#gosh ignore the colouring it's all over the place

[makesomehistory]

Bet we could make some.

[avocado-writing]

Hi! I love your Good Omens fics<33 *sends you little cut out paper hearts*

May I request an Aziraphale and nonbinary reader? where Azi fell in love with them and always becomes a cute, blushed babbling mass around them?

(I just want fluff after that season ending:’) )

notes: thank you for the love & the paper hearts *hangs them on my wall* I paired you up together hope that’s ok !

words: 1.4k

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: T

tags: mild claustrophobia; mutual pining

Aziraphale is in love, and Crowley is annoyed.

Not that he’s annoyed about the love, per se, they’re immortal beings after all - occasionally they end up developing feelings for humans. It’s not unheard of. Aziraphale has had his share of infatuations, but the problem is he very rarely acts on them. Just makes puppy eyes at someone for fifty years, and then they die.

So when Crowley sees how Aziraphale is around you, he knows the angel is going through the same steps again.

There you are, every week, doing your delivery. Looking “rather smart” in your postie’s uniform, as Aziraphale once remarked. Arms full of parcels and a smile plastered on your face. You clearly like him back, it’s obvious, but neither of you will bloody talk to each other about it.

Aziraphale becomes a bit pathetic around you. Crowley would tease him for it, if he didn’t know he was already agonising over every interaction after you’ve gone anyway.

“Good morning, Mr Fell!”

You call out as you gently nudge the door open with your boot. You’re holding a stack of parcels using your chin as a wedge to keep them in place, lest the pile topple over and litter the shop floor. Aziraphale gets out of his chair - where he’s been sitting for the past hour, waiting to hear the sound of your engine like a child might wait for the trill of an ice cream van - and skitters over to help.

“My dear, let me help you with those–”

“Oh, it’s alright! I’ve got strong arms. Just show me where you’d like it.” You pause, then quickly correct: “Them! I mean, like them.”

From the corner of the room, behind his gossip magazine, Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Just in the stockroom here, thank you.”

“Gosh, you are ordering a lot of books lately, Mr Fell.”

Crowley bites back the urge to comment that he’s doing it in order to see you. One week you were off sick and a different postie covered your route, and Aziraphale was miserable about it for days.

“Well, I am a bookseller!” - lies - “And please, my dear, I’ve asked you to call me Aziraphale.”

“Alright,” you say, shyly, but you never do.

The angel’s cheeks go a rosy colour as he signs for his packages, and Crowley can tell he’s desperately trying to think of a way to get you to stay for a bit longer. His normally erudite friend is reduced to blabbering awkwardness around you.

“Actually I was just boiling the kettle, would you like some?”

A beat, then Aziraphale looks mortified.

“Tea! Would you like some tea?”

“What is this, a bloody Carry On film?” Crowley mutters under his breath. You don’t seem to hear him, and if Aziraphale does he pointedly ignores the comment.

“Oh,” you say, looking perhaps a little disappointed at the correction, but recovering quickly, “I can probably spare ten minutes before I need to get going. I’d love a cup, please.”

Crowley watches the two of you engage in idle, unimportant chatter, and the way you stare at the other when you think they aren’t looking, the brush of fingers as mugs are passed, the affectionate smiles. It’s maudlin. It’s saccharine. 

Aziraphale manages to stumble his way through ten minutes of conversation with you despite his nervousness, and it makes Crowley nauseous. When you finally have to say goodbye the angel looks like a kicked puppy, and he follows you to the bloody door to see you off, and then starts making a list of what else he can order to make sure you’re back next week.

It’s been this way for months, this repeated pattern of dancing around each other. And it’s getting dull. 

Crowley snaps his magazine shut. If neither of you will make the first move, he will.

📕

“Where would you like them today, Mr Fell?”

“Same as always, my dear. Stockroom!” 

He holds the door open for you and you haul the ridiculous pile in with surprising strength. Crowley waits until you’re both fully inside, Aziraphale showing you where the delivery needs to go, and quite suddenly a gust of wind slams the door shut behind you both (and somehow manages to lock it).

You yelp, dropping the parcels all over the floor.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Mr Fell, let me–”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, it made me jump too! Here, I’ll help…”

The two of you get to your knees, gathering up parcels and stacking them neatly on one of the tables. The room is not large, a couple of metres left in space maybe, every other inch being taken up by books; so when you both stand up you’re rather close.

Aziraphale looks into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. You want to say something, anything, but instead you chicken out and reach for the door handle.

It’s stuck.

“Oh, erm,” you say, rattling it harder. Aziraphale frowns.

“Let me have a go, hang on.”

But the outcome is the same. The door is locked. Aziraphale knows it didn’t lock on its own, but he can’t really miracle it open while you’re right there. Instead he knocks hard on the door.

“Erm, Crowley, are you out there?”

“Oh dear, Aziraphale, is something the matter?” comes the reply from the bookshop.

“Yes,” the angel answers through gritted teeth, “by some terrible luck the door has gotten stuck. Can you be a dear and find the key for me? Should be in the desk drawer.”

“Alright, I’m having a look for it now,” says Crowley, as he walks over the road to go and get a coffee.

Aziraphale turns back to you, ready to assure you that you’ll be freed soon, only to find you looking very peculiar.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m, erm, not great when I’m trapped in small spaces,” you tell him, eyes darting wildly, looking for a way out and coming up empty.

Aziraphale swallows. You do look quite worried. Crowley had better be quick. (Crowley is currently ordering a large americano and taking a seat in the corner of the coffee shop).

“Can I help?”

“Can I–” you wince a little, “gosh, this is so unprofessional, can I please ask you to hold me? Having someone rub my back calms me down. You don’t have to, of course, just–”

You don’t need to ask twice. Aziraphale steps forward and takes you into his arms. You fit perfectly, and feel just like he always imagined you would: soft but sturdy, the most wonderful shape against him. His hand is unsure at first, running up and down your back lightly, but when he feels you relax into him he renews the gesture with gusto.

“Thank you. Sorry, I feel very silly.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sure Crowley will get us out of here lickety-split.”

“Mr Fell?”

“Aziraphale, please.”

“Aziraphale…” it’s the first time you’ve actually used his name, and he’s pleased as punch to hear it fall from your lips, “may I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Do you actually sell the books you buy, or just order them to see me?”

There’s a beat, and Aziraphale freezes.

“It's just because whenever I drop off new packages I always notice you never unpack the old ones, so I thought…”

“Erm.”

“It’s alright if you do. To tell you a secret, I always rush my route so that I can spare the time to have a cup of tea with you. It’s my favourite part of the week.”

“Oh. It’s mine too.”

And suddenly he’s not comforting you, he’s embracing you, and you’re returning the gesture. You readjust your position so you can look up into his face, and he finds you have the softest eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for dinner?”

You light up.

“I’d love that. Are you free tonight?”

“Call it seven?”

“Sounds… perfect.”

When you reach to kiss him, he finds your lips are soft too. So he kisses you again. And again.

📕

Crowley comes back forty minutes later with a little pastry in a bag for Aziraphale, to say sorry for locking him in. A wave of his hand at the door means he doesn’t even need to bother with finding the key, and he throws it open, hoping to find you finally properly talking.

Well, turns out your mouths are a bit busy for that.

Snogging. Snogging is what’s happening. Your hand is buried in Aziraphale’s curls, tongue firmly pressing against his. Aziraphale has a hand full of your arsecheek and has lifted you a bit so that you can wrap your leg around his calf, letting you caress him a bit with your foot. His waistcoat is undone, your shirt is untucked from your shorts. Both of you are a bit of a mess.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak, can’t find the heart to interrupt, and gently closes the door again.

-

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan

[axcel-lucci]

Hello my sweet fellow Traffy fan

I am sick at the moment and wanted to request a law x y/n story where y/n is very sick and Law takes care of her like the sweet baby that he is and eventually has to confess his love for her.

In the meantime I will finally read through all your stuff!

(One dirty piece is my side account just so you know who I am)

Thank you so much! (And if you don't want to that's totally fine)

A kiss

A/N: HIIII! I hope you feel better soon, it sucks being sick so here, a Trafalgar Law x sick!reader.

(Y/n) was currently working by the boiler room when she had this sensation since earlier, the hot feeling in her body mixed with dizzyness and a little bit of a nauseated throat.

She doesn't even know what caused this, but she did know that it has been going on for a few days now and she also knows she's sick.

"Oh, I'd just rest and it'll be gone" she says... "I don't want to bother captain, he's busy... I can take care of myself" she says...

After her job at the boiler room, she headed off to the infirmary, hoping to get some paracetamol and finally drink it since she's done for the day, hopefully in secret because she doesn't want the crew to go and tell him...

Of course the walk was a bit long, causing her body to sway and her vision to blur as well as her head to become dizzy due to the motions of the sea around the sub.

'gosh darn it... Can't I do something with ease for once...?' She thought to herself as she blinked multiple times to try and focus herself on the way.

She managed to get a couple of steps away from the boiler room before feeling her knees give in and her body falling in a heavy feeling as the impact of her body and the floor felt almost nonexistent as her vision slowly blurred and faded into nothing, the last thing she ever heard was someone... Someone calling out to her and feeling their hand shaking her shoulder before blacking out entirely.

Law's pov:

I walked around the ship since my office was honestly getting smaller and smaller, as if I was overwhelmed at some point.

Where was I walking to? I don't know, but I did know that talking to a specific person would ease me... Give me a reason to keep going... Even maybe confe- no, that's too far...

As I round a corner, I heard a heavy sound against the floor as if something has fallen, looking over, the white uniform and black shoes made me realise that one of my crew has passed out, but the hair colour made me recognize who it was...

"(Y/n)!" I ran over to her, shaking her shoulder as I saw her face flushed and her breathing is very heavy, she's sweating bullets, too.

I brought a hand to her forehead and could feel it so high I thought I'd be scolded with heat.

I immediately picked her up and can feel the heat of her body through the thickness of the uniform informing me how severe it was, I immediately ran to the infirmary, ignoring the crew as they asked what happened.

I carefully placed (y/n) on the bed, knowing she needs to release some steam, I went to her room then her wardrobe and take a tank top and shorts.

Until I realised... I have to change her.

I froze for a few moments before shaking my head, "be professional, law!" I told myself before going back to the infirmary and changed her clothes.

I forced myself to ignore her beautiful body, her smooth skin, and her pretty waist- "stay focused! She might die from this!" I yelled at myself, and hopefully no one heard.

Once I had successfully completed that task, I called to Shachi and ordered him to bring me a basin of alcohol and cold water as well as a small towel.

He knew that I was in desperate need because within a few seconds, he gave it to me.

I immediately started to take care of her overheating body, and I was thankful enough that it had gotten lower than before.

After that, I placed the cold damp towel on her forehead before pulling the blanket over her.

It honestly made me sigh thinking why and how has this gotten so severe... Surely she would've felt it at first, did she ignore it? Did she even acknowledge it at all??

I hooked her to an IV drip since she was sweating a lot and me being afraid she might loose a lot of bodily fluids in the process.

After all that, I sat down at the edge of the bed and stare at her.

'why didn't she come to me when she first felt it? Why didn't she even tell me...?' I thought before sighing.

"Get well soon..." I mumbled.

After a while, Bepo came in to tell me that lunch was served, but right now... I don't think I have the appetite to do so.

"Captain, come on! (Y/n) will be very mad...!" Bepo told me

"No... I'm not hungry..." I muttered under my breath

"Uhm... Captain... I think I need to tell you this because I can't keep it from you" Bepo pouted while looking apologetic as I stare at him

"What do you mean...?"

"(Y/n)... Uhm... She's been feeling a little under the weather for a couple days now... I told her to tell you but she didn't want to bother you... I said I would if she didn't... And I thought she did... I'm sorry..." He muttered lowly

"Wait... You knew but you didn't tell me??"

"I- I know, captain... But I thought she already told you because she said she was getting better...!"

