Ben cuts himself off upon seeing Daenys’ face. He breathed in and out again to keep himself grounded.

“I told him off for his foul words, you need not worry. And who exactly won? I am with you, aren’t I?” Daenys moved closer to Ben. He allowed her to slot herself between his knees. He nodded to her and hung his head. She leaned forward and connected their foreheads.

“I did not mean to put you in such a foul mood,” Daenys confessed.

Ben lifted his head with a glint in his eye, “You’re mine, not his.”

He surged forward and captured her lips in a kiss. It was searing. His hands went to the back of her head and pulled her in closer, impossibly close. The grip on her hair was new, as he only ever caressed her locks gently. The change was not disliked on her end. Ben moved forward, slowly pushing Daenys backwards. He bit down on her lip slightly and let out a muffled groan.

Daenys continued to move backwards until her head hit one of the cushions. Ben leaned over her with his forearms on either side of her head. She struggled to stay aware of her surroundings, as her feelings made her senses dizzy. Each time she felt comfortable, Ben always surprised her with the intensity of his devotion. He pulled away but did not stop his assault on her face. Trailing his lips over to where her neck met her jaw. His teeth scraped the skin as his heavy breaths fanned against her.

“Gevie.” Ben’s whisper was nearly incoherent. The man seemed lost in his own world as he worshipped Daenys’ skin. He muttered the word many times over, like a holy man reciting scripture. In this life, his heaven lay beneath him. He shifted his weight onto one arm while the other moved down and pulled up her dress, crumpling the fabric to sit at her waist. His fingers gripped the plush skin of her thigh and the thumb moved back and forth, swaying dangerously close to her core.

Ben had gone back to kissing her. Daenys’ lips parted and he seized the opportunity. His tongue made a new home in her mouth, fighting against hers. He hummed and the vibrations coursed between them. The hand on her thigh trailed up to her centre.

“Ben!” Daenys rasped at the shock of skin-on-skin contact. Her heart began to pound. Ben broke contact and pulled away.

“I told you before dinner that we would finish later.” His index finger trailed down and between her folds, smoothing down the slick that had built up quickly. His movements were slow and calculated. One area was grazed making Daenys breath hitch. Ben noticed her reaction and zeroed in on her bud with his thumb, slowly increasing the pressure and speed. He began to kiss her chest as it rose up and down with her frantic breaths.

She had no other thought but him: his touches, his kisses, the feeling of his strong body over hers. If she could stay here for the rest of eternity, Daenys would stake her soul on it and curse the gods. There was a lightness to his touches, but a possessive nature in the way he revered her body. Daenys covered her mouth to suppress her moans in fear that a guard making the rounds in the hallway outside could hear.

Ben continued to bite and suck on her chest, collarbones, and neck. His fingers moved in quick succession, building the tension growing in Daenys.

“Ben! I-” She bit down on her lip to silence her cry. The tension pulled taut. Her back arched as it felt like her body was going to burst into a ball of flame. As soon as she was nearing a peak, Ben stopped and pulled his hand away. Daenys whimpered in disappointment, already missing his touch. He moved in to kiss her lips one last time before shifting down. He had crawled to be near to her core, and without any warning, he buried his face in her.

Daenys’ first instinct was to move her legs together, but Ben used both of his hands to grip the area where her thigh met her hips and held them down. What his fingers did well, his tongue excelled in. It moved over her bud in careful strokes while his hands massaged her skin. Ben acted like a man starved. It was feverish, rushed in speed, but careful in savouring.

Jolts of pleasure shot through her body as he continued his work. Her exposed skin pricked despite the intense heat she felt and a flush swept over her. The wanton manner in which Ben was kissing, licking, and sucking her made Daenys’ face scrunch and eyes close. It was getting harder and harder to keep the lewd noises that spilled from her lips quiet. After a particularly loud moan, Ben growled in response and the vibrations coursed through her lower body.

Daenys was intoxicated by his worship of her. Her head lulled from side to side, fighting with all her strength to not call out his name. Her voice started to murmur his name repeatedly, becoming more frequent as the same pressure began to build up again. Ben, in the small seconds of lifting up for breath, muttered back: gevie. His voice, which spoke her mother tongue, sounded better than all the hymns and bands she had ever listened to in life.

“Gevie, gevie, gevie,...”

A prayer of worship, of the promise of safety, of love. It was all too intense, too otherworldly. Yet, with just one more flick of his tongue, Daenys felt herself reach that snap. The intensity had turned into a fire that coiled through her limbs, etching trails of pleasure through her. Her body shook and her thighs moved against the hold Ben had them in. He continued to work her core as she rode out her high. Her spasms turned tense as she lost control of her body. Her breathing had been sent into overdrive in an attempt to cool the burning she felt. Daenys hands had been gripping the cushions around her as if that action could ground her.

Once Daenys was able to get a hold of her own body, Ben pulled away. He looked at her and smiled while running his tongue against his lips. She sat up slightly as he crawled over to her. Their mouths moved together in a tantalizingly slow kiss. Ben moaned as his hands continued to move and caress all over her body. Daenys opened her eyes when she separated, but he kept his eyes closed as he moved further forward to search her out.

They finally pulled away, but only slightly. Their breaths mingled together in the air around them. Both seemed to have trouble in catching their breath, but neither cared. Ben moved to lie down beside her. He pulled her down with him and wrapped her up in his arms, his biceps flexing. Daenys set her head on his chest. A free hand moved up to caress the skin of his chest that peaked out from the small unbuttoned space from his shirt.

After a moment of silence, Ben spoke up, “Remember when you jested about running off to get married soon? I do believe we should do that.”

Daenys laughed, “After the weeks of trouble I have gone through to plan? Not a chance.”

“You do realize we will have to wait two more weeks? Every day it kills me slowly that I cannot call you my wife. At this rate, I should be dead before the ceremony.” Ben huffed. One of his hands rubbed up and down Daenys’ upper arm.

“No amount of honeyed words you speak will change the date,” She lifted her head to look at him. Daenys leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “I am sorry, my love.”

Ben nodded at her words, content to listen and obey whatever she wished, “If I must wait that long, then I will. But do not expect that upon that night you will be getting any amount of rest, my love.”

___________

✧.* notes: this is the first time i have ever written smut, so if it looks like i don't know what i am doing, thats because i truly don't lol. but, if i do not practice, how will i ever get good at it? thank you all for your support <3

if you want to be added to the taglist to any of my posts or just posts from this series, just comment which one and i will add you.

✧.* taglist: @credulouskhaleesi @username199945

#ben blackwood #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood fanfic #benjicot blackwood imagine #benjicot blackwood x oc #bloody ben #hotd fanfiction #hotd imagine #house blackwood #house of the dragon #smut #benjicot blackwood smut #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf imagine

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simpingland · 7 months ago

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Sōnar Māzis// Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc.

Summary: arriving at Winterfell was the main mission for Jace and Gaella. Cregan likes Jace almost instantly...Gaella doesn't have it that easy. She counts with Jace's support on her, but jealousy and insecurity gets on the way. Part 1, part 2 and part 3 here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was intensely cold, and Gaela's lips, her fingertips and her cheeks were freezing at every instant. If Jace was feeling the same, he certainly did not look like it. Vermax roared the second the three of them reached Winterfell, and the relief of touching the floor made the cold a bit nicer. The last week, during their stay at The Vale, Jace had been playing his part as Prince incredibly well. Gaella could see in every discourse, in every decision, in every polite glance he made his dedication to his title as Prince. He had gathered the men from the Vale, he was gonna gather the men from the North. The approval of Lord Stark was the approval of almost half of Westeros. Gaella had regretted not entering that room where Lady Arryn and Jace had discussed the war. Was this her way of helping? By standing behind the Prince and reassuring him only when he had nightmares? No, she wanted to be part of history, and Lord Cregan Stark was just that.

The place was humble, nothing rich and somehow, incredibly beautiful, leaving Gaella with no words to describe it. And so it happened, when Cregan welcomed them at the gates, the Princess was too stunned to speak.

"Winterfell for sure is simple..." she muttered. The Lord gave her a strange glance, not sure of the compliment. "Lord Stark, Winterfell is not at all like how I imagined."

"For sure it's poorer than The Red Keep, Princess. But it is the happy people and community that makes it the great land the Crown has come to visit. Seeking for help I assume..."

Jace gently pushed Gaella aside, almost instantly, pushing away someone so they didn't step on the mud. He smiled at the Lord, charming as always.

"Indeed, my Lord. Princes Gaella and I have traveled a good distance to discuss an urgent matter. The House Targaryen needs the House Stark at this moment."

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. You are not as I expected you to be. Sure you are serious, I just thought of you a bit..."

"Taller?" Interrupted Gaella, a playful yet nervous smirk on his face. Both men looked at her, Cregan amused, Jace annoyed.

"I was going to say blondier, Princess."

"Well, these things are amystery. My mother's hair is auburn color. And me and my siblings are blonde. Hair means little to nothing."

"Gaella," Jace stopped the girl. "I think we should talk about other matters."

"Sure... Apologies."

Cregan gave her a small smile, almost a mocking smile. And before she could realise, both men walked before her, leaving the Princess completely behind. The small talk of Lord Stark's wife made Gaella feel out of the entire mission. With a polite apology, she upped her pace trying to reach the men. They were already deep in a conversation.

"We wanted to discuss matters of loyalty, Lord Stark" you interrupted.

"I know, Princess, the Prince has already commented the same."

Gaella stared at the other boy, it was getting annoying for the young Lord and Jace could tell.

"Princess Gaella, Lord Stark was mentioning to me that there were a lot of duties he needs to attend before a proper chat" said Jace.

"But there's nothing more important than the Realm."

The Lord signed, and Jace tried his hardest not to scream at the girl. Was this her way of helping?

"Well, we are the ones interrupting Lord Cregan's duties as the protector of the North. We might as well wait."

Gaella looked at Jace looking for a signal, he could not be serious...he was the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord Stark could not put on hold some chores? But she knew better, it was a bad impression to contradict the Prince. So she left it for the privacy of the hall where their rooms were assigned.

"I wonder, what are Lord Cregan's duties? Putting salt on the neighbor's doorstep to melt the ice? Ripping of animal skins so the woman could knit their cloaks?" Gaella rolled her eyes, trying to gain a smile from Jace. She failed.

"Simple? You called Winterfell 'simple'?" He scolded her in a whisper.

"You did not let me finish."

"'Taller'?"

"He was going to question your legitimacy!" She protested again. Jace took a second not to scream.

"He was going to make a jest, Gaella."

"Well, good thing I made the jest myself, then."

That did manage to get a smile from Jace. Soft and sweet, he tried to hide it. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, my Prince. I should have not commented on something so stupid. Not about Winterfell...not about you." Gaella stared at her hands, still colder than usual.

"Do not worry, Gaella. I don't need someone to point it to know who I am...what I am." He lost the smile, and he stared at Gaella's hands as he lowered his gaze.

She knew at the instant what he was talking about, and as a reassuring gesture, she stepped closer to him, put hand on his chest and searched for his eyes.

"Oh, Jace...being this short is not a problem when you own a dragon."

He pushed the girl away with a mixture of offence and amusement, Gaella laughed at him before going separate ways.

Lord Cregan asked for Jace to accompany him to some of his duties, and Gaella knew at the moment that it was a strategy from the Lord to show the future King how the North worked. Maybe he wanted his help in the future, or wanted to warn him to stay away from his Kingdom. Sure it was simple, but impressive. An ambient much sweeter and safer than the beautiful streets of King's Landing. They left Gaella, once again, behind, but she saw the people's reaction to Jace's presence. They stared with a polite and honest curiosity, no one reached to beg for money or favours, and Cregan even saluted a few of them using their names, and Jace saluted back. Oh...he was going to be such a loved king, of that Gaella was more than certain. And Baela was more than fortunate to be betrothed to the best men in Westeros.

Something that Gaella did not notice was the quiet stares Jace caught of her wherever he could afford. He looked back at her, she was listening a bit impatiently to the men trying to impress her, or maybe she was listening to the woman sharing their daily lives and gossips, and the children staring at her silver hair and fancy jewelry. He could also hear the men getting confused at Gaella's smart responses to the flirting, the laughter of the woman as she gave them her opinion, or the children's awe at her narrations of the Targaryen's history. How much he had missed her soulmate.

At supper time, the girl was styled by the Lady Stark's maidens, and, unable to dress her in southern fashion, Gaella accepted to put on a simple gown, with a simple hairstyle that made her natural curls and snowy hair shine at the light of the candles. When she entered the room, Jace's chat with Cregan got lost in the wind. They stood in the presence of the Princess, Jace being the first one when he, indeed, was not required to stand before her.

"My Prince..." Cregan called him. The boy turned back at the Lord. "May we sit?"

He had stared for too long, and Gaella was confused and blushed by that point.

"Sure. Let's eat."

The music soundsd calmly as a background, never distracting enough, and Jace took the opportunity to sell Team Black a bit more to the Lord. Gaella decided to do the same, with the people around her, hoping they would pressure the Lord in case of future doubts. At a certain point, a melody crossed the room, a special tune. Gaella recognised it at the instant and Jace did as well. They locked eyes, and for an instant they were kids again, in their dull dinners with Lords, hoping for an opportunity to cross words. Jace excused himself before standing up, signing to Gaella to stand with him.

"I hope you got better at this, my Prince...I did not" Gaella whispered to the Prince's ear. He smirked.

"Let me lead."

She tried her best, but still, she stepped on him multiple times. The people around decided to join in but the couple did not notice. Jace's smile was contagious, and Gaella blushed and giggled every time she felt trip. They would quote the instructions learned as kids, disagreeing with a few of them.

"How much I have missed this, Jace" confessed the girl.

"Maybe as much as I have missed you."

When the dessert was announced, the people started to leave the dancing, and Jace and Gaella found a sign, that they should concentrate again on their major task.

He kissed the back of Gaella's hand, led her back to the table and with a polite apology, he suggested Lord Cregan to swap seats on the dining table, leaving Gaella to sit beside the Lord and Jace beside his lady wife.

"What are you doing?" Gaella whispered at a moment of chanting and movement.

"I have talked enough with him today. Now it's your moment to try and show your charms."

And so Gaella did. A bit nervous at the beginning, Lord Cregan seemed to forgive her clumsiness and comments about his land, lending his ear to Gaella's discoveries made that day. She managed to make him smile in genuine amusement, with the gossip of the woman close to his castle, retelling stories that House Stark got wrong about the Hightowers and Targaryens, anecdotes of Jacaerys being a kid on the Red Keep and his fantasies of becoming a secret knight on tournaments. She even taught him how to say "winter is coming" in Valyrian.

And at those giggles being shared, Jace started to feel a pang of jealousy, and he felt even dumb for having the idea of putting them together in the first place. The most beautiful woman of the Seven Kingdoms with the most important young men in Westeros. He tried hard not to show it, but...his urge to finish his cup of wine was a showing, and Gaella caught it but did not understand it.