I just sighed, "it's okay... But at least you could've... You know..."

"I'm sorry..."

I shook my head before rubbing his head, "it's alright, Bepo... Can you just bring me my food? I don't want to leave her side..."

Bepo perked up a bit before nodding and left.

I turned back to her and held her hand in mine, hers were so much more warmer than my own, "wake up soon, (y/n)-ya. I have a lot to ask."

As if on cue, her eyes start to open only for them to close again due to the light above her.

"(Y/n)-ya..." I called as I took a step closer to her, her eyes were dazed and confused...

I knew that in this point of her sickness, she might not even remember what happened until she's all better.

"How are you feeling? Do you need some water?" I asked as I removed the towel from her forehead and dunk it into the cold basin of water before placing it back on her forehead.

"... Ter... Water... Please..." She muttered, still dazed as I nodded and handed her the glass of water after helping her sit up.

"Here... Careful" I said as she took a few sips before placing it down.

I laid her back down as she immediately passed out once again into a sleep.

Bepo came in and gave me my food, "hey... Bepo, after your meal, can you tell whoever in charge of today's meal to make a soup for her? She just woke up."

"Yes sir!" He nodded and left

I started eating while still watching her, at least now I know she's not gonna sleep for three days just to heal.

But then I had this thought... If she's too weak to even sit up on her own, does that mean she'd be unable to eat by herself? Holy shit... I'll feed her.

The thought of feeding her and just taking care of her in general made me all giddy and excited, only if she would remember this right after... I hope she would so that she'd remember how I love her...

Wait... No... Unprofessional.

I soon finished eating and Bepo came in with a bowl of fresh soup as I gave him my dishes before placing the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

"Thanks... You can go now." I said as Bepo nodded and left, "(y/n)... Hey, wake up..."

I softly and gently woke her up in which it worked for a bit.

I helped her sit up as I threw the towel back into the basin before holding up a spoonful of soup to feed her, "say ahh..."

She grumbled for a bit, still dazed and probably dizzy, "I can feed myself."

"Nonsense. You can't even sit up by yourself, what made you think you can eat by yourself?" I said in an annoyed tone before shaking my head, "don't make this any more difficult for me."

She sighed before eating, "sorry..."

I shook my head and continued to feed her, "for what?"

"You had to take care of me... I know you're busy and all..." She mumbled as I kept feeding her until the bowl is empty

"And? My crew's health is more important to me than any work." I muttered as I hand her a glass of water before walking over to the cabinets to give her some medicine to help her, once I hand her the medicine, I told her not to lay back down and let the food digest even just a little.

She obliged, but I can tell she has a hard time not looking at me when I'm sitting so close, so I placed a hand on the side of her face to make her look at me, which she let me do, "hey... Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Bepo said you were sick for a couple of days now... Why... Didn't you come to me instead of lying to Bepo?" I asked in a soft tone

"I don't... Want to bother you, captain... Your work as both the captain and this crew's doctor is already so much..." She muttered, looking down

"Hey. Look at me when I'm talking to you." I frowned making her look back up

"S-sorry..."

I sighed and shook my head, "nonsense... I am the crew's doctor, as you said, so you being sick wouldn't add to my work. And besides, I wouldn't consider you to be... 'work' related in any way."

"What do you mean...?" She asked, her eyes glossy... Probably since she's sick.

It made me sigh again and stare into her beautiful eyes that I always knew I'd drown into, "because... You're more than just a crew to me, and more than just a friend... I know you probably won't remember this but... I love you... (Y/n). So don't ever think you'd be any bother to me. I'd be more than happy to be here for you, actually."

"R-really...?" She stammered, "I thought..."

"What, that I don't want to be in any relationship?? Sure, I was... But... That's because I haven't met you yet" I smiled softly before placing my forehead against hers and pulling her closer, "just know that I will always be here for you, okay...?"

She nods, "you might get sick if you're this close to me"

"Hah... Then you'd take care of me, I don't mind that." I smirked before staring down at her pale lips, "do you mind...?"

She blushed a bit, despite her already flushed state, and nodded

I smiled gently before pressing my lips to hers, I could feel her slowly responding but it's weak, I don't mind... I can always do this again, hopefully she does remember this moment.

I soon pulled away and helped her lay back down, "now go to sleep so you'd be all better, okay?"

She nods slightly with her gorgeous gentle smile, "thanks... Law... And uhm... I-i love you too..." She said in a small voice but I heard it... I heard it very clear.

I smiled and kissed her forehead, "now here's to me hoping you don't forget."

Bonus:

(Y/n) soon got better but couldn't get her mind off the kiss Law gave her while she was sick, and at the same time, she couldn't bring herself to tell him

But she does have to, eventually.

She searched him and found him by the deck, alone.

"H-hey... Captain..." She called lowly as she turned to her with a hum

"Oh? (Y/n)-ya? What can I help you with?" He asks as she walked up beside him

"A-about the other day..." She muttered with a small blush, "w-when you kissed me...?"

Law could feel himself blush furiously, wishing the world to swallow him up until he's at least 30 feet deep into the core; "w-what about it...?" He muttered

"U-uhm... I want to know if... What you said was real, that you like me..." She muttered, "b-becausw I do... Too... I like captain too..."

Law could feel his heart piund heavily, his words swirling into nothingness but he knew what he should do so he placed his hands on her face and pulled her into a kiss.

It surprised her but she knew he had a brute way with his feelings, so he just responded into his kiss as much as he does.

Pulling away for a breath, Law looked at her flustered face, it made him want to see that more often

"I... I like you... Too... I-it wasn't supposed to be like this, I swear!" He swore a bit, "i-it was supposed to be next month, on a Friday with a bouquet of flowers...!" He admits before realizing his mistake and covering his mouth

It made her speechless, he knew he was ready but not THIS ready... But she just laughed a bit, "so... Is that a date?" She smiled

He sighed deeply, "yes... It is..." He muttered

[f1-stuff]

Thank you for the tag @c2-eh bestie! ❤️

1. are you named after anyone? Nope, there's actually quite an entertaining tale about my parents agonizing over my name, to the point that the hospital threatened to write 'Babygirl' on my birth certificate... 👶🏻

2. when was the last time you cried? are we talking like properly/not related to a movie or tv show? 🤔 I legitimately can't remember. If it's related to a movie, then like last week when I saw spider-verse

3. do you have kids? absolutely not 😄

4. do you use sarcasm a lot? yes, sarcasm might be one of the pillars of my family's sense of humor, along with deadpan

5. what sports do you play/have you played? currently none, but as a youth? 😅 Ballet, soccer, volleyball, basketball, softball, tennis, and briefly gymnastics. I was very busy.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about other people? Oh gosh...idk. I feel like it's entirely dependent on the person. Maybe their clothes? Or else hairstyle?

7. scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings! All damn day

8. any special talents? Hm, maybe just that I'm artistic? I play piano and sing, and I love all kinds of visual arts/crafts (drawing, painting, photography, ceramics, textiles...) It's what I went to undergrad for.

9. where were you born? I was born in Oklahoma, USA! A place not many people have the desire to visit, but tbh I rate my hometown OKC pretty highly as a city.

10. what are your hobbies? Probably the 'talents' I mentioned above, altho I hope I can turn my hobbies into a source of income soon. I'm really into bookmaking at the moment. And this f1 blog I guess! I certainly spend a lot of time on it...

11. do you have any pets? My family has a cat that I miss desperately, and I grew up with dogs, but I don't have my own pet currently.

12. how tall are you? 5'7'' or 1.70m (?)

13. fave subject in school? Art. But if not art, then probably Spanish or english lol

14. dream job? I dream of being able to work simultaneously in many different fields. I'm working now as a cinematographer, but I also wanna continue being an artist. I think underwater camera operating/photography for Nat Geo or some shit would be legendary, and would give me the chance to travel for my job as well.

15. eye colour? Brown! 👁️👁️

I'll tag @elizabethmasen @timothyweahs @nottiinrosso @unabashedlycasualangel and @penaltyboxboxbox with the blanket permission to completely ignore this if you'd like/if you've already done it 🙏🏻😘

[fairytail-writing]

Dancing in the Rain

Summary: Evergreen’s family is hosting a party, and she invites the others. Freed doesn’t know how to dance, but Bixlow’s new friend does.

Notes: VAGUELY mentions ElfEver once! also, I pulled cards from my Oracle deck from this and... got these 2? which was perfect oh my gosh???

[ ORACLE DECK: The winter melts away ; the warmth of my love Spring is blooming. It’s beautiful ]

Dancing in the Rain

Winter is ending; with it, the flowers will come back into bloom, filling the world with colour and rainy weather once again. Freed doesn't mind the rain, the butterflies and fireflies that come out with it. He enjoys the season, actually - plus, his friend Evergreen kept telling him that spring was the season for romance. Maybe, this would be his season.

He wishes on the dandelions he passes, throwing his wishes away to the dandelion seeds, watching the wind carry them away. It’s a silly thing really, but he couldn’t help but to stop and stare at any dandelions he passed. He isn’t sure where he heard the stories, but he’d seen enough children make wishes on them to know how it goes. (Though, the kids often had strange wishes, full of robots or odd creatures. None of them were out here dreaming about romance, he’s sure.)

The winter melts away, and spring blooms in its place. Freed goes out more, hoping love will bloom within the flowers, hoping that the rain won’t drown out his wishes. He visits his friends more, even if Evergreen continues to tease him for struggling to find someone.

“Uuuugh,” Ever groans, laying across the table they sit at, “I have a dumb family event coming up, and I have to bring a partner. Obviously, I can drag along my friends, but - a partner?” She sits up fast, fixing her hair. “Do I invite Elfman?”

“Uh-” Freed stammers, thinking over the question, even though he doesn’t see the exact problem. “Yes?” He asks, uncertain, but Ever seems content with his answer. “Anyways, what about Bixlow?”

“Ah, he’s bringing a friend here. Wants him to join, I guess? They’ll be here…” She pauses, checking her phone. “...soon.” She settles on, and Freed quickly guesses they’re late. It’s not unusual for Bixlow to get lost or forget where they’re meeting, especially if he’s bringing someone along.

The two arrive in another minute, bringing along a bag and some drinks for the group - Freed doesn’t check to see what exactly they’re holding, too distracted by the man standing behind Bixlow. He’s tall. He has short blond hair, and a strange scar going over his face that resembles a lightning bolt. Bixlow introduces the man as Laxus, and the name immediately sticks in Freed’s head. Laxus. He’s kind of… pretty?

“Bixlow. New friend. You’re both invited to the party, of course.” Evergreen nods, adjusting her glasses, “You all have suits? Know how to dance?” She asks, squinting up at Laxus as he nods.

“Ever.” Freed sighs, putting his head in his hands, “I can’t dance.”

“Mhm, remember when Erza tried teachin him? Just spun him in circles!” Bix laughs at the memory, ignoring Freed’s flushed expression.

“Hm,” Laxus clears his throat, setting the bag of food down onto the table. “I could… teach you? I’m not an amazing teacher, but…” He frowns and scratches the back of his neck, avoiding the trio's stares. Freed blinks, wide-eyed, silent for a minute.

“Please do, or else he will step all over my feet.” Evergreen huffs, curiously looking through the bag. “That’s fine, yea? Freed?” She pulls out a muffin and looks back at the green-haired man, raising an eyebrow at him. Freed quickly looks away from Laxus and nods, thankful someone might be patient enough to teach him.

.

They meet again the next weekend, just the two of them, giving proper introductions and getting to know each other while sharing muffins and coffee. Evergreen was apparently easy to convince, and Laxus now knew Freed’s entire order at the group's favorite cafe - Freed wasn’t complaining though.

“So, you three have been friends for a long time then…” Laxus smiles fondly, and the expression surprises Freed. “It’s not weird with me here now, yea?”