"Thank you for letting me have a second impression with Cregan, Jace" Gaella spoke behind the Prince right before he could lock himself in his room.

"I am more than sure you got what you wanted..." his tone was desperately trying to be kind, but his dead eyes were betraying him.

"Aren't you happy we are securing the North for a lifetime?" The poor girl was losing her joy by the minute.

"Yes I am, Princess...I'm just tired, I want to call it a day." He was about to close the door.

"With all that wine you had today no wonder you feel dizzy" she cut, harshly, making sure he knew it was not a joke. Jace opened the door wider, frustration sober him up a bit.

"Don't you dare judge me, Gaella..."

"I am not."

"YES...Yes you are. Like everyone else is."

"Jace--"

"And you have no right to do so, because, just like the Hightower that you are, you pull a veil of dignity and superiority to make yourself stand out. But to get what you wanted you need to flirt and swing your hair in the right direction. And then, you have all you want."

"I can't believe you are jealous of me."

"I am...jealous." But not of her...of Cregan, but she did not need to know that.

They had a strange and painful silence. Gaella had many thoughts, and the anger she kept all that day was about to disappear forever, but then Jace decided to get drunk and speak. But Gaella was tired of arguing, of screaming to a boy she had always loved in some type of way, no matter where they were. At this point she was just sad.

"Jace...you should know it has offended me, deeply, that you did not count onme throughout the day. But what hurts...what pains me... is that you are the only person who knows me in every single way. And you see me just as a Hightower with nothing more than shallowness and manipulation skills. Just when I was begging to think the world of you."

A tearfelll down her cheek.

"You thought the world of me? That is why you humiliated me in front of Cregan?"

"Gods no!"

"I tried to get you in the conversation, but every time I did it was a mistake. At the Vale, at the gates of Winterfell, at this dinner with Cregan!"

"He liked me!"

"THAT'S NOT ENOUGH!"

"And what advice would you give me, my Prince?" Gaella's tone changed to a raging and sarcastic one.

"Can I please be respected? All those stories...all those jokes...I think it's more than obvious I will not be a legitimate monarch, and I can't keep my thoughts away from that every single day. If you loved me as much as you claim you do, you might as well leave it to rest? At least in front of others...or me."

"Well I did not know--"

"Yes you did. Just let me rest for the night, Princess Gaella. It won't sit right with me to shut my door in your face."

He stared at her for a second, letting a sight of pure deception, maybe on himself, and finally closed the door softly, almost gently. He left Gaella outside, a pity feelinginn her gut. How could someone be as foolish and careless as her? She had been a participant in that pain, as a kid and a young woman. She wanted to knock on his door so bad...but she decided to give him this one night. As a punishment, she felt unable to sleep.

And therefore, Gaella woke up from something so poor she couldn't call it rest or sleep. When she walked out of her room, she had the terrible luck of running into the one and only Jace. Eyes tired, strangely awake and proper, not at all hungover.

"Jacaerys, please--" the girl muttered, completely unprepared and with the urge to gain his strange friend back.

"I'm afraid our conversation has to wait, Princes Gaella. Lord Cregan in waiting for me."

"May I accompany you?" She asked, a tiny hope in her voice.

"I don't think the top of the Wall is a proper place for a lady."

"As you wished, my Prince..."

And so he left, Gaella behind, with her wishing to hit him and hug him. Maybe both, one after the other multiple times. What they did not know, as the Prince distracted himself with Cregan, learning about the North and listening to the story of the Night's Watch, Gaella would open a letter. A black raven, sealed with Rhaenyra's stamp informed of the terrible news. This news where read by the Princess, who abandoned her breakfast, running around the castle, begging a guard to take her to the Wall. She rode there, she cried on her way up on the elevator, alone in the cold. How could she word it? How did this happen? Poor and sweet Jace.

"Jacaerys?" She called once she reached the top, running as fast as she could in the snow. She even tripped, and she stood up again to keep on searching. "Jacaerys!"

He heard the girl, her voice getting louder. But once she saw him, she went mute.

"Gaella? I told you..." he saw her eyes, full of tears about to fall. Her mouth was upturned Jacaerys nightmare became true as Gaella finally spoke.

"Luke is dead."

Taglist: @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bellstwd @kuroladykana

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys velaryon imagine #harry collett

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bijouxcarys · 7 months ago

Text

Bad News (Roman Reigns x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: They told her to stay away. But something about him makes her keep coming back for more.

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: @octaviastargirl @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @heauxvibez (let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics)

Saturday, May 27th 2023 – Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

It had always been the three of them.

Despite not sharing a father, the sibling bond between Jasmine and Kevin was unshakable. Their shared history spanned so many years that neither could recall a time when it was otherwise. Although he was nearly a decade her senior, the two of them wreaked havoc together like a dynamic duo from Hell. The real transformation came when Sami entered Kevin’s life, escalating their antics to new heights.

Inseparable, irreplaceable, indestructible. Nothing could come between them.

Except… the face of pro wrestling. The one man that Jasmine was incessantly warned against—stay away from him, Jas; he’s not worth the trouble.

Roman fucking Reigns.

Ever loyal to her brother’s and best friend’s advice, she made an earnest attempt to heed their warnings. Attempt being the operative word here.

“Give me a bit of slack, man, I’m trying my best here,” she’d mutter, her face buried in the couch pillows.

“There’s no slack when it comes to that man, Jas. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s a wrestler, not the mafia.”

“Well…”

“Don’t be so dramatic—”

“I’m not. He just has a way of…” Sami shivered slightly, “getting into your head.”

“Yeah, we’re well aware of your little man crush.”

Jasmine was fully aware of her family’s fraught history with Roman and The Bloodline, so it wasn’t unusual for them to vent whenever they had a private moment backstage. They were always careful—God only knew the repercussions if the wrong ears caught wind of their conversations.

“He has kids, doesn’t he?”

“And an ex-wife.”

“Yeah, but kids.”

“What’s your point?”

“…Potent dad nut?”

“Jasmine!”

She understood the gravity of someone overhearing Sami and Kevin. Being a new addition to the main roster afforded her certain privileges that others might not have. However, nothing—absolutely nothing—would compare to the trouble she’d be in if either man discovered her… extracurricular activities.

> Still held up?

Jasmine glanced down at her phone, the text neatly displayed under the name BDU—an alias Roman had adopted from a fan’s moniker for him, “Big Daddy Uce,” circulating on social media.

She hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over her screen, before typing out her reply.

Just a bit longer. Kevin and Sami are running late.<

Hitting send without a second thought, she sighed to herself. Navigating this bullshit lie was exhausting. The thrill of sneaking around with Roman clashed with the constant fear of those who loved her the most finding out. She glanced at the clock; time was slipping away.

Just then, the door to the locker room inched open, a familiar voice calling inside.

“Jas, you in here?”

“Yep. Just me, Kev, you can come in.”

She swore she felt the contents of her stomach clawing its way up her body when she noticed the stern expression on her brother’s face. Oh, shit, he’s found out. Time to move to Antarctica and live amongst the penguins.

“What’s up?” she asked after clearing her throat and sending him a nonchalant smile.

With a grunt, Kevin flopped down beside her, chewing over his thoughts. “Look… I know you’re trying…” he began slowly, choosing his words carefully. “And I can only interfere so much, and as your big brother, it’s my responsibility to prote—”

“Will you just spit it out already?”

“You really need to stay away from him, Jasmine. A-and it’s not just about us—he’s bad fucking news. I don’t wanna lose you because of all that.”

“I get it, I really do…” Jasmine furrowed her brows, unsure as to why he was spouting the same lecture he’d already given her a million times already. The two of them locked eyes, as if they were trying to see into each other’s thoughts. Jesus, just tell me what you really mean.

“I noticed it, y’know.” Kevin sighed.

“You noticed what?”

“The little smiles you give him whenever he goes past catering, or whenever we just so happen to cross paths before and after a match.”

“Sorry, am I not allowed to smile at people anymore?” Jasmine huffed, reaching down to tighten her bootlace.

“That’s not what I’m saying! But I know you, Jas—I know how you get with guys—”

“What the fuck is that meant to mean?”

“It means you’re a flirt, and so is that asshat,” he stood up, angled over her just to solidify his point.

“And?” she looked up at him, her hands flying out in an act of defence.

Kevin studied her face for a moment, before eventually sighing. “Just… please be careful, okay?”

“Listen,” she stood up, still inches shorter than him, but with the same gusto. “Nothing you’ve said to me about Roman Reigns has gone in one ear and out the other. I get it. You and Sami drill it into my head enough, how could I forget to be careful with him?” Her face softened and she placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “I’m fine, Kev. Really. I’m a big girl, I can handle a 6ft 4 Samoan wrestler, even if it means telling him to fuck off when he steps wrong.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay… I’d like to see you square up to him.”

“You know what I mean, idiot. Now, go and do whatever you were doing and stop worrying about me and my wondering eyes.”

Jasmine took the seconds after Kevin’s departure to release the heaviest sigh known to man.

You’re really not making this easy for me, Big Dog.

Giving herself a once over in the mirror, she slipped out of the locker room, making her way through the labyrinthine halls of the arena. The crowd’s distant roar echoed around her, reminding her of just where the fuck she was and the spectacle unfolding just beyond the breeze block walls. The audiences in Jeddah were always loud.

Finally, she reached the private room where she knew Roman was waiting. Knocking softly on the door, she slid in as smoothly as she could, meeting the never-faltering intense gaze of the man she really shouldn’t be seeing right now.

“Jassy,” he drawled, pulling her further into the room and closing the door behind her. “Thought you were gon’ stand me up.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she replied, rolling her eyes as he wrapped his girthy arms around her. “Kevin practically cornered me.”

Roman’s expression shifted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Always playin’ the big brother, huh? Thinks he can keep you from me.” He lowered his gaze to her lips, looking over her face with the same shit-eating air of arrogance he displayed in the ring.

“Maybe he should,” she shot back, though her tone was more teasing than anything else. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

He chuckled lowly. “You like bad influences, baby.”

Dramatically sighing, she couldn’t stop herself from smirking herself. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I have to like you, though.” She poked at his chest in a half-hearted attempt at separating their bodies.

“Oh, you like me, Jasmine. More than you wanna admit.” He leaned into her, breath warm against her ear. “And that’s what drives your pretty ass crazy.”

She huffed, her palms flat against his bare chest, still waiting to be oiled down. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re full of it if you think you can keep resisting me.” Hands settled on her waist; he tugged her closer. “But I get it, baby, I do… You’re just mad ‘cause you can’t get enough.”

Her lower lip slipped between her teeth as she attempted to suppress a smile. God-be-damned if she even so much as thought about matching the grin on his perfect fucking face.

“You wish.”

“Shh, you gotta stop tryna push me away so much, mama.” To her utter surprise, Roman placed a tentative kiss to her forehead, though the grip he had on her remained possessive. Territorial.

The two stood there for a moment, savouring the rare peace of their stolen time together. But the reality of their situation loomed large, regardless of their circumstances, and Jasmine knew they couldn’t stay in this tiny ass room for long.

Reluctantly, she pulled away completely. “I should go before they start looking for me.”

Roman nodded, though his qualms mirrored her own. “Be safe out there, Jassy. And remember,” he quickly added, causing her to stop in her tracks and half-turn in his direction. “Anythin’ goes wrong over there, you got me.”

She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. “Always.”

Of course, he couldn’t resist landing a small, teasing, slap to her ass just before she pulled the door open and disappeared for the night. She could still feel the light sting as she made her way down to catering, where she knew Sami and Kevin would be.

“Everything okay?” Sami asked, noticing the distant look in her eyes.

Jasmine nodded, forcing a casual tone. “Yeah, just needed a breather. It’s hot here, don’t you think?” She took a seat opposite the pair, instantly pulling her phone out once she felt the small buzz in her pocket.

> See you later ;)

You’re so sure about that aren’t you?<

> I told you… you can’t stay away

She tucked the phone away with a determined smile, knowing he was right. He always was.

And that proved to be true a lot sooner than she had hoped. Later that evening, as the arena buzzed with the looming anticipation of the night’s main event, Jasmine found herself once again lost in the battle of her morals. Roman and Solo’s tag team match against Sami and Kevin was literally minutes away, and she knew she had to wish him luck. Even if it meant risking another confrontation with her brother.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to where she knew The Bloodline would be. Distant from everyone else, so she was thankful for that aspect.

Jimmy answered her knock, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of her.

“Hey, Jas. What you doin’ here?”

“Just wanted to, uh… wish Roman luck, I guess,” she said, trying to sound casual about her impromptu detour.

The Uso raised an eyebrow but stepped aside to let her in. Inside, the air was thicker than it was in the corridors. It was like the pre-match mental preparation seeped into the ethos. Paul and Solo were over on the couch, both eyeing her with curiosity. And in the very centre of the room, angled towards a mirror as he adjusted his red glove, was Roman.

“Look who decided to show up,” Roman chimed, his voice dripping with playful pride. Sauntering over to her, his wet hair hung at the sides of his face as he angled down to look her in the eye. “Told you, you can’t stay away… You here to give me a good luck charm, baby?”

“Maybe I am,” she crossed her arms and met his gaze head-on. “Not that you need it, Mr. Head of the Table.”

“Ooh,” he chuckled, eyes darkening with that familiar glint. “You know I love it when you call me that.”

Jasmine snorted a small laugh with a swift roll of her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Roman leaned in closer, dropping his voice to that husky whisper she usually only ever heard in their most private moments. “You sure you don’t wanna stick around? Might need a little extra motivation.”

Even though his tone caused a shiver to shoot down her spine, she maintained her composure. “I think you’ll be just fine without me distracting you.”

“You always distract me, Jassy. That’s half the fun.”

Before she could respond, Jimmy interrupted with a grin. “Hey, Uce, you better focus on the damn match. Don’t let Jas here mess with your head.”

Roman shot his cousin a glare. “I got this. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ mess with my head tonight.”

Jasmine shook her head, unable to suppress the amusement that came with every visit to any locker room belonging to The Bloodline. “Alright, alright. Go out there and show them why you’re the Tribal Chief.”

His intense glare softened as he looked back at Jasmine. “You gonna be watchin’?”

“Aren’t I always?” she raised an eyebrow as she made her way to the door.

“As long as you keep acknowledging me, baby, that’s all I need.”

She shot him a grin before closing the door behind her. Oh, I’ll always acknowledge the fuck out of you.

Roman’s domineering presence was palpable, right from the very start of the match. She wasn’t sure if it was just where she watched on from the shadows of Gorilla, but every move he made exuded a confidence in him like never before. But… Kevin and Sami were relentless. They pushed The Bloodline to their limits. And her eyes couldn’t decide where they wanted to be focused. Once again thrown into the back and forth of what outcome she really wanted…

Roman and Solo seemed to have the upper hand at times, but her own family fought back with a determination that left everyone on the edge of their seats, even her.

Eventually, Kevin had Roman alone. Squaring off in the ring. Their rivalry coming to a head in a series of brutal exchanges. A Stunner from Kev, an immediate Spear by Roman. Usually, she could tell which direction a certain match was going. But this? A whole other level.