Freed quickly shakes his head, eyes wide. “Not at all!” He grins, setting his iced coffee down, “You’re more than welcome to join us. Plus, if you can handle Bixlow, you can handle Ever.” The two laugh, falling into more conversation easily.

It’s not for another week that Laxus meets Freed at the park to practice dancing, finding him relaxing underneath a tree, eyes shut. He assumes Freed’s asleep at first and sits nearby, enjoying the bright sun. It is a nice enough day for this, only a few big clouds out.

“Really pretty, right?” Freed asks, watching Laxus. “It’s been raining for a while now. I'm glad it stopped for today." Laxus turns toward him, and their eyes meet. There's an expression Freed can't read, but it's quickly replaced with a nervous smile.

"Well, let's dance?" Laxus pushes himself to stand, brushing any dirt off of his pants. "If you're ready to, anyways. Just, watch my feet." He jokes, pulling Freed to stand also, and - Freed has to remind himself to breathe for a minute, not expecting Laxus to be so strong. They stand together, Laxus placing one hand on Freed's shoulder, the other sliding down to hold his hip, and Freed thinks he's really going to die now. There's no way he'll survive this dance.

They practice easy steps at first; forward, right, back, left, repeat. Spin slowly, watching where they’re moving, trying to avoid stepping on each others feet. It becomes easier over time, the stepping, the spinning. Time melts into quick steps and easy laughter, uncaring even when the clouds grow darker.

Thunder crackles, and the rain falls quick. Freed stumbles, falls into Laxus, and there's strong arms holding onto him. His face flushes a deep red, but he makes no move to pull away.

"Do you wanna go to this event... together?" He asks, craning his head to look up at Laxus. The other hums, smiles down at him, and nods. Spring love blossoms with a dance.

Maybe dandelions work after all?

[missdreamshade]

Predator and Prey

Pairing: Psychopath!Jimin x Reader

Genre: yandere au + serial killer au

Summary: You and your friends decide to go on a camping trip that quickly takes a twisted and deadly turn.

Warnings: Yandere content, mentions of blood, murder, kidnapping, graphic violence, strong language, overall dark themes, please read at your own risk

“Stop being so loud, Chan. You might attract a bear,” you friend, Gia, scolded, smacking the boy next to her with a stick.

“Ow! Geez, okay,” he muttered, standing up from his spot around the fire, “I’m going to go take a leak anyway.”

“Classy,” you piped up, watching happily as your marshmallow slowly turned golden brown over the open flames.

Chan rolled his eyes, turning around and walked away, disappearing amongst the surrounding bushes.

“Gosh, he’s so annoying.”

A small giggle escaped past your lips as you pulled your marshmallow off the stick, “At least he’s entertaining.”

A scoff erupted from her chest while she grabbed herself out some chocolate.

“Who cares,” your other friend, Hyunjin, spoke up, “Just ignore him if he bothers the spoiled princess oh-so much.”

A piece of chocolate went flying across the campfire, ricocheting itself off Hyunjin’s forehead. Almost immediately, the two began bickering back and forth, throwing insults and snide comments each other’s way. Many minutes passed while you sat back silently observing, until a pit of worry started to grow in your stomach. You almost forgot, but nearly ten minutes had passed and Chan still wasn’t back yet.

“Guys,” you hesitantly interrupted, “Do you think we should go find Chan? He’s been gone a long time.”

The two glanced your way, confusion written on their features.

“He’s fine. He’s probably just goofing around,” Hyunjin replied.

“Or he’s lost,” Gia offered, her voice hopeful.

Hyunjin sent her a glare before the sound of a twig snapping caught everyone’s attention. A figure was slowly emerging from the bushes.

“Hey, man,” Hyunjin called out, “Good thing you’re back. Y/n was starting to get worried.”

When the figure finally came into view, Gia let out a horrified gasp. The man wasn’t Chan. In fact, you had no idea who he was. He stood in silence, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Although, it was hard to notice, his hands were fully covered in blood.

“Hey, who the fuck are you? And where’s our friend?”

Hyunjin began hollering out at the intruder, standing up from his seat and taking a couple steps in his direction. The man still didn’t speak. He only cocked his head to the side, his eyes scanning your friends. Suddenly, his gaze shifted to you. A small smirk tugged on his lips. His tongue darted out, running along his bottom lip while staring intently into your eyes.

You felt weak under his stare, almost vulnerable. Whoever this man was, he radiated danger. Your eyes trailed down his body, causing a slight gasp to leave your lips the second you noticed the crimson metallic blade clutched tightly in the stranger’s grip.

“Hey,” Hyunjin shouted again, “Are you listening to me, you fucking creep?”

“S-Stop it, Hyunjin,” you stuttered out, but it was too late.

The man had already lunged himself at your friend, tackling him down to the ground. The knife was then raised over the stranger’s head and plunged deep down into Hyunjin’s chest.

A solid grip formed around your hand as Gia pulled you off the wood log. While dragging you behind her, she dashed off into the woods which circled your campsite. Panic, terror, nausea, and guilt. All those emotions swirled themselves inside your chest.

You struggled to keep up with Gia’s fast pace, especially while dodging various branches, bushes, and trees.

“Gia, stop. Stop!” you yelled out.

She reluctantly listened, stopping all her movements, and whipped around to face you.

“What? What the hell is it?”

“Wh-What about Hyunjin? We can’t just leave him—”

You felt stupid saying for it, but the idea of abandoning your friend, who may still be alive, made you feel worse.

“What about Hyunjin? Y/n, are you serious? He’s dead! Dead! And if we don’t start running, fast, we are going to end up dead too! ..”

Her hollering abruptly stopped as she jolted, her body becoming tense. You watched in fearful concern and she began wavering from side to side, then suddenly dropped face down onto the ground. The black handle of a blade sticking out proudly from her back.

“Last one standing, I see.”

Your head snapped up at the voice. Only a few feet away stood the deranged murderer. Tears began streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks. You gradually backed away, desperately trying to put some distance between you and the psychopath. He walked forward in your direction, only to stop and crouch down next to Gia’s figure.

“P-Please,” you sobbed out, watching as he pulled the knife out from your best friend’s back.

The animalistic man in front of you ignored your sad attempt for mercy, continuing to stalk up to you at an agonizingly slow pace.

Just like a predator when it finally cornered it’s prey ..

The harsh sounds of leaves crunching under his feet filled your ears. Your eyes shifted away from the weapon to actually look over his figure. Scratches, bruises, and cuts littered the visible parts of his skin. The boys must’ve fought hard to get away.

The dark denim of his jeans were torn and caked in mud. Your eyes moved to his white shirt. A crimson red colour splattered itself all around, almost like it was trying to create a sick and twisted design.

The fabric will forever be stained with the blood of your friends.

With every forward step he took, you took two backwards, that is until your back ran into the rough bark of a tree. Using it to his advantage, the man quickly closed the gap between you, stopping only when he was a mere inch away.

The man’s free hand reached out, pushing away rouge strands of hair that fell into your face. You couldn’t help but to flinch at his actions, tears still continuing to pool in the corner of your eyes. Your whole body quaked in fear.

“So innocent,” he murmured, talking more to himself than you.

You could feel the tip of his bloodstained knife make contact with your skin causing you to whimper. A sick smile tugged on his lips at the pathetic sound. He slowly dragged the blade up your thigh, only to stop when he hit the hem of your shorts. The tears threatening to fall finally gave up their bluff and fell down your cheeks.

“So delicate,” he muttered once again.

He pulled the knife away from your thigh, only to press it down against your lower abdomen, keeping you in place.

“Please,” your voice sounded weak, barely even above a whisper, “Don’t k-kill me.”

A dark chuckle escape past his lips as his free hand moved from your hair to your face, tracing his thumb across your lips.

“Kill you? Oh, baby, I’m not going to kill you.”

He leaned down, digging the knife further into your stomach, but made sure not to draw any blood. Or at least not yet. His lips made their way to your ear, lightly grazing over the soft flesh before whispering,

“I’m going to make you my new toy, beautiful. Isn’t that exciting?”

His free hand found its way to your throat, grasping onto it with a painfully tight grip. Your lungs almost immediately began burning for air. Everything in your sight became blurry, then a swarm of black dots began to consume your vision. The sickeningly sweet voice of the man in front of you echoed through your ears, sounding far off in the distance.

“You’re all mine now, babygirl .. I can’t wait to finally have some fun.”

Then your body gave out, collapsing you into the arms of a psychopath.

• • •

// Alright, I didn’t want to make myself or anyone wait for the completion of the fic, so I hammered it out! 🍄 \\

[rosepetalmark]

it was good until it wasn’t

↬ pairing: kim doyoung x reader ↬word count: 3k ↬ genre: angst, mentions of fluff ↬warnings: mentions of sex, it’s pretty sad (you may shed a tear or two i’m v sorry) ↬ synopsis: breakups suck, especially when you’re still in-love and don’t understand where you both went wrong. 

he makes it look so easy.

ignoring your texts, coming home late, barely saying a word to you when you’re together. you can’t hate him for it though, you’re the exact same.

you wonder why he doesn’t break up with you already. your relationship was basically hopeless at this point and you both know it isn’t going anywhere- it hasn’t been going anywhere for months now.

it pains you seeing him not stare at you lovingly anymore. you grew so fond of the idea of  spending hours on the phone talking about the dumbest things, staying up late watching reruns of your favourite shows, even making him do face masks with you when you wanted to do self care days. you knew he loved it of course, but he always played it off as something he detested because seeing you pout over his lack of interest in a sheet mask always made him love you ten times more.

you haven’t felt his touch in two months. it was like you were living with a ghost, the feeling of his presence ever so prominent, but the actual feeling and embracement of him completely diminished. every morning he’d wake you up by kissing both your cheeks, quiet laughter humming from his chest as he admired your sleepy presence in his quest to get you to start your day.

now you wake up to the sound of him sighing as he leaves your shared bed, his empty presence filling the quiet room, causing you to feel lonely.

never in the several years of knowing doyoung did you ever imagine that his presence would become something that no longer brought you happiness.

you’ve both drifted, but you’re still together- too stubborn to admit to yourselves and each other that this relationship has run its course, forming a cohabitation with one another rather than maintaining a loving, healthy relationship.

it’s complicated, you like to believe. trying to puzzle together when everything went wrong. but you can’t because all you remember is that one day you were both madly in love with one another and the next you acted as if you were strangers.

deep down you’re scared. you’ve spent so many years and time and effort in your relationship with doyoung that you don’t truly know what life outside of him is like.

you may not have long talks anymore or stay up late watching movies or even have sex- damn you missed the days where you both would divulge in sex multiple times a week, but gosh did you find solace in his presence.

when he’s not there in bed beside you when you wake up each morning you feel empty, like a piece of your heart has been ripped out of your body and hidden halfway across the world for you to find.

he’s all you’ve touched and laughed and connected with in years and to have that ripped away from you is beyond frightening.

he’s all you know.

you yearn for the days when you were fresh in love and could never keep your hands off each other, wanting to be in each other’s presence 24/7.  sadly the days of two twenty years olds having quickies in the backseat of a car and drunkenly singing karaoke at three in the morning on friday nights at the local bar were long gone. you’re not two college kids in love anymore, just two completely different adults who fell out of it.  

it hurts reminiscing about the way his hands would find your waist and how his chin dipped into your neck when he found you speaking with your friends at parties; the way he would sing to you when you had trouble falling asleep,  bringing you to his piano to play you whatever melody he created earlier in the day just to bring you comfort, even if it meant he was losing sleep in the process.

you especially miss his attempts at making you iced coffee in the morning. it was such a mundane act, but no matter how hard he tried and how closely he followed the instructions you gave him (not as if making iced coffee was hard anyways), he’d always make it too bitter. but you still drank it anyway, because you loved doyoung with every fibre in your being, and anything he did for you made you appreciate and fall in love with him even more. everything he did for you showed how deeply he loved and cared for you.

now you don’t get any of it. no obnoxious flirting when out in public. no beautiful nights falling asleep to his soft, angelic voice, wrapped up warmly in his tender arms. and especially no bitter, watered down iced coffee.

you’re lucky enough if he holds your hand when out in public with friends, not wanting anyone to clue in on the lack of intimacy and love that ceases to exist between the two of you.

you used to be that annoying couple who couldn’t get enough of one another, always finding ways to be in each other’s presence whenever you went out together, wanting to show the world that you were his and he was yours. now you can barely look each other in the eyes for more than five minutes without an unnecessary argument beginning to brew.

you wish you could have that all back. the routine. the peace. the love you both shared. you’re just two adults who can’t even be mature enough to break off a six year relationship because you’re both too comfortable with the thought of one another; too scared to leave what you’ve built as a couple to realize that this once great love affair has turned into something so sad and toxic, pulling you back from what you both deserve in life.

your friends have been telling you to sit down and speak to him about your feelings, his urging you both to call it quits for months now, claiming you’re making your friendship dynamic awkward, and in the end only harming yourselves. but they don’t understand what it’s like to have something so beautiful ripped from your hands without a warning, because that’s what this all felt like. as if someone swooped in and stole your bond with doyoung, when in actuality it was just the two of you growing apart-one thing you never thought would ever occur.

those four dry months eventually turned into a fifth, and that’s when you knew you had to pull the plug. you couldn’t keep living like this- wasting your life and heart and energy on a relationship that ended so long ago. it was draining the life out of you both and it was painfully evident in your faces.

the days of crying over him have long passed, making it much easier to process that you won’t ever be with him again, mentally checking out after the first two months this distance became a regular occurrence. that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt ending a love that once was your everything.

you remember so clearly the day doyoung asked you out. it was a monday after a lecture you both shared, the both of you walking alongside campus, too invested in your conversations with one another to say goodbye. you both knew you had feelings for one another, every interaction between the two of you held an abundance of smiles and rosy red cheeks.

he bit the bullet and asked if you wanted to grab dinner some time, just the two of you and away from your chaotic friend group, wanting it to be an actual date and not a group outing.

that was six years ago, and the butterflies you felt in your stomach the moment he said he wanted to date you still linger when you think back to such heartfelt innocence.

when you finally decided enough was enough and the words eventually left your mouth, he wasn’t even upset. he showed no sign of emotion, a stoic expression stuck on his tender face, only a nod of agreement following your difficult confession.

he knew he didn’t have to say anything and you didn’t expect him to. there was no fighting for something that didn’t exist anymore. doyoung may have been your boyfriend by title, but these last few months he was just doyoung. not your lover. not your best friend. just doyoung.

a stranger you know who’s smile and laugh and kisses you’ll forever have ingrained in your brain, but have not come into pure contact with for an unreasonable amount of time.

and you can’t even hate him for this breakup because he hasn’t done anything wrong. you simply grew apart, and you hate how you drug it out for so long where it got to the point where you can’t even look him into the eyes without feeling some sort of pain and resentment. the only thing you wish you could go back and change was to talk about it, because who knows, the both of you could have either resolved whatever underlying issues you had, or you would’ve been broken up by now- not stranded and confused as to where your life and relationship is going.

you never pictured you’d end up like this, assuming by the time you were in your late twenties you’d be engaged, with a dog, constantly looking at homes online for you and doyoung to one day grow your future family in. you so desperately wanted to be his forever, the one he turned to for everything. the father of your children, the greatest love of your life the entire world had to offer.

that was all in the past now.

the entire “official” breakup didn’t even hit you until doyoung was moving his stuff out of your shared apartment, little pieces of him vanishing as each minute passed.                                    

the picture of your two year anniversary is no longer on display in the living room, the frame facing the table to signal that the once happy couple in that old photograph are no longer together and madly in love.

the pastel flower magnets doyoung loved to collect and place on the fridge ceased to exist, leaving your kitchen slightly less colourful and fun as they were tossed away in one of the many random boxes he got from the hardware store earlier.

even the ugly rustic coffee table you hated but he adored- something that totally clashed with the aesthetic of the apartment but reminded doyoung of his childhood, all removed from your shared space and never to be seen in your presence again. you begged doyoung for a new one years ago but he always managed to convince you it had charm, always flashing you a wide grin in his process to win your heart over. you never thought the day would come where you’d miss seeing it in your living room.

everything was so clean and spacious. everything was gone.

it was weird seeing your once cluttered home look so different. yet despite all the space, every single memory and experience you shared with doyoung was ever present in your mind, overwhelming you all at once as no future memories between the two of you will be made.

it felt like just yesterday you both signed the lease, accidentally spilling red wine on the brand new white rug doyoung bought an hour after you got the keys, knowing you were eyeing it for months online, refusing to buy it until you officially had a place together.  you were both so excited to start your lives here. to be young and to evolve and to explore your relationship in a manner more romantic and mature than you had the last few years.

all his instruments and songbooks that were once scattered in the corner of your living room are gone, packed in their cases and in doyoung’s car, awaiting their new home once he takes his remaining items and leaves.

it hurts the most when thinking about the bedroom. you haven’t slept there since he started packing his things four days ago, not wanting to get emotional over half the room and its belongings disappearing with what felt like a snap of the fingers.

but you had to make your way in there now, because all you could hear coming from the thin white wall down the hallway were soft, hiccupped sobs- such emotion you weren’t familiar with in months.

part of you wants to let him be and pretend like you hear nothing just so he can gather his thoughts and belongings and be on his way.

but you can’t. because despite how much you tell yourself that this is for the best and you’re past everything, you’re not. there’s a huge part of you that still cares so deeply for doyoung and you wouldn’t ever wish pain on him.

quietly walking into your bedroom towards your once shared bed, you sit beside him. grabbing his hand, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, reminding you of the days you’d go on long walks, him never letting go of you because he never wanted to break physical contact.

“hi.” you whisper, not entirely sure how to spark a conversation with him. you haven’t been this vulnerable with him in what feels like forever, the last time you saw him cry was over two years ago when your relationship was seemingly at its best. he hasn’t been this upset was when he thought he lost taeyong’s dog, but it turned out that it was yuta’s day to watch him while he went to work.

“hey.” he says, his voice raspy and shaky due to the tears, his face red with anxiety.

“so we’re really doing this, huh?” you ask, your voice beginning to shake as well. seeing doyoung cry always breaks your heart, and the fact that he’s doing so after you both ended things makes you want to crawl in a hole and never leave.

this was hitting you too hard. so much harder than you could’ve ever imagined. you thought that because you both just fell apart and seemed unbothered by such a drastic change in your lives and relationship that he’d pack his things and you’d both be on with your lives. but now that you’re both separating from one another for good when all you’ve known was each other for years, it’s soul crushing.

doyoung is here in your once shared bedroom holding your hand and crying with you because you both failed to make your relationship work despite having such strong feelings for one another.

you love this man so much, yet you know there’s nothing you can do to bring you both back to the state you were once in. you’re different people now, and you can’t mold back into the two young, horny, and madly in love college sophomores anymore thinking you’re going to be together forever.

“god i hate this!” he yells in between sobs, his face getting more and more red as the tears stream down his face. and you hate this too, because you didn’t think this whole process would cause each of you to bawl your eyes out because you don’t want to leave a love and comfort you’ve both outgrown.

you wiped his tears with your fingers, caressing his cheeks to reassure him that none of this is his fault. you needed to be strong for him and yourself, because unfortunately this is life and even the shittiest things happen to good people.

falling out of love unfortunately falls into that category.

he places a kiss on your forehead and wraps his arms tightly around your frame as a final goodbye, embracing all of you within these last few moments as a reminder of how much love and respect he has for you.

“so this is it.” he whispers softly, slowly getting up from the bed and untangling himself from his previous hold on you, acting as if his emotional outburst didn’t even happen, composing himself to make this already hard process the slightest bit easier.

matching his actions, you get up as well and follow him out of the bedroom, glancing back at your half empty room and feeling your heart shatter.

no more stealing his sweaters when you’re cold and want to be comfy. no more late nights of talking or making love. no more doyoung.

“this is it.” you whisper back, not having much to say, the tightness in your chest growing further as you continue to relish in such heartbreak together. you were each other’s first serious loves, and not having that constant in your lives will be such a heart wrenching adjustment.

“i love you, doyoung.” you say, needing to remind him that there will always be a part of him in your heart and that you’re sorry things ended this way.

“i know, love. i’ll always love you. i’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“i’d like that.” you nod, the emotions filling up your chest, suddenly making it hard to breathe knowing this is all happening now. “be safe getting to your apartment.”

“always.” he winked, tears evident in his eyes as he began to turn his body away from yours and towards the final box beside the front door, turning the knob and leaving for good- gone from the love and home you’ve both invested so much time and warmth into.

you’ve spent so much of your life with this man, planned so much and anticipated such a beautiful future just for it to end and for you both not to know how to fix the broken pieces you left each other in.

maybe someday in the future you and doyoung will get back together and plan that beautiful wedding and have those three beautiful kids in a big house with a pool and a baby french bulldog.

but as for now you are letting go.

[sweetiejunie]

Jealous

Summary: You get jealous that he was ‘flirting’ with another idol

Genre: fluff, smut «dont read if you dislike this, you have been warned»

Yeonjun x reader

—.*•—

💕request by anon: Hi! May I request jealous sex with Yeonjun? In which case the reader get's jealous of another idol being too close with Yeonjun?

A/n: havent wrote a smut in a while, hope you liked this!

======================================

You were ignoring him. Was it petty? Yes. Was it necessary? Well, to you it was. Did he deserve it? That was debatable, but to you it was a hell yeah he did.

So, what exactly did he do that made you this mad? Some may say it was harmless. Some may say you were overreacting. But he was flirting with another girl! Right in front of you! Another idol to be exact.

Okay sure, technically the both of you weren’t in a relationship. And yes, he had free will do what he wanted. The relationship between the two of you could have been described as... complicated. It was painfully obvious that the two of you liked each other. I mean, every-time you passed each other, yeonjun would either blow you a kiss or wink at you playfully. And you loved to tease him every now and then. Throwing him random complements that added to his — already— overinflated ego and then breaking it down again and vice versa. It was all in good fun, of course. And he knew that. It was just how your dynamic worked with him. It had been months since it first started, and you practically already acted like a couple, with all the hand holding, kissing and things that were better left to the imagination. You just never made it official, but everyone who knew you, knew the both of you were off limits.

Long story short, that’s how yeonjun ended up in you apartment. You hadn’t expected him to show up so soon. You left shortly after you witnessed the whole... ordeal... take place. You had just taken a shower, wrapping yourself in your thin silk robe when your door bell rang. And here he was.

“Come on y/n, I’ve already apologised.” He tried for what was most likely the tenth time.

You didn’t budge. Frankly speaking, you’ve already forgiven him, maybe after his second apology or so. But seeing his attempts to gain your forgiveness was just too cute to pass on. You were sure he had figured that out by now and was simply playing alone.

“Y/n, please? I’m sorry.” He pouted this time, trying to catch you glance. Giving you puppy dog eyes the entire time. “I was just kidding. You know i would never hit on anyone other than you.”

You didn’t reply, trying your hardest not to let a smile break your, slowly but surely, shattering demeanour .

“Y/nnnnn,” he whined again, poking your cheek. “I swear i was just having a conversation.”

Gosh, why did this boy had to be so darn cute all the time.

You let giggled escape this time. By the time you caught yourself, he’d already noticed. And he took that opportunity to hook an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. Sealing your back against his chest.

Something pulled at his lips, “i really am sorry.” A short pause before he continued. “Were you really that jealous?” You weren’t even facing him, but you hear the smug grin that was plastered on his face.

His question caught you off guard. “I- I was not jealous.” Never have you wanted to crawl under the table as much as you did in this moment.