The climax of the match came in a flurry of action. Solo unleashed a devastating assault on Sami, while Roman engaged Kevin in a battle of wills. The crowd erupted as the evening reached its fever pitch, the finale hanging in the balance.

In a final, dramatic moment, Sami managed to evade Solo’s grasp and tag in Kevin, who launched into a brutal offence against Roman. And despite Roman’s best efforts, Kevin and Sami’s relationship proved too strong. Another Stunner to Roman, followed by a classic Helluva, secured the pinfall that retained her family’s title.

Everyone seemed to explode with cheers. Jasmine couldn’t decide if she was proud of Sami and Kevin for their win, or disappointment that her illegal partner of sorts had actually… lost.

The same engulfed her as she tried her best to celebrate with her brother and best friend backstage. Tried to look happier than she really was. A horrible feeling if there ever was one.

You’re betraying your family; you should be happy!

Then she caught it. Focused, intense eyebrows narrowed down atop eyes that lit up whenever in her presence. Though, this time, approaching was out of the question. Roman passed from afar, followed by Jimmy, Solo, and Paul. His fists clenched at his sides, and his nostrils flared, she held no remorse for him ignoring is surroundings. He was in his head, and she empathised.

However, no amount of losing could stop him from approaching her.

Her phone buzzed as she flopped down onto the bed in her hotel room, snug in a fluffy robe after a hot shower.

> You busy?

Nope<

It took him a while to respond, but once he did, a wide smile overtook her features and she shot up into a seated position.

> Unlock your door and sit on the bed. Don’t fucking move. I’ll be there in 15.

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #bijouxcaryslibrary

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almostnugget · 8 months ago

Text

Pretty Gifts

Coriolanus Snow x fem!plus-size!reader

Your husband bought you a dress, but when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror…

word count: 3.2k

warnings: body-image stuff!, vague…whatever the fuck is wrong with coriolanus subtext, allusions to sex, OC!family/family members for reader and their strained relationship, reader has a LAST name but no first name

a/n: GOD. im suffering from a severe level of brainrot for this man and im finally shedding my fear of posting about him so have this VERY self indulgent piece i wrote…ages ago bc there was just. no plus size/curvy reader for this man. Also this was originally written in 3rd person but i changed it to 2nd so hopefully it sounds alright

Since falling in love with his wife—you, Coriolanus Snow has developed a certain proclivity for buying you things. He used to before, but now it's near constant. They can't leave the house without you coming home with a new trinket, a new piece of clothing, new shoes, anything.

But he'll do it when you’re not around just as well. If he sees anything and it makes him think of you or if he thinks it's something you’ll adore, it's nearly a given that he'll buy it.

Especially clothing.

He's had your exact measurements since you’d gotten married and his cousin, Tigris, designed your wedding dress and while those measurements might've fluctuated, he is well acquainted with your size. Which means, Coriolanus Snow is free to buy his wife any clothing he sees fit.

And he does.

You joke that he likes dressing you up like you’re his own little doll, but you never say it with any annoyance. Something is fun about your husband seeing clothing and simply needing to see his wife in it. It's flattering.

Most days, he'll come home after this or that meeting and drop a bag in front of you with a succinct, "I got you something." You smile almost immediately and always say, "You didn't have to," but you both know he will keep doing so.

And usually he'll insist you try it on for him as soon as possible, if not right away. Other times he'll wait, and declare it's the perfect thing to wear to whatever event they have to attend right around the corner, and you take that as a sign to wear it then.

Some days, however, it's you who comes home from an outing with your mother or father, or one of your siblings. You’ll come home and greet your husband as you usually do: all but tackling him in the hallway with a hug and kiss or the more subtle 'hi' and a kiss on the cheek.

He'll pepper a simple 'there's something for you on our bed' into the conversation and you know you’ve received another piece of clothing. Sometimes he won't say anything, but you know that look in his eye.

And eventually you’ll go into your shared bedroom to find whatever new piece of clothing Snow's picked out for you laying out on the bed—an obvious sign you should put it on right away so he can see you in it when he sees you next. And you usually oblige (though sometimes you’ll try it on just for him and then put back on whatever you were wearing, simply for comfort reasons and he doesn't mind because at least he knows now, and it's always better than his imagination).

Today was no different.

The heels of your shoes click against the marble flooring as you walk further into your home, pausing momentarily as you decide whether or not you want to take off your shoes or not. Before you can decide, you call out, "Coryo?"

It doesn't take a moment for his voice to call out, "In here!"

You hurry into the parlor where you spot your husband sat on the small loveseat, book in hand. His head lifts at the sight of you and you waste little time in hurrying over, falling onto the seat beside him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Hi."

It never fails to make a smile overtake his stoic features and he reaches over, hand pressing into your cheek. "Hello, darling," he whispers and gives you a proper kiss that makes the stress of the day leave both of your bodies.

He pulls away first this time (you swap off), and his brow quirks. "How is your sister?" He asks, thumb still caressing your cheek.

"Normal," you tut, shifting around to lay on the couch, your head landing firmly in his lap. You meet eyes and you smile. "Annoying."

"Better," he remarks, and not even he can hide the satisfied twitch of his lips. You both get a strange thrill whenever the other says something on the edge of mean.

You do love her sister. To an extent.

Geneva Day (née Thorne) is the eldest of the Thorne siblings, seven years your elder, which meant you never spent much time together growing up. Close is not a word to describe you. Especially since, when Geneva learned of Coriolanus' desire to marry the youngest Thorne, she disapproved.

The only ones who knew the marriage started as a sham were the parties involved and your parents, so perhaps Geneva sensed the falsehoods, but in your mind, what right did your sister have to dictate your life? Simply because Geneva had already married? No, you wouldn't have it and you said as much.

But Geneva persisted right up until the wedding when you blatantly told her: "I'm marrying Coriolanus Snow whether you are there or not." And Geneva had no choice but to accept the marriage. Her qualms have lessened with time but you have not yet forgotten about your sister's harsh words towards the man you now love.

"But Cami's ok," you breathe out, sinking further into the couch and your husband's lap, shutting your eyes.

Cami, Camilia Day, is your young niece. While Geneva is on thin ice and probably always will be, you can’t bring yourself to extend the same feelings towards the young girl and in truth, the trip to the park with your sister was more or less just about your niece.

"I played on the swings with her."

"Did you?" Coriolanus asks and although your eyes are shut, you can hear the teasing grin in his voice. "I suppose that means you weren't pushing her?"

Your nose wrinkles. "Cami insisted on pushing herself, I couldn't interfere." Your tone is so matter-of-fact, Coriolanus can only laugh. His fingers twine in the strands of your hair.

"I'm glad you had a good time, dove," he tells you and you hum in response, turning your head to relax more in his lap as he continues stroking your hair.

"I'm just happy to be home."

And Coriolanus never doubts that you mean that.

It's taken him some time to get used to, but his wife genuinely means it when she says she would rather be with him than anywhere else. He used to hate the way his heart would pound when you’d say things like that. Now, he savors the feeling.

Silence passes between you. His fingers continue carding through your lock, his eyes falling back onto the book in his opposite hand, as you lay with your head on his lap.

But eventually, he can no longer help it.

"I got you something."

Your eyes crack open. Your husband's eyes are fixed on his book, but you know he can see you in his periphery because the corner of his mouth twitches upward as soon as you look his way.

"Did you?" You question, unable to hide your own smile for a moment more. Part of you should feel guilty about the way you get constantly doted on, but you can't bring yourself to do so. Still, you say, "You shouldn't have."

"Nonsense," Coriolanus tells you, as he usually does. "It's my job to give you the things you deserve." His eyes finally look down at you. "And you deserve the finest things I can get you."

You stare up at him, mulling between saying something and simply leaning up to mold your mouth to his. You settle for the former. "Then, thank you, my love," you hum, hand reaching up, tips of your fingers running over his cheek.

You know that always gets him, evident by the way his eyes flutter for a moment and you bite back a smile as your hand falls back down.

"I'm assuming it's clothing?" You question and you can tell from the look on his face that it is. But you know it usually is anyway. "I'll try it on later." You shift onto your side, nestling your head further into his lap. "Too comfy to move now."

He laughs, and his fingers continue through your hair. "That's fine. You can wear it for dinner tonight."

The two of you have elected to dine out tonight, if only because it’s been awhile and while love the food you can get at home, restaurants always scratch a certain itch.

And Coriolanus likes showing you off. Sometimes.

You hum in affirmation, content to agree. Once more, silence falls but you’re quick to interject, "Read to me?"

It doesn't matter what he's reading, you like hearing his voice. And as he usually does, Coriolanus obliges, dulcet tones beginning to permeate around the parlor as he reads out the passages of his book for his wife to hear.

You stay that way for a long while until Coriolanus leaves to get some work done in his office and you let him part with a kiss and then settle yourself back onto the couch to relax a while longer.

Eventually, however, with dinner approaching, you head to your shared bedroom. There's a piece of fabric laid out on the bed but you ignore it for now, electing to shower first—whatever clothing you’re meant to wear tonight will look far better if you’re clean, and after a day in the park, the shower feels necessary.

Twenty or so minutes later, you walk back into the room wet hair tied up on your head and a towel wrapped around you as you admire the dress on the edge of the bed. Your eyes light up at the sight of the finery your husband's picked out for you.

Fingers skimming the velvet material, you bite her lip, unable to deny this is exactly the kind of thing you would want to wear.

It's a deep red, almost a wine, made of velvet. The straps are thin, and the top is fitted with corset boning from the looks of it.

Immediately, you move to change, eventually pulling the dress on. It's snug in a comfortable way, not too tight and not too loose. And the skirt is fitted, contouring to your body. It's nice.

You glance at herself in the mirror, satisfied, and move to fix your hair and at least put on a necklace, if nothing more. Makeup too, if only because you don’t want to give the public anything to say about your ‘unkempt’ face.

Coriolanus can only pay off so many people, you’ve found.

By the time you’ve finished getting ready, you flop back on the bed with a content sigh. While you’re excited to show off your new dress, you’re also just hungry for dinner. Whether it’s out or at home, it’ll no doubt be something good, like every night—Coriolanus won’t settle for less, and your mouth waters at the thought.

You know you should head down now, but you pause once more to catch a look at yourself in the full-body mirror that sits in the corner of the room. Your hands skim the skirt, tugging it down your thighs a little when you still.

Your reflection stares back at you for a moment too long. The dress looks gorgeous. The stitching is fine, the design exquisite.

But on you?

Doubts begin to creep in.

The youngest Thorne is by no means skinny. You never have been, but you’ve accepted it. You like your thighs and the way they're on the thicker side. Even your hips are nice, wide perhaps, but nice. At least, so you tell yourself.

But the way the woman in the mirror stared back at you…

Tentatively, you turn to the side.

Most of your dresses, in fact all of them, flare out at the waist. They don't hug your stomach, leaving it hidden underneath the fabric. This dress does the opposite. It hugs your flesh, emphasizing the pouch of fat.

Biting your tongue, you face forward again, unable to miss the way the dress hugs the divots where your hips blend into your thighs. It's all on display. Not an inch is hidden.

Your arms wrap around your midsection and you glance to the door. Coriolanus wants to see you in this. But you can't let him see you, not in this.

It's irrational and you know it. He's seen you in far less clothing and doesn't care, why would he mind the dress? But a little voice in the back of your mind tells you that this dress will simply make him realize.

Grimacing, you sit back on the edge of the bed. Trying to work up the courage to change or go to dinner, you do neither.

Coriolanus is at the dining table, eyes fixed on the doorway in waiting for his wife. All he can hear is the ticking of that incessant grandfather clock in the corner. His hand taps the table and he mentally counts the seconds.

Have you fallen asleep? Is that it?

That's the logical answer, but his mind starts to race with unsavory thoughts about you avoiding him or worse. He bites them back until they leave a bitter taste in his mouth and he leaves the table.

Swiftly, he makes his way to your bedroom and raps his knuckles against the door. "My dear?" He calls through the wood.

Shame wells up inside of you and you swallow it back. "You can come in."

He doesn't waste a second, turning the knob and stepping into the bedroom. Whatever sight he expected to see, he isn't sure, but his wife sat on the edge of the bed completely done-up for dinner yet not moving, isn't what he expected.

"Dove?" He questions, and his unsavory worries start to fade, yet not completely as he shuts the door behind him. "It’s getting late.”

Biting your tongue, you nod, exhaling softly through your nose. "Right," you breathe. "I- I know.”

His gaze narrows for a moment. "Why didn't you come out?" His eyes fix on your attire and his heart thumps. "You're wearing the dress."

"I am."

Your tone. The way you avoid his eyes.

Coriolanus stuff his hands into his trouser pockets and sighs heavily. "You don't like it."

You gasp, eyes meeting his. "No, no, I love it. Coryo, really, it's beautiful," you assure. His head tilts and his eyes narrow again, scrutinizing you now to discern the problem then. It's your turn to sigh. "I don't think the dress likes me."

There's a furrow in his brow as he replies, "It doesn't fit?" That doesn't make sense. He had the dress tailor made to your latest measurements, how could it not fit? Did someone not listen?

"No, I-" Your words bite off and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. "I...I don't look good in it."

The way Coriolanus looks back at you, you'd think you’d spoke an entirely different language. "What?"

"I don't look good in it, Coryo," you repeat, a little surer.

And now he sees it. His wife is hunched over, one arm wrapped around her middle. The other hand is tugging her skirt down.

For a moment, he says nothing, contemplating how to approach this. Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Let me see."

The heels on your feet scuff against the carpet and your nose wrinkles. "I don't-"

"No," he says and you know he's serious now, "stand up."

You sigh again and he lets you take a moment, knowing he's asked you to do something you deem terrifying. Eventually though, you stand. Your hands wring in front of you for another long moment, before you let them fall to your sides.

Coriolanus says nothing more, eyes roving slowly over you. He begins to circle you and you feel oddly like prey being sized up by a predator.

He comes to a stop in front of you once more. Trying to avoid his eye, you duck your head but his fingers tilt your head up and your eyes immediately find his cold, icy blue ones.

"You're right," he says flatly. "You don't look good in it." Your eyes widen, and he adds, "You look breathtaking."

He's calling you breathtaking but it's his words that take your breath away. Breathtaking?

"I would never use good to describe you," he continues, his voice a whisper in your ear as he moves behind you. His hands find your waist and he directs you to stand in front of that mirror you found so detestable. "Good doesn't say enough."

"Coryo—"

"I'm not finished," he cuts you off, and you press your lips together. His eyes flit to the mirror in front of them and he notes the antsy look on your face. "What do you see?"

"Me. You."

"What do you see when you look at yourself? Right now?"

You sigh heavily, biting your tongue between your teeth. Your eyes fall to your body, particularly that midsection. You don’t get the words out because Coriolanus slides one of his hands around to press flat against your stomach. He pulls you flush against him.

"Is this the problem?" He asks, voice low in your ear. His other hand falls to your hip. "Is this?"

"Coryo-"

"Don’t."