Interest sparked in his eyes. “Is that so?” His hands rubbing gentle circles against your sides. “My mistake, then. But i have to admit,” he leaned in closer to your ear to whisper, “that knowledge actually made me extremely turned on.”

Your cheeks coloured at his confession. How were you supposed to reply to that?

“Baby... let me make it up to you,” he murmured.

He placed his hand on your shoulders, spinning you to face him as he leaned towards you. His lips were soft yet unrelentingly firm. Wasting no time to make your thoughts go blurry with nothing but the idea of him. He let his hand slide down your thighs, over the robe you wore. Lifting you to your toes then hire, he wrapped your legs around his waist. The lower half of the robe parted as the upper half rolled of your shoulders.

Yeonjun’s growing hardness pressed into you, and your body answered on its own accord, moving against him, dragging a grunt out from him. You weren’t sure if it was his hand kneading at your rear, feeling of him between your thighs or the intensity of the kiss that drove you closer to the edge. Perhaps it was a combination of everything. Everything about this man drove you insane.

“Bedroom?” His chest rising heavily against yours.

You nodded and his lips were back on yours as he walked you both to your room. Not having to look where he was going, he knew your entire apartment by muscle memory.

After several moments, one of his arms folded over your waist, his other in your hair as he lowered you onto the bed. The back of head rested on your pillows as his hand eased from underneath you. You opened your eyes when you felt the bed dip with his weight. His hands on either side of your head as he hovered over you.

Noticing that the robe had now slipped even further, you wanted to cover yourself. But you didn’t move. The swells of your breasts were now visible, and an entire leg was out, all the way to you hip. You simply shifted your gaze to his.

Neither of you spoke as his chests rose and fell, his breathing as uneven as yours. His lips parted, but no words came out. His muscles rigid as he held him up before he ducked his to neck. Kissing a trail along your jaw, down to your collar bones. Your breath hitched as you burned more.

“Y/n...” there was an abundance of need in that one word, your name. “Let me make it up to you the only way i know how.”

His hand drifted over you stomach, where your skin had been exposed. You could barely breathe or think as his lips brushed against the neckline of the robe. You felt the warm glide of his tongue through the fabric. You gasped, shocked by the act and rush that it brought you. His gaze lifted to you as his mouth closed over the tip of your breast. He sucked deep and long, and your gasp quickly turned into a cry. You felt his hand move closer to where you needed him the most, pressing down against your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you sighed.

“Mmm.” His lips shifted back to your neck. “You like that, baby?”

There was no point replying. He already knew the answer, and he did it again, causing you to whimper more.

“You’re very wet, y/n.” He breathed against your jaw. “I like that.” A pause. “I also like how you react to my touch.”

Without another word, yeonjun turned you to the side, away from him. Confused, you looked back to him as he stretched out behind you. He rested on his elbow and met your eyes.

“I’ll take care of you,” he hummed, pulling you into the cradle of his hip.

Your robe had slipped and now there was nothing but the jeans he wore between your bare rear and the hard length of him. You bit your lip as he trailed down you side and lifted your leg, sliding one of his between. His hand drew along your body before meeting with your wetness. His touch remaining light, almost featherlike, as he slid a finger across your center, causing your entire body to twitch. He continued this motion for what felt like eternity, and then he sank that finger in. You kicked your head back against his chest, letting out a breathy moan.

“You’re the only one for me,” he grunted. “You know that.” He pulled his finger almost completely out of you before inching it back in again.

You couldn’t respond as fire sparked inside of you with each thrust of his finger. He angled his hand so that his thumb could brush against your sensitive nerves. Each motion taking more breathe out of you. His worked his other arm around you, and across your chest. Palming and squeezing your breast as he worked in a second finger.

“Yeonjun.” You managed, your hips still moving.

And you could tell he was loosing his composure when he replied. “Ah fuck.” He sucked in a breath. “Just ride my fingers.”

You cried out, rubbing harder against his hand, against him. His breaths hitched in his throat as you did this. Looking back, you saw him watching hand, watching you grind and clench around them. Right then, you couldn’t even remember what you had been jealous about. Was it some bitch? Well, she wasn’t the one here with yeonjun now. Your stomach tightened as you continued to ride his fingers, riding his length that pressed against you behind.

He started to move so there was space between your bodies. Instead, you reached for his hip, nails digging into his skin as a silent demand.

And yeonjun obeyed.

He stilled, cursing as his plunged his fingers faster, rubbing your clit harder. You rocked against him, the feeling in your lower stomach becoming too much. With a final thrust, you moaned out when you came. You shuddered around his fingers and he shuddered against you, still moving his digits, exploiting every sensation from you until you went limb in his arms.

You stayed there, both your breathing slowly steadying. He eased out of you and you turned your head to face him. You expected to see that cocky grin of his. But you caught the red hue that tinted his cheeks instead. And slowly you became aware of the dampness at your lower back. You eyes widened when you realised.

“Sorry,” a sheepish smirk appearing, pulling your robe back to its original state. “Only you could do this to me.”

Now it was your turn for your lips to twitch. “I guess i should get jealous more often, huh?”

“So you were jealous~” he sang.

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

======================================

What was this 😀 i think ive been reading too much

[sunjaesol]

THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

[lemon-boy-stan]

SINGULARITY

summary: a millennium ago, your heart was broken by the only boy who loved you. a forever later, his heart was broken by the only girl he ever loved. genre: angst, vampire and witch!au (y/n is a witch). warnings: none, heartbreak. a/n: listen to/loop ‘singularity’ while reading.

The old birch door swung open with a creak, the rusted sign clattering in the eerie wind. You sighed. This place was old, and there might not be any Wi-Fi here. But it was your only shot at getting a good night’s sleep without the possibility of  being murdered or robbed.

The empty road was dangerous at night and you were almost out of fuel, deserted in the middle of nowhere, miles away from Seoul. It was spooky so quiet. 

There was a soft ring as the door shut and a different kind of ambience filled the velveteen walls with a ghostly light and you felt at home. A pale woman with a hunched back and greying hair appeared at the front desk - which was also birch. Birch and rusting. Like the wood was so old it rusted like metal. 

A cold breeze blew and the lady frowned, raising up her tortoiseshell glasses to her face. “We haven’t had any visitors for a long time... especially since... gosh, it’s been a while. He’ll be very happy, yes, you do look quite like her. Perhaps... perhaps the time has come... a millennium, she said... perhaps it is now time for me to rest... if only...” she appeared to be talking to herself.

You took a step back. You didn’t like this place as much as you originally did. It wasn’t as fancy, more scary. It didn’t help that the woman was really, really creepy, either. 

Despite your discomfort, the lady smiled, clearing her throat, the attention of her gazed eyes turning to you. “But of course, it’s far too dangerous for you to stay outside! Especially not at night...” she shivered, like she’d been reading your earlier thoughts. 

“Follow me, dear, there’s a room down the hall. Unfortunately, you will have to share, as the other six have been occupied for quite a long time, if I do say so myself...” she chuckled at her own joke, though you didn’t really understand it. The place looked kind of empty. “We can move your things inside once you’ve settled in.”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted her quickly, “thank you, but I’ll just be staying overnight.” you might not even stay the whole night. You’d probably find a way to sneak out later without offending the old woman, she looked lonely.

The lady chuckled sadly, “that’s what they all say, isn’t it? He always lures them here, looking for her. Poor man. Feasts on all those pretty girls. In and never out, just like clockwork. Leaves the rest for his hyungs. You’re different, though. Perhaps there is something about you, he might like, hmm? I wish you farewell and good luck, dear, this is your stop. I hope you enjoy reading.” with a tilt of her hand she waved, and then she was gone.

The door swung open by itself, whistling in the air. It was pretty spooky, and it wasn’t even Halloween yet, it was May, but the interior designers obviously didn’t think so. 

The Victorian walls were laced with black swirls that looked like cobwebs. The mirror on said wall was round and coloured an ominous black shade. The bed was black and ghastly, with black and red sheets. Above it hung a black clock that seemed to be broken. 

You checked yours, and it appeared to have stopped as well. You clicked your phone but the screen remained dark. You began to back out of the room, instincts shouting danger. The door slammed shut. The candles, scattered all over the room in black mantles, flickered, their flames swaying in the breeze as a lump formed in your throat. Whoever was here was trying to scare you, and it was working.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” a thick, chocolatey, hollow voice oozed out with warmth, making you jump. The voice chuckled at your surprise obnoxiously. You turned to the corner of the room, where a man with dark hair, pale skin and a ruffled white collar sat at a writing desk, returning his fountain pen to the pot of ink. 

The beautiful man smiled, getting up. “Chaewong really outdid herself this time...” he murmured the words quietly, taking a step forwards, approaching you carefully. “What a brilliant witch she is, hmm?” the woman at the front desk was a witch? Now, that didn’t make any sense. 

“Am I high?” you didn’t mean to say. The man glared at you and you were afraid you’d offended him but thankfully, he sighed, uncrossing his arms. 

“Your generation... you’re all so naïve.” he scoffed at his own words, prancing around you like a predator stalking his prey; as if he were some kind of higher power. You frowned. What did he mean, ‘your generation’? You were the same age as he was, if not a few months younger. Anyone could tell. 

“Look,” you went with your guts. “I get that this is a joke. So, you got your eomma into it somehow, and got a bit of technology for it, too. I gotta say, great job on the set. But this is getting really creepy, and I just really need a place to stay. I don’t mind sharing a room with you, but if you don’t mind just backing off for a bit -” 

Your own eomma had always said you were bad at choosing words of speech. The man growled before huffing and uncrossing his arms again. “You always were the same, weren’t you? Stubborn. Forgetful. Ignorant.” he laughed at forgetful and you clenched your fists; you really didn’t like this guy’s vibe.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m going to call the police. You’re going to jail for harassment. See here? I’m going to call the police on you.” you wove your phone around even though you’d been having trouble turning it on. 

The man sighed sadly, “that won’t work.” he hung his head low, sniffing. The voice that dripped confidence now dripped misery. “I’m sorry, Y/N... I learnt my lesson. I really did. I love you forever. I didn’t mean to court her. I only ever wanted you; only you.”

“How do you know who I am?” these serial killers were dangerous on a whole new level. The black-haired man sighed, pushing back his dark locks. “Magic doesn’t stop time,” he murmured sadly, “but love does.” He stepped closer, hoping, praying, that you recognised those words. All you recognised, however, was that you needed to get out of here, and fast.

“Magic always came with a price,” the man continued on, “but you won’t remember that.” you felt sorry for him, perhaps he had a bad case of amnesia. “You’re the one under a memeory spell! Your own, if I do recall.” could everyone here read your thoughts? “Yes,” he crossed his arms, “yes, we can.”

“‘We’?” you thought out loud. The tall man grumbled loudly. “You used to know them. And it’s your fault you forgot them. They are members of our kingdom’s court.” now he was talking nonsense. “I am not talking nonsense,” he retorted, “merely the truth. You knew them, once, and you left them. But nevermind that. You’re here now, and right now all that really matters, is us. You and I, together again.” 

He advanced, and before you could object, hooked an arm around your waist, and placed a kiss on your lips. You gasped, but not from the kiss.  A white light flashed through your mind at an instant; a thousand memories tumbling into you all at once, pouring the heart back into your soul.

The boys at the palace were brats. They had you set the table only for them to mess it up again. They would send you to fetch things, only for them to tell you to return them shortly after. You went to school, hoping to make friends, only for them to have spread a rumor about you weeks before.

They did get better throughout the years, though, and began treating you as an equal. As their friend. And you didn’t mind, being the only girl in a group of eight. You liked it. 

But you liked one of them in particular, more than the rest. He was kind, quiet, beautiful, and he felt absolutely heavenly. His soft voice always sung you to sleep. His warm heart always comforted your broken one. He was the closest that you’d ever been to someone. He was -

“Kim Taehyung.” you spoke into the breath, gasping out the tears. You felt like someone had torn you open, pulled out your heart, thrown it away for years, only for you to find it again. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “I didn’t mean to. She. I was helpless, she...” only to find it broken again. “Please, please forgive me.” the words stung. “You let her,” your voice broke, “you let her make you a monster.” Taehyung flinched at your words.

“She made me,” he insisted, still holding you tight. “She made me. I couldn’t let her get to you, I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her turn you into...” he choked again, “into what I am.” 

Suddenly cold, you turned around, back facing him, taking a step forwards. “No!” his voice towered through the walls. Chairs and tables worked together to form a barrier that trapped you in with him. “Please,” his thick voice was shaky, “please let me love you.”

A single tear bit your cheek on its way down. That was as much as you would allow yourself over this man. He’d broken your heart one too many times. “I’m sorry, Taehyung,” you shook your head, shaking silently with tears. “But I love you too much.” 

He moaned with such misery that you wanted to break down and cry on him, just like you used to all those years ago. “At least break the curse,” he pleaded, “none of those girls are anything compared to you.” your heart screamed at you. Your lip trembled, “it’s already broken.” you knew he was frowning, “true love’s kiss.”

BTS MASTERLIST // TXT MASTERLIST

[fumingspice]

andante

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Prompt: oK so how about like?? Delia x reader and they're both in love af but they think the other has no feelings for them so they're both tripping over themselves to make the other love them and then madison comes in and she's just like 'stop being dumb' and they finally realise how much the other loves them.

I’m sorry but my ed crept back in and im not horny enough to put more thought into writing so just ignore the massive time skip at “---”. enjoy, you strange people xo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*(*❦ω❦)*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of the fall. And it goes back to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble...

Between Cordelia Goode's ears were pretty brown eyes and a mind full of thoughts. Brown eyes were never really your favourite until you saw them on her. You knew yourself that somehow, over the years you got to know Cordelia; working with her, befriending her, carrying her home from the bar one night when she got far too drunk, letting her cry into your shoulder when her job became too real and she could feel her mother's words hanging over her head.

When you started falling for the woman with those beautiful brown eyes.

Somehow, her eyes were now your favourite colour.

Not brown- brown wasn't simply the word for the colour. Cordelia's eyes were the colour of aged whiskey. Sometimes they were the only two safe shots of tequila that you could see. Sometimes they were a beautiful milk chocolate dotted with exposed honeycomb. Once when she had asked you to help her decorate the garden for the Summer Equinox- she had given Zoe enough money to take the girls on a field trip for the day so she could give the girls a little party. You stood watching her in her denim shorts and her white button up. When she had stepped back and put her arm around you to admire both of your handy work you could have sworn her eyes were glowing like fresh magma.

Her hand lay on your waist a split second too long.

You had fallen in love with the Supreme.

"Yo, bitch!" Madison Montgomery's usual entrance phrase disturbed you from your imagination. You raised your brow and smirked.

"Yes, Madison?"

The blonde took her sunglasses off her face and closed them with a slight snap. "The girls want to know if you wanna come to play Pysch! with us," she said. Her lips were curled in what could almost be described as a friendly smile. You were one of the few honoured to know that under Madison's bitchy white girl facade there was actually a very sweet someone lurking under there.

You thought for a moment and put your pen down. "I won't be long- I just have to log these last few names and I'll be there," you tell her. Madison rolled her eyes and waved her hand, the pen lifted itself and wrote the last thirteen names within seconds. "You're done. Let's go, Y/N."

Madison didn't even give you a minute to say anything before she walked out of the room. "Come on, bitch. Don't make me use my powers!" she called from the hallway, finally motivating you to move.

The girls sat in a circle in Zoe's bedroom. Lights off. Candles lit.

Zoe, Queenie, Mallory, and Coco were indulged in their phones for the game. Madison turned to you and held up her phone to show you the question. "What is Zoe's deepest, darkest secret?" she read. "You gotta answer it and the person with the most votes wins. It lasts for ten rounds and it can be fucking hilarious."

Zoe's face was red with laughter at the answers. "She's not actually a witch- that's not even funny," she gasped through cackles. She then sobered slightly. "She likes to watch Danny Devito movies while masturbating and screaming 'I am a dirty man'."

Madison was the only one who chortled at that.

You joined the game and got your best answers ready in your head. "If Madison got arrested tomorrow what would it be for?"

Madison rolled her eyes and muttered something about knowing exactly what everyone was about to answer. You smirked slightly, sensing her slight apprehension.

Prostitution.

Murder. Third-degree.

Fucking up the brakes on a bus full of frat boys.

Public Nudity.

"Gosh, you're so original," she muttered, glaring right at Zoe, who just shrugged.

"It's the rules of the game, bitch. Go all in, don't get offended," she replied.

The game pinged for the next question.

"What is on Y/N's mind right now?"

Coco gave a loud "Ha!" and typed quickly, along with the other girls who were all typing as quickly as possible to get their answers in first.

A quiet knock came from the other side of the door and Cordelia poked her head around. "Sorry to interrupt, girls. Y/N, could I borrow you for a moment?" she asked, voice sweet and angelic. You bounced up as soon as she finished the sentence and obliged straight away. You were met with a sweet smile.

Madison flicked her brows. "Speak of the devil," she muttered, winking at Delia's slightly confused face. As you left, your phone pinged to announce the results just before you left the game.

Cordelia 🥵🥵🥵

Delia. I ship it <3

Getting knuckle deep finger fucked by the HWIC

French fries

You quickly shut off your phone screen before Cordelia could see.

"What's the matter, Delia?" You asked, practically skipping alongside her. There was a vibrant air of satisfaction between you.

Cordelia shook her head, her blonde hair bobbing with her movements. “I just wanted to know if you’d like to go out.”

You felt your heart stop. “Go out?”

Cordelia looked hurt by the confusion on your face.

“Yes. Would you like to join me in the garden?”

“Oh,” you realised, slightly disappointed. “I would love to.”

---

"For the love of Hades. Right, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything because I have some understanding that lesbians are fucking useless because of the fear of appearing to be predatory because the media is an asshole,” Madison continued. “But I don’t really think any of us can eat at this table anymore without choking on the fucking sexual tension between the both of you.”

Cordelia looked shocked. “It’s not that-”

“I’m a fucking mindreader! You do get that I can fucking hear the things that you say in your head about what you want to do to Y/N? I’m one gutter minded bitch and not even I’m creative enough to come up with that shit while I’m eating my fucking apple turnover!”

You blushed hard and chuckled.

Madison’s neck snapped towards you. “Oh, and don’t getting me fucking started on you! Do you know how fucking unsanitary it would be to carry out your little fantasies of fucking Cordy on the kitchen counter? Not even for us but the amount of fucking crumbs that would work into your nooks and crannies would be like trying to spring clean Myrtle's fucking hair! "

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cordelia chuckled nervously. Her face turning a shade of red. “I’m sure Y/N’s got plenty of better options.”

Madison dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. “God, you bitches are going to put fucking years on my skin.”

“Oh, give me a break, Madison.”

Cordelia stumbled foward slightly, having been tripped up by some unseeable force and sending her tumbling into you. Her hands lay against your chest for that split second too long once more.

Your lips parted for a moment and your breath hitched as you both watched Madison smirk and leave the room. It felt like your heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour. You surroundings were unnoticable to you now; replaced by unidentifiable whirls of colour and light. Your hand rested flat on Cordelia’s cheek. It was different this time. Not the spark, that had been there every time you touched. It was the fact that you were both too slow to ignore the ignition that started in your chests. 

You saw her eyebrows falter from their previously confident expression, like all of her preparation and barriers and walls had fallen down and she was too slow to replace them. Cordelia pursed her lips, presumably trying to figure out what she should say to you. Again, she was too slow as you inhaled sharply and thrust yourself forward to catch her lips.

Delia was quick to mould herself to the curves of your front, hands falling to the small of your back on a collision course as she backed you into the dining room table. You smoothed your hands over the contours of her jaw, her collar bones, breasts, hips like you were a master pianist playing a brilliant concerto. Her body was the only instrument you longed to play; her moans the only melody that you longed to draw from her.

As her lips glided across your own, everything came together like pieces into place. You thought back one of those late nights in the kitchen. The way Delia’s fingers had so enthusiastically laced through yours during the late night in the kitchen when you had both stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking about life. How the witch had turned the radio on and taken your hand while you danced to some song by REO Speedwagon. Twirling you through the night. “Can’t fight this feeling” was the song. Ironic, now that you thought about it. It seemed as though fighting her feelings was what she had been doing the entire time.

She twirled you around in the light of the dim television and the refrigerator when the songs were upbeat, even going as far as dipping you and pulling you up again. Bare thighs against your own in her shorts and oversized shirt. When the songs that were played were slower, she was more gentle. Until eventually you swayed in a slow two-step, your head against her chest, and hers against yours. The air was thick with something pure. Something untouched. 

You had no idea why you ever just thought this was something two best friends did. More so, you had no idea why you didn’t lean back and dip into her lips and allow your souls to dance the waltz that they were so clearly destined for. 

Cordelia’s thumb and finger lay on either side of your jaw as she continued to kiss you as if her soul depended on it. Her fingers interlocked with yours against the table.

She broke away, tears had fallen down her cheeks and made your heart melt. “Oh-ho,” you chuckled, mouth agape at her sight. “Why the tears, my love?”

Cordelia laughed, wiping away her tears. “I’ve longed to do that for so long,” she replied. “So, so long.”

You chuckled at her sweetness and the display of pure love that you were so unaccustomed to.

“I fell in love with you, Y/N. I don’t think I will ever stop falling in love with you. You’ve created this storm of beautiful chaos in me,” she continued. “Do you remember that night where I was really sleepy, so you let me just stay in your room? How I had fallen asleep on top of you by accident and you wrapped your arms around me and hummed a lullaby?”

You nodded, remember the feeling of waking up with the Supreme in your arms.

“I was wide awake,” she told you. A delicate smile arose.

You chuckled into her touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you replied, drawing her closer, her blonde hair twirled in your fingers. “I know you were.”

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[possiamo-andare]

Just You (1)

JJ x Reader x Rafe (love triangle)

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.1k

summary: A new girl moves to OBX and a love triangle ensues. Your usual yearning, fluff writing :)

a/n: gosh, it has been too long. university has me swamped but since it’s the holiday break, i will try and update as much as i can. as of rn my other fic, sweeter, is on hold, while i try to write more and get back into the groove of things :) love y’all <3 

~

Many people do not care to know the difference between new and old money. To the working class, new and old money were relatively the same. To some extent, that was true. People that had either new or old money were rich nonetheless but when you grew up rich like Rafe Cameron did, the difference was all that mattered.

The main difference was how the money was procured. Old money was passed down. No one from old money had to work since they were born rich. Their manners were taught at a young age. New money meant that they had worked for what they had. At some point, they were not rich and now they were. They were not as defined and they had to be taught, at an older age, how to act. Rafe’s mother used to say you could see who was from old and new money from their ties. If it was a man, their ties would be neutral colours, nothing flashy. People from new money usually had something to prove and so they would buy extravagant things. For women, it was their heels. Women from old money had small heels that were polished as well. Women from new money had tall heels and they had never learned that they should polish the heel along with the shoe.

Growing up as someone from old money, Rafe had normalized that there was a divide between the rich people in Figure 8. Of course, there was a divide between the Pogues and the Kooks but that divide was course and palpable. This divide was subdued and rarely ever spoken about. Kooks that came from old money lived on the west side of Figure 8 while the Kooks from new money resided on the east. This unspoken rule proved to be useful since the two groups of rich snobs never liked to speak to each other anyways. This rule had been in place years before Rafe was even born and he had thought it would still be there even after he died. That is, until Y/N moved in down the street.

It was at the beginning of June when she moved in. The first sign that things would end terribly was when her family pulled into the parking lot. Her mother drove a beat up blue Camaro while her father trailed behind in a black motorcycle. Most people that lived on the west side of the island didn’t have flashy cars but they were well maintained and not so loud. Everyone knew they were from new money before they even exited their cars. And when they did, it was confirmed these people had just become wealthy.