Your lips press into a thin line. He makes it hard to argue. "Yes. That's the problem." His fingers dance over your stomach in a way that makes you shirk back against his chest.

"I don't see a problem," he whispers against the skin of your neck. He makes it very hard to argue.

You try again. "It's— There's too much."

"Good," her husband growls into your ear, fingers pressing against the flesh of your hip. "More for me to have."

The sensation makes you jolt slightly, a familiar heat crawling up the back of your neck and spreading to your cheeks. You can't even bring yourself to reply, but you don’t have to, because he’s not finished.

"You can think all you want," he begins, and his tone is a touch softer, "but you look ravishing, my dear. Every inch of you was made for me." He leans closer, nose brushing the curve of your neck. "And I love every inch. Not even beautiful begins to describe what you are."

Your expression softens and your hand reaches up to your shoulder, hand pressing into his cheek. "Coryo," you whisper, turning your head to face him. "You mean that."

And it's not a question. Because you believe it. You don’t have to believe anything but him.

"I do," he replies, leaning closer until his nose brushes against yours. "Even when I first saw you, I knew you were the most divine woman I'd ever seen."

A laugh bubbles out of you. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Snow," you tease and it's enough to make him smile as well. Your lips press against his for just a moment before you pull back and ask, just to check, "You really like this dress on me?"

"I do," he repeats, a little more emphatic. "And I'll buy you a dozen more like it to prove it."

Another laugh, one that makes your nose scrunch and your eyes crinkle. "That won't be necessary." Another kiss. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

With a sigh, your hands fall to cover his where they still rest over your stomach and your hip. Squeezing his hands, you glance at your reflection and find that it doesn't look so bad anymore.

"I guess we should head to dinner now," you muse, but you don’t have time to move before Coriolanus is pulling you closer.

His mouth hovers over the space where your neck meets your shoulder and he whispers, the sound somewhere between a purr and a growl, "I want to eat something else first..."

Dinner will have to wait.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #reader insert

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giselleloversclub · 3 months ago

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jeno fics rec !

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

@thatsatricky1

Y/n didn’t have a lot going for her, rising student loan debt, a shared dodgy apartment and a shitty bank job that didn’t pay well. Could her life get any more downgraded? Apparently it could, in the form of a group of well known bank robbers deciding the bank she worked at was the perfect and simplest heist they could do for a change.

wc: 2k

! its just the preview i couldn't find the entire fic but just the preview is already too good !!

personal fav !

RIDIN' WITH YOU

@luvyeni

request. Can I request a biker jeno where the reader is almost ran over by him on a motorcycle and they start knocking into each other from there

streetracer!jeno x fem!reader

wc. 5.7k

! smut !

VOGUE LIKE THE LEE'S

wc : 3.3k

Genre: fluff, some angst, suggestive

lee jeno x carrie (oc)

SUMMER OF LOVE @lattaeyongs

The summer of 1997 was a weird time. As a person living in the modern era, you’d completely forgotten what it was like to live in the ‘90’s. In May 1997, you listened to the Backstreet Boys, flipped through TV Guide, and had an answering machine which seems so archaic now. But that isn’t the only reason why the summer of 1997 was weird. That summer was the time you fell for your brother’s best friend.

word count: 15.2k

personal fav !

MY FIRST AND LAST @leejenowrld

meet lee jeno, campus heartbreaker, fuckboy, secret nerd. he’s the notorious guy that everyone wants but he only wants you —a shy, introverted stranger who appeared from nowhere, turning his life upside down. what starts as a reputation-defying connection swiftly evolves from strangers to friends and to intense, immediate love. it’s a twist the two of you never saw coming, the opening of your hearts to someone unexpected. but as personal struggles and external issues threaten to derail your connection, the once-confident jeno is left shattered and ensnared in the tumult of a love story gone awry.

wc :37k

ALL NIGHT LONG

@writemekpop

You’re pregnant, and the baby’s kicking makes it impossible to sleep. Luckily, Jeno knows just how to take care of you.

Word count: <1k

AFTER ALL THIS TIME

@leejenowrld

you run into jeno, your ex, at a college party. despite a tough breakup, the spark between you never faded. after a night of reconnecting and reigniting, you realize some feelings are too deep to ever truly go away.

wc : 8.2k

! smut !

CRUSH CULTURE

@lulujeno

liking jeno was a mistake. kissing him didn't make it any better.

wc : 6.3k

LOVE IN A JAR

jeno loves you so much, it is hard for him not to find you in the smallest of things that surround him. he never thought he could taste love, until he fell in love with you.

bf!jeno x female!reader

wc : 1.7k

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE PT2

@slytherinshua

fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au.

wc: 1.5k

fiancé!jeno x reader.

WHEN IT CLICKS

@lelengerine

jeno x reader

friends to lovers

wc: 1k

MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE ?

@cupofwyn

it was all self-inflicted pressure when the spotlight finally turned to you as the final member of the family to experience a love story—the miracle that has been passed down from your parents down to your siblings and the privilege of love in marriage that has been jealoused upon the ton of high society. though the world might have run out of love stories available for you when your family took it all to their delight, or so you thought.

⠀lee jeno!prince × fem!reader

wc : 10.3k

WASTED ON YOU

@ericscroptop

after a fun night out, your boyfriend takes care of you like the gentleman he is.

wc : 3.4k

bf! jeno x gf! reader

PRIVET BUT NOT SECRET @hhie

instagram story au ?

jeno x reader established relationship

SILVER PLATTER

@odxrilove

when you get confessed to in front of your friends and band members, not everyone seems to think it's funny.

jeno x fem reader

wc : ~3k

RISK PT2

@saythenametotheworld

Firmly convinced that Love-at-First-Sight is a hoax, you never expected to be proven wrong when the universe decided to throw you, quite literally, into Lee Jeno's lap.

Lee Jeno x Reader

wc : 14.7k

#Spotify #nct fic rec #nct u #nct #nct dream #nct fanfic #nct x reader #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno #jeno x reader

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priintiisor · 1 month ago

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i realised i never showed the world my little silly the thief!!

much like literally everyone else in this fandom i have an oc that is one of arti s pups. this is the one that stole a pearl and got stabbed and her goal is to find her mom so she can beat the shit out of her for abadoning them and their sibling

(more rambling about them below because i ve thought about this goober way too much. i basically wrote an entire campaign for them. with like 3 different endings and everything)

they have a scar on their back where they got stabbed. idk what the scar on their ear is from, i just thought it looked cool

she inherited arti s explosive saliva, but it s slightly different, and instead of explosives she can set things on fire :)

since she got stabbed in the back as a child she can t throw spears all that well

most things burn out pretty fast or just can t be set on fire at all so. her weapon of choice is burning pearls!! i have Thoughts about what pearls are made out of but i imagine they burn pretty well and for a pretty long time

naturally this means the scavengers fucking hate her. there s a reason she s called the thief- i d imagine if she was a playable scug her scav reputation wouldn t be automatically set really low like it is for arti, but since you can t really use much else as a weapon you d have to either struggle or steal from the scavengers regularly (i also think i d be cool if her karma wasn t locked like arti s is but her max karma would get lower the more you piss off the scavs- by the time she gets to metropolis tho i imagine she s basically in the same situation as artificer)

i also like to draw elite scavs with a few pearls attached to their masks, so i d imagine thief steals their masks to be able to hold more pearls at once

in terms of story, as i said, she s trying to find arti because she s angry at her for yk the whole abandoning her children and going on a murder rampage instead thing. their hypothetical campaign takes place between artificer and hunter, so arti is either living happily in metropolis or fucking dead (if you got the ascension ending- idk i think it d be interesting if what happens with thief would depend on what arti ending you got). i don t think thief would have a citizen drone like arti does so idk how they get into metropolis? idk maybe pebbles just decided to be nice for once-

if arti is there, thief fights her and basically just becomes artificer the second. steals the mask and everything

if arti isn t there.. thief is now basically stuck in metropolis (i think the using scavs to get thru gates thing would still work for them, but idk. getting out of metropolis is hard dude those scavs are shit at the game-), their goal is impossible, they re stuck in this hole that they dug themself into and for what? they abadoned their sibling out of their own anger with their mother, in trying to reach their goal they ve made everyone hate them and now they re just stuck here (this is probably what their "canon" ending is. tho i will probably also draw art of them fighting arti because i think it s cool)

((do you see what i m getting at here))

i think thief s ascension ending would somehow also depend on if artificer is ascended or not but i haven t though that much about it. tho i think it would show a memory of when they small and happy with their family :)

aaand that is all, thank you for reading about my silly little guy. i remembered i have 1 (one) actual oc so i must tell the world about her (not even entirely an oc but- this counts i think) also i want to make an animatic abt her at some point so. the people must know about the funny little guy

i do have one other scug oc. their name is the pilgrim and i have never drawn them-

#rain world #rain world fanart #rw #rain world oc #rw artificers pups #<- i swear i ve seen people use that tag before #thief my beloved #(<- that s their character tag in case i post more art of them later. might not happen idk we ll see. but just in case)#printis collection of silly goobers #this art is pretty old cuz i don t have the energy to draw the goober again but i wanted the world to see them #i still like the art tho

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skeletondeerart · 1 month ago

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Sacred Waters, Sacred Hearts Chapter 7

A Male OC! Metkayina x Fem Human! Reader | Word Count: 2700

Masterlist & join the taglist

A/N: Both Rukan and reader are in their mid 20's

TW: Sibling loss, Terminal Illness.

" " = direct speech | ' ' = Metkayina sign language | Bold = English

POV Rukan

As Vurok and I approach the shore, I mull over Nokai’s words: Let Eywa’s plan for you come to fruition. I sighed, knowing that if I continued to pursue this relationship the clan would find out about her sooner or later, yet that thought didn’t bother me anymore. She may have demon blood, but she was my friend first and foremost.

I hoist myself up on the nets above the shore and let my feet ripple the waters and I gesture for Vurok to leave, he nods and ducks under the waves disappearing off into the depths.

“Ru~ where did you run off to? I’ve been looking for you all day!” Säyani called gleefully and she ran up behind me and leant over my sitting form. Her curly waist-length braids fell gracefully around her supple rounded face as her pale green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was a peculiar woman, one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the clan yet she clung to my arm like a barnacle.

“Säyani please, I’m trying to think,” I mumbled, smoothing out the crease in my brow. I just needed some silence and acting friendly was tiring. She was just well, let's say too intense for my liking.

“Aw, are you alright?” She asks with a honeyed tone wrapping her arm around my own and leaning her cheek on my bicep to look at me through her lashes.

“Doesn’t matter-” I say, shrugging her off gently. “I’m getting tired, I’m heading in.”

“What? It's only early afternoon! Come for a swim with me.” She whines, shaking my arm gently to get my attention.

I felt my blood start to boil as my ears were pinned to my head. “Enough Säyani- I said I’m tired, that's that.”

Her ears pinned back in shock as her tail swayed to a halt in shame. “Oh-” she said shortly before slowly rising to her feet looking down at her feet unable to meet my eyes. “Alright, see you at dinner Rukan” She mumbled before walking down the beach, her hips swaying as she held her hands to her chest timidly.

I watch her for a second until shame weighs in my chest. I should have handled that better. I groan, splashing my face to clear my mind before standing and heading back to my mauri.

…

I lay on my hammock, my woven blanket tossed over my head hiding myself from the world. I felt ill. Not physically, but because of (Y/N)... I’ve never felt like this before. It was an unusual mix of adoration, curiosity, concern and anxiety. I liked her personality - kind, considerate and a tad clumsy, I wanted to see if the tawtute were as ruthless as in the stories… yet I held concern for her safety alone, and was anxious about this feeling growing further and the danger it would pose to not only her but to my clan.

After all, it was forbidden by Tonowari and Ronal to mingle with the demons. I felt like I was going grey with stress. I wanted to show her my world yet that would risk the clan’s safety… is she just gathering intel? No… that's not her. How could I assume such horrid things?

I abruptly tugged the blanket from my face as I walked to a basket in my mauri holding various fabrics and aquatic ornaments. Making her an aquatic navi set would be a great ‘welcome home’ gift plus it was something to burn time.

I pull out a large leaf and sketch out a sewing pattern template. I carefully made a mock-up of the cut with the leaves but I couldn’t help but imagine what her skin felt like under my palms… how she fit against my form- I flustered at the thoughts shaking my head to focus on fitting the garments to her smaller frame. With practised ease, I began to macrame seagrass and iridescent shells into a top and loincloth. Many hours had passed hunched over my masterpiece, to the point I didn’t notice the cheers and night-life during dinner.

A knock was heard at the entrance of my mauri, but I didn’t bother to look up “Come in” I called, my voice muffled by the twine held in my teeth ensuring that the line didn’t go slack.

To my surprise, it was Säyani holding a plate of my favourites. My brow raised at this unexpected visitor.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me right now. But I didn’t see you at dinner… I couldn’t see you go hungry.” She said earnestly. She traced the woven floor with her foot while holding her hands out to present the steaming meats.

“Thanks Säyani… I appreciate it.” I say with a small smile standing to collect the plate, my fingers brushing against hers. Her teal cheeks bloomed a purple hue, standing there stunned momentarily before giggling. I tilted my head confused by her recent behaviour. She had never been this shy and giggly before, we have known each other since we were children and she had only started acting like this over the past few months. What was going on? I see her eyes dart down to (Y/N)’s gift on my rug, she pushes past me as I stand there shocked as she picks up the tawtute-sized top.

“Oh, This is adorable! Is this for your little cousin?”

“Hey! Be careful the pearls aren’t secure-” I warn, but it is too late. As Säyani flipped the top over to see the back I heard the plinking of pearls hitting the ground. I let out a loud sigh of frustration as she looked at me like a child who got caught in the oyster jar.

“... my bad… sorry Ru”

I laugh it off to try and distract myself from blowing a fuse “Haha, it’s fine, really. Thanks for the dinner and all”

“No worries… sorry again about the top”

“It's alright” I sigh defeated, crouching down to pick up the pearls and pouring them into a cup ready to rethread them.

“Byee~,” She says nervously as she high-tails it back to the communal dinner.

She certainly is peculiar.

…

After hours of careful work, I stitched the final row of pearls and hung the outfit on a rack to admire it. The ensemble featured a stunning pearl headpiece, a macramé leather top and matching loincloth, each designed with practicality and elegance.

The headpiece bore two delicate strings of iridescent pearls draping gracefully on either side of her face. These strings joined at the center with a polished horn-shell clasp and were complemented by a starfish hairclip that will complement her locks. The top was intricately woven from golden seagrass in a macramé style, accented with a band of pearls on the underbust. Thin, braided straps connected to her top wrap securely around her middle, keeping the garment light and quick-drying. It was perfect for an active life by the ocean.

The loincloth mirrored the top’s intricate design, its knotted twine falling to mid-thigh before gently transitioning into a fine, braided fringe adorned with large pearls at the ends, it swayed gently with every movement.

It was some of my finest work. I carefully fold it up and slip it into a saddle bag ready for her return. I hope she will love it, she will swim faster with no heavy fabrics holding her back and will look like she was one with the reef.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and take a bite of the meats Säyani brought. I smiled at the familiar spices and watched the eclipse from the comfort of my mauri.

…

Another day comes around and I’m out net fishing by the smaller coral Atolls. Bundling up the large net into my arms I twist my torso and launch it perfectly onto the surface of the water, reeling the net back in. I scoop up the fish and deposit them into a large jug to feed the Ilu’s and Skimwings. A squawk was heard and I turned my attention to a baby Ilu, they cooed and eyed off the fish in my hands. With a smile, I toss a runt in their direction. They lept out of the water and caught the fish in their jaws.

“Cute,” I say under my breath as I scratch the Ilu’s chin.

I had caught ample fish so I decided to head back. Looping the straps of the jug on my back I trekked back to the village. Walking along the coral pools, the ankle-deep water rippled as I waved to the other fishermen, they waved in return. I walked along the sand bank and watched the crabs burrow in the wet sand, gracefully avoiding crushing any under my feet. Fifteen minutes later I arrived and dropped off the haul to the mount handlers as I went to attend to my other duties.

“Rukan dear,” My mother's voice called as I passed by her mauri “Make sure you visit your sister sometime today”

“Of course, I’ll never forget,” I say nodding. “I was going to head out now.”

“Good, good… remember to say we love her dearly,” Mother said quietly.

“I will Mum,” I say approaching her and kissing her cheek.

“Good boy- run along now.” She says with a small smile waving me off.

I walk back to my mauri selecting a gorgeous conch shell from my collection and take Vurok to the Cove of the Ancestors. I ducked under the rocky entrance swimming to the center of the cove and dismounting. I tread water as I released a shaky breath, my eyes welling with salty tears. It never gets easier… I only learned to live for her. I submerged myself propelling down to the roots of the tree of souls, leaving the conch shell as an offering to her.

I close my eyes as I sign a prayer ‘Eywa, please guide Rivani te Rena Rashiri’ite through the great flow, and may her light remain in my heart as I walk the path of life without her.’ As I open my eyes I see the tree of souls light up in ripples. It brought a smile to my face as if Rivani was still here. I release the bubbles from my lips and gently bring my kuru to one of the branches, my hair falling away exposing my nerve tendrils. Watching as they intertwined with the leaves I felt like I could breathe effortlessly. The tree of souls gifting me air though my kuru, a spiritual and biological phenomenon. Soon my mind fades and I’m brought back to when I was a child sitting in the family mauri.

…

“Brotheeeer! Quit itttt-” Rivani squeals trying to push his hands away from her. “It tickles!” “I’m the big bad sea monster! You can’t escape me!” Younger Rukan boasted as he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

I watch from a distance. This was only a memory. She won’t ever come home again. You would think I would be an utter mess on the floor but it had been so long I could only watch with dewy eyes and a heavy heart. We were only eleven at the time. In a matter of months, Ewya’s plan would take its course. Soon the scene fades to white and a new memory begins.

“Daddy- I don’t feel well,” Rivani murmured in the morning's wee hours, shaking our parents from their slumber. Father rolls onto his side taking her into his comforting embrace. “We will seek out Tsahìk Ronal in the morning, just try and sleep baby,” Father whispered brushing Rivani’s locks away from her sweaty forehead. “M’kay” She whispered and squeezed her eyes shut trying to block out the migraine.

I felt sick to my stomach as the scene changes again. We were all in the Tsahìk’s mauri at dawn. Rivani was shivering and pale laying on the mat as Ronal ran her fingers over her scalp, pressing gently on her bare kuru's base.

“A-AHh!” Rivani wailed unexpectedly, she writhed in agony her hands jumping up to her kuru to pry Ronal off of her. “Mummy! Daddy! Make her stop!” Ronal quickly withdraws her hands and raises to her feet, running behind a curtain to grab supplies. “What is wrong with our daughter!” My parents yelled in fear. Young Rukan quivered burying his face into Father’s back. “It’s ok Baby, we are here..” Mother and Father whispered caressing her sodden cheeks. Her wide blue eyes displayed fear and pain. Ronal walks back and applies a cooling salve to her bare kuru before loosely braiding it again. “Rashiri, Rytek. I need to speak to you privately” Ronal says bluntly, trying to mask her sorrow as my parents hurry behind the curtain with her. “Ru? I’m going to be ok. Right?” Rivani whimpers and she goes to grab Younger Rukan’s hand. He smiles trying to be strong for his twin sister “Of course, we are the Rena’s. We always persevere through hardships. Our name means enduring strength after all.” Soon my parents and Ronal emerge. Mum and Dad were crying and spoke the sentence that would change our family forever. “Rivani… isn’t going to get better.”

All I wanted was to hug my sister but I couldn’t bear to intrude on this memory. I slowly turn away from the medical mauri and walk down the beach trying to calm my heart. Rivani contracted a terminal disease in her brain. It ultimately infected her kuru and made her weak and sickly, slowly eroding her mind and body. Her body began to shut down within two months of her diagnosis. I didn’t go out to play with the other kids during this time, I had spent every second at her bedside feeding her pureed foods since she was getting too weak to even chew.

And one day it happened. It was our twelfth birthday... It was dawn. Pinks, purples and oranges filled the sky, the sun kissing her frail body as we all lay with her.

“Happy birthday Ru… but I think I’m celebrating with Eywa this year… I’m sorry,” Rivani murmured looking deeply into my eyes, her eyes were gentle holding an air of acceptance, she knew her song cord was about to end. “The Navi are always born twice right? I’ll guess I’ll see you soon-” She croaked letting out a feeble cough. The real me slowly entered the mauri and crouched beside my younger self. Rivani’s eyes sparkled in recognition, bearing the biggest and toothiest smile we had seen since she became sick. I smiled back through the tears and brushed the hair from her cheeks. She was the only one who could see me. “Look at how pretty you became Ru- I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so proud of you too Rivani. You fought so hard… it’s ok. Even the best warriors need rest.” I choke out. “We love you so dearly and so does Eywa. See you in your next life.” I whisper leaning down to her cheek, kissing away her tears. “My dear twin brother… We will find each other in the next life. I just know it.” “I believe Eywa will reunite us. For now… rest.” Rivani smiles as her eyes fade and her chest stills. The spirits of my parents of my past self dissipate leaving just me and Rivani’s corpse. Tears stream down my cheeks as the sun crawls in, the rays' warmth caressing her glossy cheeks making her tears look pearlescent and warming her flesh. You could mistake her for simply sleeping in… it seemed like Pandora was also saying its goodbyes. I sit and watch, eyes running over her form, her soul now passed over to Eywa, I sigh as I shut my eyes.

Slowly I fade back to reality. A reality without my twin. A world without my soul sister. I pull my kuru away from the branches reluctantly.

May we meet again dear sister… I think as I swim to the surface as my tears were lost to the waves.

Enjoy the next chapter in my Masterlist! & join the taglist

Taglist! @stag-symbolism @camiicazi @shadyd3ar @cocopuffff @etexin @nanaluvs-me @misplacedvibes @annoyingasexual @royaltysuite @lovemiss-vale @heyitsaliii @lunagala23 @darktrashpoetry @mojo-jojo-1 @samlove391 @ravenswife

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kokoch4n3l · 11 months ago

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˗ˏˋ the wreckage of the world ࿐ྂ “that must be so confusing for a little girl”

summary: getting high after Hinata and Takemichi's wedding was a great idea. all four of them were single as hell and what better than to get smoke the loneliness away. that is until the topic of the past comes up

pairing: baji, kazutora, chifuyu x f!oc (platonic), (kind of)izana x oc

notes: takes place during the final timeline. lol basically everything I wished to hear so this is 100% a self-insert. my life story in a fic cuz all of what happened to oc happened to me lol. written in third person

warning: recreational drug use(marijuana), alcohol use, intoxication, shotgunning, friends with benefits(Izana), suggestive talk, mentions of past abusive relationship, mentions of child abuse(kazutora), mentions of domestic abuse(kazutora's mom), mentions of vomiting, description of verbal abuse, manipulation, past toxic relationship, platonic kissing, platonic cuddling

word count: 2146

“I’m so fuckin’ single” Kazutora whines, sprawling across the floor of Baji’s bedroom

The air is filled with odd-smelling smoke and the scent of alcohol. “This taste like shit” She mutters and takes a huge gulp of the wine straight from the bottle

“Why are you drinking it then?” Baji asks and grabs it from her and takes a chug himself

Chifuyu on the other hand, looked on the verge of tears as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He often looked like that lately. Ever since Hinata and Takemichi’s wedding had been confirmed he always looked like he was zoning out, dreaming. Was he sad? Maybe. He looked more relieved like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Like… Like he lived lifetimes. But that was a stupid thought so she didn’t think too much about it. Chifuyu had always been the sentimental type anyway. No doubt he’d get emotional when Takemichi was now married. She looks around at all three of them, Kazutora holding a joint, Baji taking sips straight out of the wine bottle and Chifuyu also with a joint. “You guys need to get partners” She says shaking sprawling and moving closer to Chifuyu to break him out of whatever trance he was in “This is just sad”

“Says you” Baji mutters “Single ass mother fucker"

“Fuck off” she mumbles and reaches over to Chifuyu for the joint but he moves his hand over and leans into her instead

At reflex, she parts her lips and Chifuyu’s lightly brush against hers before he exhales smoke into her mouth and she inhales, holds it and then exhales. “Fuck that was hot,” Kazutora says with a sigh, passing the joint to Baji, and trading it for the bottle “We might as well date each other”

Chifuyu laughs. “Izana won’t be too happy about that”

That catches Baji and Kazutora’s attention. “Shut the fuck up,” Baji says “no fuckin’ way!”

“Out of all the Sano siblings you had to choose the crazy one?” Kazutora says sitting up, almost dropping the bottle “bitch I swear to god”

“Fuck off” she mutters and grabs the bottle from him “It’s nothing serious”

“Didn’t seem like nothing serious with the way he was looking at you at the wedding” Chifuyu teases as she takes a large gulp from the bottle

“Shut up I didn’t know this. You’ve been fucking holding out on us!” Baji hisses, exhaling a cloud of smoke

Their eyes are heavy and red-rimmed, movements are a bit slow. “No, I haven’t” She grumbles and kicks Baji in the thigh which wasn’t as hard as she wanted and more of a tap than an actual kick “It’s nothing serious I swear… We just… Y’know…”

“YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING?!” The three of them yell at the same time and she groans, her cheeks turning red

Her flushed cheeks were enough for them to know their assumption was right and income the questions. She and Izana started off as really more of a drunken spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. It was really an accident. But, Izana was good. Like really good— which started their whole friends-with-benefits relationship. “He’s lowkey scary though” she says trading the bottle with the joint from Chifuyu

“And you’re into that shit,” Chifuyu says rolling his eyes and taking a sip of the wine then making a face at the taste “This actually tastes like shit. Who got Rosé?”

“Fuck off I like it” Baji grumbles and grabs the bottle from him

“Doesn’t matter if I’m into that shit” She mutters and takes a drag from the joint, laying her head on Chifuyu’s lap “We’re not serious”

Chifuyu flicks her forehead and she purposely exhales onto his face. “He looks serious though” He says

“Awe fuck, does this mean no more shotgunning?” Kazutora says with a pout, exhaling a cloud of smoke

Baji kicks him. “Obviously fuckin’ not unless you want that crazy motherfucker to kill you and then us”

She groans. “I just said we aren’t serious” She grabs Chifuyu by the collar of his dress shirt and pulls him down, blowing smoke into his mouth which he gladly inhales

“Oh~ Chifuyu~. Izana’s gonna kill you now” Kazutora says teasingly while moving closer “Both of you be kissin’ the most”

“Shut up” Chifuyu grumbles and takes the joint from her “Why don’t you wanna make things serious? Sure he’s crazy but he doesn’t seem that bad unless he’s got side hoes or something”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and just looks up at Chifuyu from where she’s lying on his lap. She doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. But maybe the alcohol and the weed-induced high was making her lose-lipped. “What if he hurts me?”

Her words make them laugh. “You think Mikey won’t beat his white-haired ass?” Baji asks her and Chifuyu and Kazutora start to laugh even harder

But when she doesn’t laugh or even smile like she usually does, they get worried. She has a distant look on her face as if she’s thinking about the past. She looks… sad. “Hey” Chifuyu says snapping his fingers in front of her face after exhaling a cloud of smoke “Has Izana ever hurt you?”

She shakes her head no. “He’s not like that… He’s nice… He’s nice to me”

Kazutora is leaning over her now as she lays in Chifuyu’s lap. “Then what was up with the question? If he’s nice to you then…”

Abuse was a sore topic for Kazutora. He got sensitive about it quickly especially since it was something he went through as a kid and what he watched his mother go through. It still affected him somewhat but he was mostly over it now. However there were times when his past would get the best of him like the other day when it looked like Draken was yelling at Emma and was about to hit her, Kazutora punched him across the face. Needless to say, the conversation after had been pretty tear-shedding (mostly from Emma and Shinichiro). “He’s nice,” She says quietly “I just… I dunno…”

“It’s not I dunno if you’re bringing it up,” Baji says and puts the bottle down, also moving closer to them “You’re clearly afraid of something”

Oh, how she hated her friends for knowing exactly what she was thinking. Baji grabs her by the shoulders and makes her sit up. Now she’s completely surrounded by the three of them. The joints were burned out, they’re high and very drunk. But maybe she needed to be a bit more drunk to finally have this conversation with them after years of running from it. “Remember back in 11th grade… we were all busy… I didn’t see you guys for months?” she asks them grabbing the bottle and taking a swing from it despite the gross taste

They all nod and wait for her to continue. “I had a boyfriend for like 9 months… I think he hated me”

They’re shocked. Clearly, they don’t know what to say. She thinks the same. Had any of her friends said the exact same sentence word for word to her she wouldn’t know what to say either. “What… what the fuck you can’t just leave it like that” Chifuyu says, his voice slightly slurring and nudges her “elaborate”

She shrugs and takes a swing from the bottle. “He wasn’t always like that. Like he didn’t always hate me… I think… He was nice and we started dating. Then 3 months in he suddenly started getting really weird. He didn’t like what I wore, how I acted, he didn’t like my hair—”

“What the— why wouldn’t he like your hair?” Baji asks clearly angry now “I love your hair. What a fuckin fucktard”

She doesn’t say anything. Chifuyu reaches his hand over and runs a hand through her curly strands and silently urges her to continue. “He-he never hit me or anything like that. He was just mean all the time… I dunno I just… He hated everything about me and I dunno why” her words start to slur as the alcohol hits “He hated me so much… I was with him for 9 months… took me 3 out of the 9 to leave him.. Was so scared…”

They don’t say anything for a moment. Kazutora reaches over and grabs her free hand. The room is now completely silent. She just sits there in the middle of them on the floor holding the wine bottle. Finally, Baji speaks up first. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks “We could have helped or I dunno, beat his fuckin’ ass”

She chews at her bottom lip nervously and clutches the bottle a bit tighter. “Was scared… Thought you guys would blame me… He never hit me so I thought… I thought…”

She didn’t have to say anything else for them to understand what she meant. Verbal abuse was often overlooked. Not many people considered it even to be abuse. It was sickening and clearly, she had been a victim of it. Oh how horrible the three of them felt. “Why’d you stay so long?” Kazutora asks, his voice quiet as if talking to a crying child

The bottle is pulled from her grasp so she can’t take another gulp out of it. “Um… He kept guilt-tripping me to stay… I guess I kept falling for it” she mumbles and feels ashamed of herself

They don’t know what to say. She doesn’t either. They sit in silence again for a moment till Chifuyu says “you know you didn’t deserve that right?”