Rafe’s family, like most on the street, watched from their windows as a tall, burly man with a long black beard and sunglasses opened the truck of his wife’s car and carried two large bags in the door. His two sons, both similar in size and features, followed after him. They carried two pink suitcases inside as the man’s daughter and wife stayed outside to open their garage.

Rafe’s eyes glanced over their house. It was one of the bigger houses on the block but it looked more like a huge cottage than anything else. His mind went to the thought of hippies invading their neighbourhood. He gulped. If they were some type of laid back, motorcycling hippies, he’d go crazy for sure. He knew Sarah would love them though; she always complained about how boring their neighbourhood was. But boring meant normal and that’s what Rafe wanted.

As his mother gossiped on the phone, Rafe watched the mother and the daughter laugh together. The mother looked like a hippie. Her hair was tied up on the top of her head and it had clearly not been brushed. She wore a light green skirt that reached to her ankles which then led to the flip flops that she wore. A white t-shirt was tucked into her skirt and she had big bracelets of all different colours dangling off her wrists. The daughter’s style was similar to her mother’s. She wore pink bootcut jeans and a white crop top, black chunky platform boots pulling the look together. Her hair was different from her mothers and was let down to blow in the breeze. They all looked like polar opposites from everyone else living in Figure 8.

At first, Rafe could care less about the girl or her family across the street. Granted, he would religiously watch through the window for when she would come outside to ride her bike around the neighbourhood with her brothers, and yes, he would sometimes wait until she was outside for him to take out the trash but he didn’t like her. If anything, it was the opposite. Rafe was too good for her. At least, that’s what he led himself to believe.

The first time he spoke to her was two weeks after she moved in. His mother had told him to stay away from Y/N’s family and Rafe had done an amazing job at doing so. Unfortunately, that all stopped when he had to pick Sarah up from school. She had thrown up in the middle of one of her classes and since both his mother and father were at work, the responsibility was on Rafe to pick Sarah up and make sure she was okay. Although reluctant to go back to his old highschool, Rafe knew he’d be in trouble if he was late in picking up his sister. When he entered the school's administration office, he finally came face to face with the girl he had been watching for two weeks now. Except, her back was turned to him as she argued with the secretary.

“That’s what you call a vegetarian dish?” Y/N raised her voice, not particularly enjoying being ignored by the school administration. When she first had come to this school, she had checked off on her form that she needed vegetarian dishes for lunch. Now, everyday since she had come, they had served her horribly chopped up lettuce with vinegar.

“Miss -” Ms. Buzden said, placing her phone on hold. It was the student’s lunch break so she usually called her sister during this time but Y/N was keeping her from doing so.

“Y/N.” Y/N smiled, finally happy she had caught the woman’s attention.

Ms. Buzden rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. “Y/N, dear, if you have a problem with lunch, please take it up with the lunch ladies.”

Y/N sighed, leaning against the secretary’s desk. “I tried to, Beth, but she told me to come here. I will not be ignored.”

Rafe was almost as surprised as Ms. Buzden was when Y/N used her first name. As he stood behind Y/N, waiting for his turn to ask where Sarah was so he could sign her out, he watched in slight amusement at the fact she was nonchalantly complaining to the secretary.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you dear.” Ms. Buzden forced a smile, finally looking over Y/N’s shoulder to Rafe. “Rafe, sweetie, you’re here to sign out Sarah?”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, knowing Y/N’s eyes were on his. He felt as if an imaginary spotlight had shown on him for a solo and he had forgotten the words. His eyes glanced toward Y/N for a moment but it did not help his stage fright. Her beautiful eyes were squinting in his direction and for a moment he thought he would faint underneath her stare. His eyes quickly returned to the secretary’s and nodded quickly. In an embarrassing turn of events, Y/N spoke before Rafe did.

“Hey, I know you.” Y/N’s bracelets clang together as she lifts her hand up and points at Rafe. “You’re my neighbour. You’re always watching me through your window.”

As the secretary busies herself with printing the paperwork, Rafe busies himself by stuttering and gasping for breath at the accusation she had just posed. In an attempt to save himself from anymore embarrassment, Rafe tries and fails at coming up with a good excuse. Instead, he denies the accusation entirely.

“I do not watch you.” Rafe stubbornly blubbers out. He’s trying not to seem so embarrassed but she’s caught him so off guard that there’s nothing else he can do.

Y/N snickers, watching the poor boy stumble on every word. For someone older than her, he was not very mature. “No, you’re right. Watching would imply a causal aspect to the activity. More like you stalk me.”

This time, Rafe boiled over with anger. How dare this girl accuse him of stalking her? Rafe did not chase after any girl, no matter how attractive she was. “That’s a bit arrogant, isn’t it? To think everyone’s eyes are on you?”

Y/N continued to smile, unbothered by Rafe’s obvious rudeness. She shrugs, looking back to the secretary for a moment and grabbing her terrible vegetarian lunch before looking back to Rafe. “Not everyone’s. Just yours.”

And with that, she leaves the office. And Rafe knows he is screwed, because he just met the love of his life.

~

JJ Maybank shared almost everything with his friends. Emphasis on almost. They had always relied on him to be the funny one. To always goof around and take nothing seriously. So, when his dad first started beating after his mother left, he said nothing. He felt it was an unnecessary burden to put on the people that truly loved him. Eventually, the bruises and scars were too overwhelming to keep a secret anymore and he began to confess all his issues to his friends. But even then, as JJ tried to open up to the people he cared the most about, there was one thing he could never share.

He was scared of love.

Not just any love, but specifically romantic love. Every time he felt himself begin to develop deep feelings for anyone, he soon backpedaled and left them hanging. It was too scary to give himself to anyone. It would be a lie if he said it had nothing to do with his mother leaving. He had always believed that there was no love greater than his parents when he was growing up and when his mother left, it shattered him. Of course, he never blamed her for leaving considering how abusive his dad was but it killed JJ to know she did not want him to come with her. He had begun to believe that she didn’t think he was important to bring along. He believed that if she truly loved him, she wouldn’t leave without him. That’s what scared him the most; the fact that someone can change their mind about love so quickly.

So, JJ ran at the first sign of love. And he never shared this with anyone. Until that day.

In early June, when Y/N had first moved to OBX, there was a Start of Summer Fair. Right after classes ended on the last day of school, people in the community organized a fair for everyone who was excited for the summer to start. It was exactly two weeks after Y/N had moved in. Exactly two hours after she spoke to Rafe. Funny how the world works.

Behind the fair, there was a small lake where rarely anyone ventured. It was usually muddy and no one in their right mind would go swimming there. With that being said, JJ wanted to go swimming there. He had spent a solid hour with his friends at the fair before becoming exhausted. It wasn’t so much that his friends were exhausting him but a girl named Anna was. He had gone out with her once and had never called her back (as per usual) but she had not picked up on the hidden messages JJ had given her. Instead, she followed him around during his entire time at the fair like a little lost puppy dog. Just as she announced she was going to the bathroom, JJ had almost died from boredom. Thankfully, her going to the bathroom let JJ slip away from his friends and sneak away from Anna.

“What do you want us to tell her?” Kie asked, watching as her best friend was breaking off from the group.

JJ shrugged, not possibly being able to care less. “I don’t care. For all I care, tell her I died.” A bit harsh, yes, but that’s how JJ operated. Abandon them before they abandon you.

The idea to hide near the lake hit him as soon as he left his friends. No one went back there, not if they wanted an infection. Although slightly disgusting, if that was what he had to do to get away and have a moment of peace, he would make that sacrifice. Unfortunately, he found no peace because the second the lake came into view between two thick trees, JJ saw a girl in the water. At first, he was going to leave, maybe even shout a quick joke her way for getting in the dirty water. But when he saw what she was doing, he became curious and couldn’t help but venture forward and investigate.

Y/N, too invested in what she was currently doing, did not see JJ approaching at first. Daisies had begun to grow around the lake, which was already odd on it’s own, but some of them floated on the surface level of the lake. Y/N thought a bunch of Daisies would be a good surprise for her mother so, in an effort to be thoughtful, she emerged herself, from the waist down, into the water. She was not afraid of the muddy water staining her white dress (she had worse stains on her clothes), even excited to show her mother the lengths she went to to get the Daisies. So, with one hand, she held onto a wicker basket full of Daisies and with the other hand, she grabbed a hold of the daisies in the water.

JJ watched in complete and utter fascination as this girl who he did not recognize, fearlessly went into the lake and plucked some Daisies to put in her basket. She almost didn’t even look real. He blinked quickly to make sure she was even actually there. When he opened his eyes and she was still there, he was glad he hadn’t imagined her.

Finally, Y/N sensed a presence that was not her own. Quickly turning to her right, she made eye contact with JJ and her face softened. He was the least threatening person she’d ever seen and something about him made her heartbeat pick up.

She brushed this feeling off and instead, with a small smile on her lips, spoke confidently. “Hello stalker.”

JJ blushed, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a few steps closer to the lake. “I’m sorry. Was just wondering what you’re doing here. No one comes here.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Y/N quips backs, a playfulness in her voice.

JJ thinks he might faint. “Um, well, I’m hiding.”

Y/N giggled. “Me too actually.” She grabs more daisies and puts them in her basket. She looks back up at JJ and speaks to him again. “Who are you hiding from?”

JJ gulps. He doesn’t want to scare away this girl by telling her why he’s come back here. He knows anyone else would judge him but, as he looks at her, he can see she would never judge him. “I’m hiding from a girl.”

Y/N nods, not expressing any disgust and JJ’s heart jumps for joy. “I see. Ex-lover, I presume?”

JJ shrugs. “We only went on one date.”

“Must’ve been a terrible date.” She jokes, and JJ realizes that she’s completely stopped what she’s been doing to listen to him.

JJ shakes his head, focused on her cute round cheeks. “Not really. She was nice.”

Y/N pouts. “Then why are you hiding from her?”

JJ feels as though it is too complicated to explain. And besides, how would he start? He’s never told anyone why he truly has never had a girlfriend. But something about this girl makes him trust her completely. He knows it’s the arrogance in her eyes. “I’m scared.”

Y/N nods, as if she understands him completely and he feels as though she does. “I see. You know, when I get irrationally anxious over something like this, I play the What If game.”

JJ’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

Y/N moves through the water and closer to the edge where JJ stands. When she arrives at the water’s edge, she reaches her hand out for JJ to grasp. He hesitates first and knows it’s because he likes her so much already and this will be the first time they will touch. The first time he’ll feel her skin against his is beside this muddy lake. Eventually, he grabs her hand and helps her out of the water and he knows, the second his hand touches hers, she’s his dream girl. His hands are on fire and he feels a pit in his stomach grow as her hand grips tighter onto him. There’s a spark and he’s sure there has never been anyone else that made him feel this way.

“The What If game,” Y/N starts, placing her basket on the ground. She starts to ring out the water from her dress but continues to keep eye contact with JJ. “is really easy. Here; tell me a fear you have about falling in love but make sure it starts with ‘what if.’”

JJ thinks for a moment. There are so many and he doesn’t know where to start. Finally, he chooses his biggest fear. “What if she leaves?”

Y/N smiles. “What if she doesn’t though? But, what if she does and then you find who you’re actually supposed to be with? The game is to just rationalize every irrational fear.”

JJ nods, a small smirk growing at the corner of his lips. “You’re not one of those girls who believes every breakup brings you closer to your soulmate?”

Y/N laughs. “Yeah, I wish. I’m not your manic pixie dream girl - wait, what's your name?”

JJ extends his hand, ready to feel her skin again. “JJ Maybank. Yours?”

Y/N smiles and shakes JJ’s hand. This should be interesting, she thinks. “It’s Y/N.”

“So, Y/N,” JJ starts, her name feeling good coming from his mouth. “If you’re not my manic pixie dream girl, then what are you?”