She just nods. She knew it. She knew she didn’t. Although sometimes her thoughts got too loud and it did feel like it, she knew that in no world would she ever deserve to be treated that way. “Did… He ever tell you why?” Baji asks

She thinks back to the past and laughs a bit, sounding bitter. “He said I was ‘too perfect’”

They narrow their eyes and at the same time say: “What the fuck?!”

She remembers hearing it come from her ex’s mouth after they broke up. She was apparently too perfect. Perfect grades, perfect family, perfect social life, perfect friends, perfect skin, perfect hair. He hated it. He hated her and her entire existence. Hearing it after they broke up made her angry. How dare he? How fucking dare he do that for some petty reason. Her ex just wanted to be a stain in her so-called perfect life. “That motherfucker” Baji says angrily “What kind of messed up reason is that?”

“Beats me” she mutters then looks at them “We’ve broken up… It’s been years, it’s fine”

It’s clear to them that she no longer wants to talk about it. They can’t help but think that had it not been for their idea to get high and drunk after Takemichi and Hinata’s wedding this topic would have never come up and they would have never known. It’s sickening for them to think anyone could do that to their friend. Their dear friend who is the sweetest girl they knew— who dropped everything for them when they’d get hurt in their youth after stupid gang fights, who would patch them up, who would scold them, who would make them food, who would help them with their homework. Their dear friend who deserved the damn world, the sun, the moon the stars and everything after. Kazutora, Baji and Chifuyu were devastated to hear about this. They somehow end up in a cuddle pile on Baji’s queen sized bed with her somewhat in the middle. “I’m gonna be sweating in the morning” Chifuyu mutters as he is also unfortunately in the middle with her

Kazutora’s arms are wrapped tightly around her middle and her back is pressed against his chest while she’s facing Chifuyu who’s got her head on his bicep. “So uh… Did you really not tell anyone?” Baji asks, his long lanky arms going around both Chifuyu and her

“Uhh… Told Emma…” She says “She was the one that pushed me to leave him and then swore to never tell anyone”

Chifuyu presses a kiss to her forehead, her nose then a soft peck to her lips. “That’s good… At least someone knew… Wish we could have beat his ass though…”

“You think we could find him now and beat him up?” Kazutora suggest, his face pressed into her hair

“No need” she tells them

“What do you means?” Baji asks

“Mikey beat him up… Emma accidentally told him about a month after it ended and Mikey put my ex in the hospital”

“Ohhh~” they say simultaneously

Chifuyu is gazing at her with a soft expression. He presses another chaste kiss to her lips and Kazutora reaches over her body to smack him. “Izana will rip your face off Chifuyu, no more kissing her”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fandom #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #baji keisuke #kazutora hanemiya #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #baji x reader #kazutora x reader #bajifuyutora

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starlightkyeom · 1 year ago

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take my hands (we can fall together) | lee chan | pt 1

(where you and chan are friends, but he's your brother's best friend. and you've always been just a little out of reach. until one season changes everything.) pairing: brother's best friend!chan (dino) x f!reader genre: friends to ??, pining, slow burn | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut rating: explicit (for the full fic) warnings/notes: mentions of unhealthy relationships (reader x boyfriend), mentions of food, mentions of drinking/alcohol, lots of stereotypical fall activities, reader's brother is chan's age and reader is 2 years older, eventual smut (in pt 3 - see that for warnings), any names of other idols are considered to be OCs word count: ~6.5k (full fic is roughly 23k) a/n: huge thanks to @svthub for hosting this fall collab. check out the full list of fics here. this is part 1, the full fic is in 3 parts and the dates for the next 2 parts are at the bottom. also thank you to my bby indi for beta reading @wongyuseokie and creating an amazing banner @classicscreations. if you want to be tagged in the next 2 parts, send an ask or dm or just comment 💕

masterlist | next

Fall has never been Chan’s favorite season. The weather cools down, but it’s in this weird in-between. One day, it’s cold enough for heavy jackets, and the next it’s almost warm enough to wear shorts. It starts to get dark too early as the days get shorter, which makes it feel like there’s just less time in the day. Or, even worse, there are days when Chan leaves the apartment in the dark and returns in the dark. Everything feels like it’s dying with the leaves falling. It seems like it should be a season of thankfulness and friends and holidays, but it just ends up feeling like an ending in a bad way. He’s not cynical, he’s just not really sure he likes this time of year.

“I wish I had someone to do fall things with me,” you announce to nobody in particular.

Okay, well maybe Chan needs to rethink this whole opinion on the season. Because here’s the other thing, he’s always been drawn to you. Sure, you’re his friend. It’s just, he’s always been closer to your brother, Jay. Always a little envious, too. You and Jay are friends as much as siblings, despite you being two years older. So much so that your friend group is somewhat merged. Chan knows that Jay has friends you don’t hang around with and that the same goes for you. It’s still nice, though. Seeing the two of you, he understands what it means to love family and also like them.

Yet in all those years of friendship, Chan can still remember the moment when he started seeing you differently. You’d called Jay late one night, no text or anything, and Jay picked up right away because it was so unlike you. It was your first real breakup, a guy you met and started dating in college, the only time you and Jay had been really separated. Even if the separation was only a two hour drive. You were so devastated that Jay switched to a video call and convinced you to come home for the weekend. All Chan can remember is how much he wanted to protect you from ever feeling that way again. He knew you didn’t deserve the way that guy made you feel. Then, the new school year came around, and he and Jay were on campus with you. The draw has only gotten stronger since then.

“Isn’t that what you have a boyfriend for?” Jay asks.

You roll your eyes affectionately. “He doesn’t really like the fall. Plus, he’s super busy with work projects. He doesn’t want to go pick apples or adventuring or any of that stuff.”

The way you play it off feels casual, like it doesn’t actually matter. Your eyes tell a different story. Chan’s heart breaks a little as he does everything he can to not show it. Jay, unfortunately for you, also notices.

“Is everything okay with…shit, what’s his name?” Jay asks.

“Come on, Jay, they hard launched like 6 months ago, shouldn’t you know his name by now?” Lisa, ever the best friend to you, chimes in.

“Ease up, Lisa,” you say, voice a little tired. “Things with Seungsik are fine, he’s just busy right now.”

“Hey,” Jay starts.

“We can always do fall stuff with you,” Chan hears himself offer without even realizing he’s saying anything. Several pairs of eyes shoot to him.

“Bro, you hate fall shit,” Vernon scoffs.

“I do not,” Chan retorts.

“Since when? I had to twist your arm for Friendsgiving last year,” Jay counters.

“That is true,” Lisa agrees.

“No you too,” Chan directs at Lisa.

“That’s really sweet, Channie,” you cut across the bickering. It takes everything in him to remain neutral at your compliment and the use of a nickname. “Maybe we can do some stuff as a group. I feel like Fall is the time for friends anyway.”

There’s a smattering of agreement, names thrown out of other friends that aren’t there, lighthearted eye rolls at how into this season you are, and more than a glance or two in Chan’s direction. He does his best to ignore those. He doesn’t need to think about them right now. All he can really focus on is that he agreed to get up insanely early on Sunday morning so that you could take this train ride that you’ve wanted to do in the Fall to see all the trees changing colors. Especially since the colors are more vibrant this year. Which is fine. Chan doesn’t really mind being up early, but nobody else is committing to go. Not even your brother. The fact that you seem unbothered at it being just you and him makes Chan’s stomach flip.

Chan is nervous when it comes time to leave for the train ride. You offered to pick him up since you were dragging him out of the warmth of his bed so early in the morning and even said he didn’t have to go through with it. Which meant you probably wouldn’t go through with it because the two other people that had tentatively agreed backed out the night before. Even over text, Chan could tell that you were disappointed at the thought of not going. And even he had to admit that he was curious about the draw of this particular activity. So off you went.

It only takes one day for Chan to start changing his opinion on the season. Or, one person. There’s something about the way your face lights up the second you’re on the train that takes him over as well. You’re more excited, still, that the train doesn’t seem that crowded, so the two of you will have your own little area to sit in without anyone else that close by. Sheepishly, you admit that the train runs multiple times a day, but this gives you the most time at the top of the mountain. Taking advantage of how rare it is to spend time alone with you, Chan asks you what exactly it is that you love about Fall. Maybe if he hears from someone who loves it, he’ll see it differently.

He watches as your face transforms. Your eyes get wide, and a genuine smile spreads across your face, gone just long enough to ask if he’s sure. All Chan can do is laugh because it’s so endearing. But he nods, and you’re like a kid at Christmas. You start with the leaves as the train pulls away from the station. There’s more to them than just changing color and falling to the ground, at least to you. Yes, they’re pretty, like shades of gold fluttering along with the wind and bringing good fortune. You liken it to growth in a way Chan never considered. Sure, the leaves are changing color and dying. It’s also about growth and release. Trees need to let go of their leaves so they can go into their next phase. So they can be ready to grow new leaves and new life in the spring. You don’t get that without the release in the Fall.

You like the way things taste fresher, too. The way apples feel crisper because it’s when they were meant to be enjoyed. The way vanilla and cinnamon just warm your soul with everything they’re baked into. You love the comfort, like a warm blanket, of just being able to bake so many things. When Chan points out that you bake all year around, you get that playful smile again. You agree and disagree at the same time. You can bake all year round, but certain things were just meant for when the weather starts to get colder.

Most of all, you really just feel like it’s a positive change. Of learning to let go of all the things that are holding you back. Of cutting out those parts of life that feel dead or stagnant. Of starting the process to allow new things to grow. Chan doesn’t mention that maybe you’re not as good at that part as you want to think. He can tell you want to be, but he wonders if you realize there’s someone in your life who really isn’t adding anything to it anymore. He doesn’t mention Seungsik and neither do you.

When you get to the top and step off the train, Chan gasps at the sight. He’s never really stopped to appreciate nature like this and it’s overwhelming in the best way. It makes him feel kind of small, except it’s not a bad feeling, and he’s really glad that you suggested taking the early train because it means the top of the mountain isn’t crowded. He’s so busy taking in the clear views that go on for miles that he doesn’t even notice the way your face lights up watching his reaction. He can’t possibly know how full your heart is at him being so present.

“This is beautiful,” he whispers. It seems like a crime to disrupt the peace.

“Yeah, it is,” you agree. There’s something in the way you say it that makes Chan look over at you. By the time he looks, though, your eyes are on the horizon as well.

“Have you done this before? I don’t feel like I remember Jay talking about it at all,” Chan asks, still watching you.

You stiffen for a second in a way that’s entirely at odds with the mention of your brother. Or maybe your mind is a million miles away. That’s another thing that Chan’s always found so interesting about you. There’s a brightness and a lightness about you, but there’s also a sense of mystery. LIke there are parts of yourself that you always hold back. Like you want to appear to be entirely open, even though you’re not. Like there are secret parts that only your closest relationships get to know.

“Jay wouldn’t have,” you finally answer with a smile. “Our grandparents brought me when we were both still little. But Jay wasn’t interested, so he stayed with our parents. I’ve wanted to do it again as an adult, but you know, life happens.”

“Anyone who cares about you would want to see this,” Chan admits as he looks out at the views again.

It’s too honest, and Chan knows it, but there’s just something about this kind of environment that makes him want to admit things he shouldn’t. Or wouldn’t, normally. There’s something like anonymity surrounded by this much nature. It reminds you just how small people are in comparison. He’s also thankful that you seem to be agreeing that you can say those unspoken things here. That is, until he feels your hand on his arm, turning him to look at you.

“Thank you, Chan,” you say with more sincerity than he’s ever heard in all the time he’s known you. “I care about you, too.”

“I, um,” Chan starts and clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

“We’ve never hung out like this, just the two of us,” you say, still watching him.

“No, we haven’t,” Chan agrees because it’s all he can do to hold onto his rapidly slipping composure.

“I was…okay, this is gonna sound dumb, but I was a little nervous. That’s why I tried to give you an out,” you say. Your voice is soft and you look down at your feet. Like it’s too much to admit while looking at Chan and when it’s so quiet all around you.

“I almost took it,” Chan tells you.

“Why didn’t you? Weren’t you worried?” you wonder.

Chan shrugs to buy himself a second. “Because it was important to you. I figured it was better to roll the dice and risk it being a little awkward so you didn’t miss out.”

You turn away, but Chan catches the look on your face anyway. Catches the way you take a steadying breath. Can’t miss the way you try to hide as you wipe away a tear. The last thing he wanted to do was make you upset. And even though his heart is racing, he pulls you into a hug. He’s not sure what else to do except whisper sorries against your hair.

“No, no, no,” you finally say. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I made you cry,” Chan disagrees.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just so insanely sweet that I was overwhelmed for a minute,” you tell him.

“Guess it was awkward after all,” Chan says. It’s a little self-deprecating.

“No, it wasn’t,” you assure him. “This is so much more than I could have asked for. I’m just, I guess I’m not really used to people doing things like this for me.”

Chan is thankful he’s not holding you anymore because there’s no way to hide the way his heart tries to beat out of his chest. All he can do is smile and hope that you can’t read his thoughts because they’re a weird mix. His heart is full that you’re so appreciative of something that seems so small. Sure, life is short, and there are only so many days. But it’s also too short to pass up on opportunities to see something different like this. To actually stop and experience the world around you instead of just rushing to the next day. His heart also breaks at the idea of you not being used to people doing things like this for you. Because it seems so small. It doesn’t seem like some huge thing to do. Chan and Jay have been friends for more than 10 years, so he’s known you for a long time. He knows that you don’t have the best taste in partners. Still, though. He can’t imagine something so small being so impactful to you.

The two of you mostly stick close together, or at least within eyesight of each other. There’s so much to see at the top of the mountain. Little signs seem to ring around the edges, telling people what they’re looking at or giving a history. Each one makes Chan appreciate the views even more. Every once in a while, he also catches you watching him and smiling, like you’re still checking that he’s enjoying himself. He can’t say that, of course, he’s enjoying himself, he’s with you, but he tries to smile back every time.

Eventually, you suggest having lunch at the restaurant next to the little station where the train stops. He’s been so busy taking in his surroundings that he doesn’t even realize that he’s hungry. Right on queue, his stomach grumbles at the mention of food, and you laugh it off. Once you’re sitting down, you can’t seem to settle on one thing for lunch. Without thinking, Chan suggests that you just share a few different things so you can try what you want. Who knows when you’ll be back up here again? Although you seem hesitant at first, a little reassurance from Chan goes a long way. That and him insisting he’ll be happy with whatever you order.

It’s truly an entirely perfect day, one neither of you really wants to end, even if you won’t admit it to the other. But you have to take the train down eventually and come back to reality.

“Sorry I have to take this,” you say with a frown at your phone.

Chan thinks it says Seungsik, which makes him frown, too. It takes a real effort for him not to follow you out of the room with his eyes. Not that Jay, Seokmin, or Jiyeon would notice. They’re currently locked in a Mario Kart battle, with Jiyeon winning yet again. Chan risks a glance in your direction and makes a snap decision.

“Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?” Chan asks.

“Yeah, something to drink,” Seokmin says.

“Is losing making you thirsty?” Jiyeon teases.

“You can’t win forever, Ji,” Jay shoots back. “Come on, Seok, we can work together on this.”

“That’s cheating,” Jiyeon giggles.

Chan ignores the banter to go to the kitchen. Ostensibly, he’s actually planning to get drinks for the group in the living room. Realistically, he’s curious about what’s making you frown and if you’re okay. From his spot in the kitchen, he can hear your voice drifting through the door of Jay’s bedroom. It’s hard to focus on getting drinks.

“I understand that your work is important, but,” you start, working to stay quiet despite the annoyance in your voice.

Maybe this was a bad idea because he wishes he could hear the other side. Or at least know for sure that it was Seungsik.

“Yes, I’m aware that you think it’s just a stupid Fall tradition,” you huff. “No, baby, I’m not saying your work doesn’t matter. It’s the weekend, though.”

Well, at least he knows that it’s Seungsik. Not that it makes it any better.

“That’s not fair, baby. I’m not saying that I don’t want you to work hard or try to get that promotion. You know how much I support you. It’s just I want to matter too,” you say, and Chan’s heart fully breaks at the heartbreak in your voice.

What is wrong with this man that he can’t take a second away from work to spend time with one of the most beautiful people in the world?

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you in weeks. You’re always working or networking and…” you trail off. “No, I do get that networking is part of the job, and you’re up for a promotion…Wow, yes, I do get how hard your job is. But do you get that you keep making promises to me and breaking them?”

There’s a bite to your voice that’s entirely foreign to Chan. It’s also at complete odds with the undercurrent of defeat. There are two sides warring during this conversation, and Chan doesn’t really recognize either of them.

“It’s not just some stupid fall tradition,” you say. It’s without any bite now. You’re defeated. “It’s…yeah, I get it. You think it’s dumb. It’s fine, I understand you won’t be coming.”

It feels like the conversation is probably ending, so Chan turns his back away from the bedroom to focus on drinks. All he can do is hope that nothing about his posture gives him away. But he can’t help listening anyway, and he hears you ending the phone call before shuffling towards the kitchen all the same.

“Oh,” you nearly gasp.

As casually as he can manage, Chan turns around towards your voice with a bag of chips in one hand. That plan goes out the window when he sees you rubbing your eyes. All he wants is to be able to protect you from the world. Because you deserve better. Not that he thinks he’s better. He just knows you deserve more than this. More than being unhappy every time he sees you.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asks. He meant to ask if you wanted anything to drink, yet couldn’t ignore your frown.

“How long have you been in here?” you ask.

Chan shrugs. “Not long, just came to get them some drinks and figured I’d grab chips. Do you want anything?”

“That’s a loaded question,” you say under your breath.

“You okay?” Chan asks again. He knows you’re not, but he doesn’t really want to admit that he was listening to your side of the conversation.

“Can I…ugh, this is so weird, but can I just have a hug?” Your eyes are a little wide and a whole lot vulnerable.

It’s silly, but he would give you anything if it meant that you wouldn’t look broken. No, that’s the wrong word. There’s nothing wrong with being a little broken. It’s just that he wishes Seungsik wasn’t letting you down time after time. Chan sets down the chips and opens his arms without a word. There’s relief on your face as you step forward and wrap your arms around his middle. Your head rests on his shoulder and he feels the moment that your body releases the tension. Feels the moment when your breathing relaxes to match his own. When you step away, your eyes at least look a little happier.

“It’s never weird to ask for a hug from a friend,” Chan tells you.

You laugh at that, a real laugh, and for a second, Chan wonders why. “You seem to be getting a lot of my emotional side lately.”

Chan just shrugs again. “I’m happy to see whatever side you wanna show me.”

Just then, Jay comes into the kitchen, grumbling about losing another game. He doesn’t even look at Chan or you before going to grab the drinks on the counter. It’s probably the perfect timing so that Chan doesn’t say anything else that’s too honest.

“I thought you were leaving,” Jay says to you.

“Wow, trying to get rid of me already?” you ask without any of the normal teasing Jay is used to.

“Of course not. I just thought you were going apple picking with Seungsik,” Jay answers.

It’s then that he seems to really look at you and realizes something is wrong. He looks like he’s about to take back his words when you open your mouth. “No, he’s too busy with something for work. So I’ll probably just stick around here.”

Chan looks at your brother and hopes he picks up the same wavelength. It seems he does because he sighs in resignation. But it’s a mark of how concerned he is that he doesn’t mention Seungsik being a dick for this. “Why don’t we go with you?”

“What?” you ask.

“Hey,” Jay calls into the living room. “Who wants to go apple picking?”

“I’m in, beating you and Seokmin is getting boring,” Jiyeon answers.

“You haven’t won every one,” Seokmin whines.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly to your brother.

“Oh, are we going with you?” Jiyeon asks. “I’m in. Can I call Vernon and drag him along?”

“We should ask Lisa if she wants to come too. She loves that stuff,” Seokmin suggests. “I haven’t actually gone apple picking in forever.”

“It’s a lost cause,” Chan tells you, “we’re all going apple picking now.”

“Fine,” you pretend to sigh, “but can I ride with you? Jay’s a shitty driver.”

“I resent that,” Jay scoffs.

It takes a little time to let everyone know where to meet, but Jay manages to wrangle the group well enough so that they all make it to the orchard. True to your word, you ride with Chan. Jay and Jiyeon go to pick up Vernon, and Seokmin goes to pick up Lisa and Mina. Once everyone is there and the bags are bought, groups start to wander off in different directions to look for the best apples. Because, of course, Jiyeon has turned this into a competition and is convinced she can make the best apple pie. Chan knew by the sparkle in your eye that you weren’t going to just settle for that one.

“You’re on,” you say and shake on it.

“Well, this is interesting,” Jay notes.

“Come on, Jay, you’re on my team,” Jiyeon says and grabs his arm.

“Uh, hello, that’s my brother,” you argue.

“Yeah, and he’s tall, better for reaching the perfect apple,” Jiyeon says with a shrug. “Snooze, you lose.”

“If you’re that worried about the perfect apples up high, I’ve already won,” you reason before turning to Chan. “Come on, Chan, you’re with me.”

He doesn’t even hesitate for a minute, which would probably be a little embarrassing if he wasn’t actually looking forward to the afternoon. It seems you have a plan, and all he really has to do is follow along. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been alone with you, either. Any awkwardness left with the train ride.

There’s more to picking apples than just picking the first ones you see, as Chan quickly finds out. You consult the little flyer about which ones are in season and start talking about which types of apples make the best pies. Which are the best for tarts. Which are the best for a bunch of desserts that he’s never heard of. It goes way over his head when you’re talking about the different flavors of apples and which goes best with cinnamon and nutmeg and all the flavors that remind you of the Fall. He’s always known that you loved to bake, but there's something different about seeing it in action like this. And you’re not even actually cooking.

Despite your insistence about the height of apples, you do come across some trees where the lower ones all look bad, even by Chan’s standards. When there’s a ladder around, he offers to climb up it so that you can have the perfect apple. It seems to make you smile every time. The system works pretty well until you come to a tree with the perfect apples and no ladder in sight. In hindsight, it’ll definitely seem stupid. That he helps you fixate on something so small as the perfect apple. Yet, at the moment, it makes perfect sense.

“Here, climb on my shoulders,” Chan offers and bends down.

“No, it’s really okay,” you say, waving him off.

“If you want the apples, then let’s get you the apples,” Chan insists.

“I’m too heavy,” you protest.

“You’re not,” Chan promises.

“You’re not going to drop me, are you?” you worry.

“Never,” Chan assures you.

He stays crouched down to allow you to climb onto his shoulders. Once you hook your legs around his back and he grabs your knees, he stands up, very thankful that he’s never skipped leg day. What he’s not counting on, or prepared for, is your surprise. Because in that surprise, your thighs squeeze either side of his face. He’s sure it’s an involuntary action. He’s sure you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Yet it makes him swallow hard all the same. As soon as he steadies himself (mentally, that is, because physically he’s fine), he steps towards the tree. On his shoulders, you’re easily tall enough to reach the apples you wanted in the first place.

“Thank you,” you say softly when he lets you back down.

“No problem,” Chan says, ignoring the slight dryness in his throat.

Apparently, taking the perfect pictures in the orchard is just as important as picking the apples. Chan does roll his eyes about that a little bit but agrees to be your photographer anyway. It’s the same thing all over again. Your face lights up at having someone to do all these things with and he’s putty in your hands. It’s impossible to say no. There’s a moment where he can tell that you’re a little upset that your boyfriend isn’t there to take pictures with you. Obviously, part of the whole thing should involve him in your perfect world. Yet he’s not the one that’s here. Instead, Chan offers to take a picture of the two of you and then take some with your other friends when you meet back up.

The group also has to decide just how to judge this baking contest. The only rules that you and Jiyeon agree to is that it has to be something baked and it has to use the apples. Beyond that, it’s up to whoever wants to participate just what they make. It’s not usually Seokmin’s thing, but he offers to help Mina bake and, since neither of them are that good, you and Jiyeon allow it.

“Why don’t we get together next weekend and do something else?” Vernon suggests.

“Like what?” Jay asks.

“Pumpkin carving!” you shout out.

“You know what? That actually sounds fun, and we haven’t done it in years,” Jay says.

“Yeah, we always used to have the best pumpkins as kids,” you agree.

“They were pretty cool,” Chan agrees.

“So pumpkins and whatever baked apple thing to see who wins?” Vernon asks.

Everyone agrees, and Chan can’t help but look to you. Anything you might have been feeling over your boyfriend missing yet another Fall activity that matters to you is forgotten. Or you’re doing a very good job at hiding it. All your face shows is happiness. It’s kind of infectious.

It doesn’t get much more stereotypically Fall than going to the pumpkin patch and taking pictures. Really, it��s pretty cliche. Yet, you seem unfazed by the entire prospect. You’re layered up, just like everyone else, to fight off the crispness of the air. Unlike everyone else, your face lights up when you pull up to the orchard, a different one than where you picked the apples. There are rows upon rows of pumpkins, all waiting to go to the perfect homes. You’re out of the car and off to walk through the rows before anyone else, and you don’t seem to have a care in the world.

There’s an art, Chan learns, to picking the best pumpkin. It all depends on what exactly someone wants to carve. Too small, and it feels crowded, too big and the face gets swallowed. Unless you make everything bigger, which is always an option. That gets a chuckle out of Vernon and a smack to his arm from Lisa. Lisa, always entirely honest, is really just in it for the pictures and then for whatever baked goods they get to taste test later. She’s happy to carve a pumpkin too, but she wants to use a stencil. And fully admits that she’ll probably get bored halfway through.

Almost unconsciously, or maybe by habit at this point, Chan finds himself wandering through the rows with you. Every now and then, you pause to consider a pumpkin before moving on. There’s so much concentration on the task, and he can’t help but to wonder if you’re just excited or if you’re also avoiding thinking about other things.

“What are you looking for?” Chan finally asks.

You turn and regard him for a second, evidently deciding that he’s just curious rather than judgmental. “Okay, don’t think it’s lame…”

“Why would I?” he asks honestly.

“I sort of have a couple ideas for what I want to carve,” you admit. “Do you, is it okay if I show you?”

“Yeah, of course,” comes Chan’s immediate reply.

There’s that smile again, the one that lights up your whole face like this is the best day that you can imagine. You pull your phone out of your pocket and open your photos. It’s hard to miss that all the recent images are from the things you’ve done as a group or screenshots or things saved from random searches. There aren’t any recent ones, as you quickly scroll, with you and Seungsik. His attention is pulled back to the task at hand when you show him a couple of different carving ideas you have.

“Which one do you like best?” you ask after showing him several.

“It’s hard to pick. Honestly, I think you should get a couple of pumpkins,” Chan answers.

That actually seems to make you happier as you pluck one from nearby that’s apparently perfect for at least one of your ideas. Chan offers to hold it for you as the two of you carry on in finding just the right pumpkins. It’s interesting, especially having picked apples with you, that you spend so much more care in this. You explain that some of the pumpkins don’t have the best sides so they don’t look as good when you carve them. They’re good for displaying as is or good to back with, but you want the prettiest pumpkins if you’re carving something.

Well, he can’t really argue with that.

Once you’re all back at his and Jay’s apartment, everyone splits off in different directions. You and Jiyeon immediately go to bring out your apple desserts. Chan’s a little surprised, still, that Seokmin and Mina actually made something together. But it all looks good, and he’s kind of hungry. Lisa, who suggested ordering actual food, manages to get the bags inside with Vernon’s help. The two of them get to work setting all the food out on the counter for people to start getting plates. Chan starts pulling out plates and glasses for everyone. Jay clears off their little dining table, which isn’t big enough for everyone, as well as the coffee table. It’s not like this is anything formal anyway.

Even though you and Jiyeon want to start with the desserts, Mina manages to convince you to have actual food first. Then, as everyone is carving, they can start trying whatever looks best to them. You reluctantly agree from your spot on the floor. There’s plenty of space to sit on the couch, but instead, you sit on the floor, right next to Chan’s legs, occasionally brushing against him as you move. It’s a little harder for him to watch you without being so obvious and just as hard to ignore your presence. There’s a vibrance to you again, like everything in your world is right. Like nothing could possibly be missing. It doesn’t escape his notice that you don’t mention Seungsik; don’t seem to be missing him during this activity. It’s not like apple picking where he bailed. He was never part of these plans. Maybe that’s the key, or maybe you’re realizing that doing all of this with friends can be just as fun. Whatever the reason, Chan wants you to keep smiling like this.

After protesting, sitting on the floor to eat, Chan has to agree that sitting on the floor to carve pumpkins makes the most sense. It’s easier when you’re not bending over to the coffee table level. It also gives him more space. Like Lisa, he’s using a stencil that he printed out. He wants it to be perfect, and he’s not sure he could do it freehand.

“Okay, I want dessert. Who’s going to tell me what’s what?” Vernon announces.

You’re up before anyone can say anything to grab your desserts. Plural. “Okay, so I made two…”

“Which is cheating,” Jiyeon interjects.

“Is not,” you reply and stick your tongue out at her. You open each container. “These are just apple fritters and these are salted caramel apple bars.”

“Tell me you did not make caramel from scratch, too,” Jiyeon whines.

“It’s so easy, of course I did,” you retort.

“Ugh, of course,” Jiyeon groans. “Anyway, I made apple-pomegranate cobbler.”

“Which looks amazing,” you compliment, causing Jiyeon to beam.

“And since we knew these two would go totally over the top, we just made plain old apple pie,” Mina says.

“Hey, we worked hard, don’t undersell it,” Seokmin points out.

“I’m sure it’s great, Seok,” Lisa says to pacify him.

“I’m going to eat it all,” Vernon announces.

He goes to get a plate and, true to his word, puts some of everything on it. You carry on carving and wave off Chan’s offer to get you something. It’s hard not to play favorites, but he also doesn’t want some of everything. At least not yet. So he grabs one of the salted caramel apple bars that you made and some of Jiyeon’s dessert. Things get quiet again as everyone is either enjoying the dessert or focusing on their pumpkins.

Despite Vernon taking a break to eat as much dessert as he could stomach, he does get back to working on his pumpkin and it’s annoying how good it looks. He went in without a plan and his pumpkin is one of the best. Chan thinks his could probably be a lot better, but he’s also happy with it. As predicted, Lisa abandoned hers halfway through and has been picking music to play ever since. It’s kind of nice, though, to have her doing that. It makes the whole afternoon into the evening pass by in the best way.

Chan should probably think of new words, but this is another one of those days that just feels like the best of the season. Everyone is together and happy. Nobody is fighting, unless it’s you and Jiyeon playfully arguing when your apple bars win as the best dessert. It’s fine to be in your feelings, and Chan meant it when he said he would be happy with whatever side you wanted to show him. It’s also important to have the lighter days. The easy days. The ones that make weathering the storm a little more manageable. It’s clear there’s definitely still a storm, and he’s thankful for the little breaks like this.

However, as it turns to night, everyone starts to filter out of the apartment. Seokmin, Mina, and Lisa want to go out to the bar and ask if anyone else wants to come. Jiyeon and Vernon already planned to go out to dinner. They’re still in that phase where they want to act like they’re not dating, even though they definitely are, and everyone is happy for them. Jay’s been talking to someone off some dating app that he wants to go hang out with. That just leaves you and Chan.

“I’m actually kinda tired, so I think I might just stay in,” Chan tells Seokmin when he asks again if either of you wants to come to the bar with them.

“I don’t really feel like going out,” you admit before looking at Chan. “Do you mind if I stay here with you?”

“Course not,” Chan answers, ignoring the look he knows Jay is giving the two of you. Your brother’s never really been good at being subtle.

“Lame, but I get it,” Lisa says with a shrug. Everyone but Jay filters out for their plans and he disappears into his bedroom to get ready. Chan gets up to start cleaning up and putting everything away.

“You don’t need to help. You’re a guest,” Chan tells you when you join in on the cleaning.

“Wow, a guest? And here I thought we were friends,” you scoff.

Chan shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I figure if I help then I can rope you into watching a movie with me,” you answer.

“Fine,” Chan says, pretending to be put out.

Truthfully, he’s going to agree to whatever you want to do. You could say that you wanted to learn a new language and Chan would probably at least give it a try. Down horrifically bad. Yet, he’s too caught up in thinking about hanging out with you again that he doesn’t see the way you look over at him every few minutes. Misses the way your gaze softens at how much care he uses in moving the pumpkins. Misses the way your eyes rake over him as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize things are starting to shift for you as well.

Instead, the two of you finish cleaning up mostly in silence and are settling onto the couch by the time Jay reemerges. Convenient timing given that he doesn’t have to even make up an excuse about why he can’t help. You’re quick to call him on it and he’s just as quick to brush it off as he runs out the door. It leaves you and Chan on your own for the night. So you pick the place for take away and Chan picks the first movie. Just like that, you settle in for the night.

part 2 coming on dec. 3rd, part 3 coming on dec. 6th. let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged 💕

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eurydycee · 7 months ago

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Winter's Thorn: chapter 1 echoes of duty

⚘ cregan stark x tyrell!OC

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Synopsis: Caught in the political machinations of Westeros, Lady Euphemia Tyrell and her brother Adlyn, Lord Tyrell, Warden of the Reach navigate treacherous alliances to secure their house's future. Summoned to King's Landing, Adlyn strikes a desperate deal with Lord Cregan Stark, unknowingly sealing Euphemia's fate. As winter approaches, House Tyrell must balance duty, loyalty, and survival in a realm fraught with danger.

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format: series (ongoing) word count: ~ 2k warnings: hint of medieval sexism ( realistic ) a/n: hello! this is my very first fanfiction...i currently will only write these series but requests and criticism are always welcome if you want to be tagged comment!! I really hope you will enjoy it as much as I have (english is not even in my top 3 languages haha)

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“Lady Euphemia and her brother the Warden of the Reach, Lord Adlyn Tyrell”

The doors of the Small Council opened for the Tyrell siblings, who were summoned to justify their actions during the Dance of the Dragons.

“Good day to you, my lord, milady,”

“Your Grace,” replied the pair, bowing with trembling hands. Both were on the cusp of adulthood, grieving their parents, now laid to rest.

“So, if I am correct, House Tyrell supported the claim of…”Cregan, The Hand started

“Neither, my lord Hand,” interrupted Adlyn Tyrell. “We—”

“That’s all we needed. You forgot your oath to King Viserys and shall now stand trial, along with your sworn houses that also broke their oaths.”

Adlyn clutched his sister’s hand to encourage himself and addressed the young king.

“Your Grace, our father, and House Tyrell chose not to entangle themselves in the Great War out of fear for our lands being burned.”

“Your lands burned?” questioned a council member.

“Indeed, our lands that grow your food, feed the animals you feast upon, and produce the grapes for your wines,” Adlyn continued, his voice rising. “Our lands were kept safe to avoid devastation and ensure the kingdom’s sustenance-“The freshly orphaned young Lord with a heavily pregnant wife started, “-we command the largest population and most fertile ground, and with winter fast approaching, our neutrality was a necessity.”

“Your traitor papa did this for himself, foolish boy not for the harvest.” retorted a council member

“Your Grace, my lords, if I may,” Euphemia interjected softly, her voice melodic and calming. “While we did swear an oath to your late mother the Queen, we also swore a greater oath to The Conqueror when he made us Wardens of the Reach, which was not to interfere during such wars. My father’s decision was not out of selfishness but out of prospects. Winter is coming, my lords” she said, her gaze fixed on the Hand, her words sweet but her expression resolute.

“She is correct, my lord. The winter that is to come will be harsher than any we’ve faced before. Thanks to their neutrality, the Reach survived the Dance with minimal damage, and now we may endure this winter with less difficulty.” Confirmed the Maester

“If you speak the truth, Lord Tyrell, then your king finds it in his heart to excuse you. However, I expect you to resolve the divisions among your houses. And what of the widows of Hightower?”

“We shall wed them, feed them, and care for them. As for the traitor houses, we will send the men in command to the Wall or they will face the death penalty. Their women will be wed to the opposing houses.”

The Hand leaned forward, eyes sharp

“Very well see that you fulfill these promises, Lord Tyrell. Neutrality in war is no excuse for negligence in peace. The king’s pardon is contingent upon your actions. Do not disappoint him again.

“Thank you, your Grace, my Lord Hand”

The siblings stood, hand in hand, bowed, and departed from the Tower of the Hand.

Outside the chamber, Adlyn stopped in his tracks and turned to his sister, gripping her face so tightly that he felt her earrings pierce his skin. After planting a firm kiss on her head, he said, “You did well, sister. Thank you. Without you, I fear that Lord Stark would have had my head on a spike decorating his very own chamber.”

“Brother, you know I wouldn’t allow such things to happen. Over my dead body would that barbarian touch a single lock of my pretty brother’s head,” Euphemia responded fiercely, twirling a golden curl around her finger.

She then grabbed her brother’s hands excitedly. “Now, shall we finally return home? How I miss Highgarden.”

“Not yet, Coral, we must stay for the king’s coronation and the festivals that follow. Besides a hasty departure might raise suspicion. In the meantime, keep your guard up,” he reminded her, giving her hand a firm squeeze back. “As the northerner said, the king’s pardon is contingent upon our actions.” He then turned and walked down the corridor.

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Cregan Stark’s cheek met the ground of the training field after being struck by a shield.

“Apologies, milord. Didn’t mean to hit ya that hard. Thought ya could dodge it,” his sparring partner said, extending a hand to help him up.

It wasn’t that Cregan couldn’t have avoided the blow. No, his mind was distracted by a sound—not the clang of metal or the cries of battle, but a sweet melody drifting down from the chambers above the training grounds.

“No worries… it’s just that all that singing is making me lose my concentration, friend,” Cregan grumbled as he took the offered hand and stood.

“Oh, you mean the Tyrell girl? Yeah, that pretty girl from the Reach with a pretty voice, pretty brother. She has been making many lose their minds lately,” his friend replied with a chuckle.

Cregan paused, brushing the dust from his clothes. “Lady Euphemia Tyrell, isn’t it? The one who sings?”

“Aye, that’s her. A voice like an angel, they say. She’s really got a way of making even the toughest men turn into fools,” his friend said, shaking his head with a grin.

Cregan frowned slightly, the melody still echoing in his mind. “What is she doing here in King’s Landing?”

“Probably still here with her brother, Lord Adlyn. They’ve been invited to the coronation, haven’t they? A lot of talk about them organizing a tourney in honor of the King,” the sparring partner replied.

Cregan nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, they’ll host the tourney… they come from the fairytale land with knights and pretty girls in sheer gowns. But that voice… it’s hard to stay focused with that drifting down.”

His friend laughed. “You sound smitten, my Lord. Maybe you should go introduce yourself.”

Cregan shook his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I have no time for such distractions. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

“Still, it wouldn't hurt to at least see her up close. You might catch a glimpse of what’s underneath that sheer gown ey,” his friend teased, clapping him on the shoulder.

Cregan shrugged his hand off and hung his spear on the rack before heading to his tower, ignoring his friend’s calls to stay and continue training.

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“My Lord Hand, Lord Tyrell wishes to speak with you,” announced a guard.

Cregan nodded, signaling the guard to let Lord Tyrell in.

“Lord Tyrell,” Cregan greeted him as the golden-blond youth entered the room.

“My Lord,” Adlyn Tyrell responded, both men acknowledging each other with a nod.

“I—I have come to ask a boon from you, my Lord,” Adlyn began, his voice tinged with nervousness.

“And what would that boon be?” Cregan inquired, leaning back in his chair, eyes sharp.

“Grant us forgiveness, and you shall have whatever you wish from me,” Adlyn offered, his words earnest but desperate.

“Forgiveness? So, you admit that you committed treason?” Cregan put down his pen, leaning back into his chair.

“Never, my Lord!… Let me rephrase,” Adlyn stammered. “Understand and sympathize with our actions, and you shall have whatever you want from me.”

Cregan considered this for a moment before replying, “I’ll grant your boon.”

“And… in return?” Adlyn asked, relief and anxiety mingling in his voice at how easily Cregan seemed to agree.

“The upcoming winter is harsh, as you said, and the North will endure one of the harshest winters in many years. I ask for more food from the Reach than is normally granted in exchange for this boon, and perhaps a little iron. The war has depleted your mines, has it not?” Cregan’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“Yes, it has,” Adlyn admitted.

“I have one last request… to close our deal,” Cregan continued.

“You mean a treaty?” Adlyn asked, eyebrows raised.

“Sort of. Tell me, is your sister’s maidenhead promised to anyone?” Cregan’s gaze was intense, piercing through Adlyn.

“Well… no, not officially, my Lord,” Adlyn replied hesitantly.

“Very well. All I ask is her hand. I will claim her for myself. Grant me Euphemia, and I’ll grant you your boon. I will treat her kindly and with honor. She’ll become Lady of Winterfell, and her children will be in line after my son, for Rickon, from my late wife, is already my heir,” Cregan stated, his voice firm.

“A hand for a head? Done,” Adlyn agreed, though his heart quivered for his sister. How would she feel being sold off to a man she did not choose, especially after being orphaned so recently? Would she see that her brother meant no harm to her?

Cregan watched Adlyn closely, noting the internal struggle. “You do what you must for your house. I understand that more than most. But rest assured, Euphemia will be treated with the respect she deserves,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

Adlyn nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of how to break the news to his sister. He hoped she would understand his intentions were for the survival and prosperity of their house.

———————————————————————------------------------- The twilight sky painted the gardens of the Red Keep in shades of purple and gold. Euphemia strolled along the flower-lined paths, her fingers lightly brushing the petals of blooming roses. Her brother, Adlyn, followed closely, his expression a mix of melancholy and determination.

“Adlyn, these gardens remind me so much of Highgarden,” Euphemia said, her voice tinged with wistfulness. “The way the flowers bloom, the scent of the roses... It feels like home.”

Adlyn nodded, his gaze distant. “Yes, it does. Highgarden’s beauty is unmatched, but this comes close.”

Euphemia turned to her brother, a soft smile on her lips. “Do you remember the summer festivals? Father would host grand feasts, and Mother would sing under the stars.”

Adlyn’s expression softened at the memory. “I do. Those were simpler times.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the evening air cool against their skin. Euphemia stopped by a fountain, watching the water trickle down the stone. “I miss it, Adlyn. I miss the laughter, the music, the sense of peace. I miss them,”

Adlyn swallowed hard, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had to say. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, the words catching in his throat. How could he tell her about the arrangement with Lord Stark? How could he look into her eyes and shatter her world?

Instead, he forced a smile and said, “Speaking of simpler times, are you looking forward to the tourney for the King’s coronation?”

Euphemia’s eyes lit up. “I do! I am sure it will be grander than any tourney in recent memory. Will we be presenting House Tyrell?”

Adlyn nodded, relieved by the change in topic. “Yes, we will. Our brother, Ser Crayn, will be participating. He’s been training tirelessly for a ’worthy’ tourney.”

Euphemia’s smile widened. “Crayn is a fine knight. He will do us proud.”

Adlyn couldn’t help but share in her enthusiasm. “And my wife wrote to me that she is due to give birth any day now. She wishes she could be here for the tourney, but she should remain in Highgarden.”

Euphemia’s eyes softened. “I’m sure she’s in good hands. And we’ll be back with her soon enough, with a new child to welcome.”

Adlyn nodded, though his heart ached with the weight of unspoken words when his sister mentioned their return… uninformed about her cruel fate“Yes, I hope so. The birth of our son will bring some much-needed joy to our house.”

Euphemia held his arm gently. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, Adlyn. Just like our father was to us.”

He looked at her, his heart full of love. “Thank you, Euphemia. That means a lot to me.”

As they continued their walk through the gardens, Adlyn’s thoughts drifted back to the conversation he couldn’t bring himself to have. He knew the moment would come when he would have to tell her, but for now, he cherished this moment of peace and the semblance of normalcy it brought. The serenity of the evening provided a temporary refuge from the storm that awaited them.

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