Y/N smiles. She was right. This is definitely going to be interesting. “I’m just yours.”

~

tagging; @tovvaa​

[heyyyharry]

She Likes Girls

(a blurb from the Flatmate series)

…in which Harry's favourite cousin, who’s a lesbian, comes visit and spends a lot of time with Y/N.

Word count: 3.2k

Someone requested ANOTHER jealous flatmate Harry blurb so I decided to write it a bit different this time ;)

.

.

.

“Hi, um, does Harry live here?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, holding the door open just wide enough to show her face. The purple-haired girl she’d never met before broke into a smile and politely extended her hand. “I’m here to see him. You must be his flatmate. I’m Millie.”

“I’m Y/N.” Y/N smiled back, giving the girl’s hand a hesitant shake. She’d never seen Harry with this girl before, but the girl looked nice enough to not be a serial killer. “He’s at the library,” she told Millie. “He’ll probably be back soon. Would you like to wait inside?”

“Sure. That’d be great,” Millie said, smiling again.

Y/N pulled the door open and stepped aside for the girl to enter. Personally, Y/N would hate it when someone she’d just met would eye her up and down, but that was exactly what she was doing to Millie. She wasn’t trying to be rude. Millie was really pretty. She just didn’t look like the girls Harry would hook up with. Y/N couldn’t imagine Harry with a goth girl.

Millie placed her bag by the couch as she sat there and looked around the living room. Y/N thought of making tea for her but then she remembered that they were out of tea. She couldn't just leave Millie here and retreat to her room. So she thought she should start a conversation. She wasn’t good at conversations, but she could try.

“So how did you meet Harry?” she asked and sat down beside Millie.

“I’ve known him my whole life,” Millie said.

Y/N hadn’t expected that. “Oh...so your families are close?”

“Very.”

“Oh.”

Harry had never mentioned having a beautiful childhood best friend before. Y/N knew he didn’t have to tell her everything about himself, but why did she feel so betrayed?

Before she could come up with something else to talk about that wasn’t Harry-related, the door swung open and Harry froze in the doorway, his eyes lit up as he saw Millie.

“Mil!”

“Hazza!”

Millie launched herself out of the couch and threw her arms around Harry’s neck. Harry caught her and lifted her feet off her ground. Meanwhile, Y/N was just standing there and rubbing her hands against her jeans.

Well, this is awkward.

“I told you I’d pick you up at the airport!” Harry said, putting the girl down and cupping her face.

Millie brushed his hands off as she snorted. “Well, I got here early to surprise you.”

Watching Harry laugh and ruffle Millie’s hair, Y/N had never felt more like a third-wheel. She would go if her anxiety hadn’t glued her feet to the floor.

“How long are you staying?” Harry asked.

“A week,” Millie said.

“Yessss!” Harry punched the air, then finally noticed Y/N standing awkwardly behind Millie. He smiled and wrapped an arm around Millie’s neck, gesturing to Y/N. “Oh, I see that you’ve met Y/N.”

“Yes, she was very nice to me,” Millie said. “And you never told me that your flatmate was so pretty.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “Thank y—”

“Stop,” Harry cut her off, his smile vanished as he shot Millie a glare.

“What?” Millie looked just as confused, but something about her wide-eyed expression told Y/N that she was faking it.

Harry turned back to Y/N. “Was this one flirting with you?”

“What?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Millie always does that. She cannot help herself.”

“I learned from the best,” Millie said, smirking.

It took Y/N a second to understand. She pointed to Millie, her eyes round and her mouth wide open. “So Millie is...”

“My cousin,” Harry said.

“And a lesbian,” Mille added as she pat Harry on the shoulder. “Even if I were into boys and not his cousin, I still wouldn’t want him. I’ve got standards.”

“Hey!” cried Harry yet Millie ignored him.

“He’s jealous because I get more girls,” she said.

“Lies!” Harry hissed and told Y/N, “Don’t believe anything she tells you about me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N uttered. “I thought—”

“It’s okay,” Millie cut her off, giving her a gentle smile. “I know my cousin. He’s got quite a reputation around here. I could hear a girl crying and cursing his name the second I landed in London.”

Y/N giggled as Harry rolled his eyes. “Just don’t flirt with my flatmate while you’re here.”

“Oh, she wasn’t...flirting with me,” Y/N said.

Millie tilted her head, her green eyes narrowed as her black lips stretched to its favoured side. “You didn’t know I was flirting? Man, I must try harder next time.”

Y/N stiffened. She could feel the colour heightened in her cheeks.

“Stop teasing her. Damn it,” Harry told Millie. To Y/N, he said, “She was joking.”

“I’m sorry! Gosh, you’re blushing!” Millie cupped Y/N’s face as she burst out laughing. “You’re so cute. How can someone like you live with him?”

“I ask myself that question every day,” Y/N mumbled, feeling quite proud when Millie laughed even harder. She liked making people laugh, especially people who seemed much cooler than she was; it made her feel validated somehow.

“So where do I sleep?” Millie asked Harry, putting an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. Harry immediately plucked that arm off and pushed Millie aside to stand between them. “On the couch,” he said. “Or on the floor in my room.”

“You're such a dick,” Millie scoffed.

“You could sleep with me. We could share my bed,” Y/N said.

Both Millie and Harry whipped their heads to her but only Millie’s face brightened with a smile. “Oh, thank you, I–”

“You know what?” Harry blocked Millie with his outstretched arm before she could pull Y/N into a hug. “Take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Millie raised an eyebrow at him, a corner of her mouth quirked and she tiptoed to stroke the top of his head. “Now that’s my good baby cousin.” Then she picked up her bag, flipped her black hair over her shoulder and sauntered to Harry’s room.

Harry turned to Y/N and gave a tight smile. “You don’t mind her staying, right?”

“Of course not,” Y/N giggled. “I like her.”

Harry arched both eyebrows, looking genuinely concerned. “But not too much.”

“No, no, not like that!” Y/N shook her head fast. “She’s just really cool. And...um...cool people don’t usually like me. So…”

Harry pressed his lips into a small smile. For a second, Y/N thought he looked rather relieved. “If she annoys you with all the flirting and her bad jokes,” he said, “just tell her to stop. Don’t be nice about it.”

Y/N squinted her eyes. “So she’s the female version of you.”

“Yes. Only better,” Harry chuckled. “That’s why she’s my favourite cousin.”

.

.

.

“Remember when I said Millie was my favourite cousin?”

“Yeah, why?” Niall shouted over the music. Harry leaned against the wall. With a constipated look on his face, he watched Millie dance with Y/N from across the room.

“She’s not anymore,” he mumbled spitefully.

Niall stopped dancing and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Who’s your favourite cousin then?”

“Jared.”

“Didn’t you say Jared helped Mason drown you?”

Harry threw his arms in the air. “So I don’t have a favourite cousin! Jesus, Niall, that’s not the point. The point is–”

Niall stared as he waited for Harry to finish the sentence. “The point is what?”

Harry’s mouth was open, but he saw Millie put an arm around Y/N’s neck and kiss her cheek as they took a selfie, and he suddenly forgot what the point was.

Niall gave his shoulder a gentle push so he snapped out of it, heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’ve been having a bad week since she arrived.”

“But you were so excited to see her. You told me you’d had plans for both of you to spend time together.”

Harry lifted his shoulder and forced his attention to stay on Niall and not Millie and Y/N. “I did, but she doesn’t want to hang out with me.” Y/N didn’t either. “She’s spent every second in our flat doing girls stuff with Y/N. They’re attached at the hips now. Last night they stayed up until 3 AM to gossip. The walls are thin, you know? They’re messing up my sleep schedule.”

Niall was quiet for a moment before he said, “Do you think…”

“What?” Harry snapped.

Niall pursed his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know...Maybe...Y/N likes girls?”

“No, Niall. Y/N doesn’t like girls,” Harry said bitterly even though he’d been worried about that as well. The problem wasn’t that Y/N might be into girls. Harry didn’t care about that. It was the fact that Millie had never failed to get the girls she wanted. The only thing that Harry had that she didn’t was commitment issues. Millie’s last relationship had lasted a year.

It was bad enough that Harry had to fight off the other guys who wanted Y/N and might actually deserve her. He didn’t want to have to do that with his girl cousin!

“Y/N doesn’t like Millie like that, okay?” he repeated to Niall, frowning as he saw Millie and Y/N laughing again.

“Harry!” Layla’s voice brought him back to reality. He shot his head up to see her shouldering her way toward him and Niall. “You didn’t tell me your crush was gay! Niall, did you film him crying in the bathroom?”

Harry facepalmed himself as Niall said, “Told ya.” and gave him a shrug.

Later that night, as they walked home together from the party, Harry purposely stayed silent so that the girls would know he was mad at them. He had no right to be mad at either of them, but he felt like he should be mad if that was the only way to get their attention. Y/N was his flatmate, and Millie was his cousin. But now they were walking ahead, arms around each other and completely not noticing how upset he was. He told himself it was only because they were a bit tipsy. But he hated being left out.

“I’m going to sleep early,” he announced the second they entered the flat.

“Okay,” Y/N said.

“I’m really tired,” he added to drop a hint so she’d know he was upset.

“So am I,” she said, yawning and stretching her arms.

He was trying to think of something else to say that’d get her attention when Millie interjected, “Wanna sheet mask before bed?”

“Yes!” Y/N exclaimed. Then they hurried into Y/N’s room, leaving Harry standing there like a scarecrow in his own flat.

“I’ve got my own masks. Thanks for asking,” he muttered bitterly to himself, rolling his eyes and trudging to his room.

And so Harry decided to go to sleep early. He spent the first thirty minutes on the mattress by his bed, rolling from side to side, trying not to think about the two of them until he nodded off. When he woke up, it was three in the morning. The flat was so quiet and his bed was still empty.

Where was Millie?

He tried to listen through the wall to see if the girls were still awake, but there was no sound.

Annoyed, sleepy, and sad, he forced himself to get up and go to Y/N’s room to tell Millie that she must let Y/N sleep. When he got there, he found that the door was left open. The girls were fast asleep on the bed. And Millie was spooning Y/N.

.

.

.

“You look like shit. Didn't you sleep at all?” was the first thing Millie said to Harry as he entered the kitchen the next morning.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard it and angrily marched toward the table, when all he wanted to say was, “And you look overly happy after sleeping in the same bed with my girl.” It sounded way too petty, but he was exhausted and not in the mood to feel guilty about it.

As he buried his head in his hands, Millie placed a cup of black coffee down in front of him. He looked up and caught her grinning.

“One cup of black coffee every Monday morning,” she said.

He blinked, confused and a bit surprised. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You didn’t. Y/N did.” To his astonishment, she added, “I’ve learned more about you in the last couple of days from her than I have by knowing you my whole life.”

This caught Harry off guard. He found himself sitting rigid in his seat. He was probably gaping at his cousin, because she tossed her head back and laughed and pulled up a chair to sit down beside him. “That’s all she does,” Millie said.

Harry scrunched up his face. “What?”

“Y/N. She always talks about you,” Millie giggled.

Harry tried not to react, but when he spoke, his voice wavered as if he couldn’t breathe properly. “S-She talks about me? What has she told you?”

“Surprisingly, only good things,” Millie said. “Like, we would do something like listen to music and she’d randomly say, ‘Harry likes this song.” Or we would be wandering around the mall and she’d see a shirt and tell me, ‘Harry would love that shirt but he hates it when people buy him clothes so I can’t buy it for him.” And just yesterday’s morning, she saw me making coffee and told me you’d always drink black coffee on Monday morning and only on Monday morning.” Millie chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “I thought hearing so much about you would annoy me. But I actually find it super cute that she cares so much about you to notice every one of those annoying little details.”

Harry felt his cheeks growing hot. His silence was the confession Millie had been waiting for. She smacked him on the arm as laughter crackled out of her. “You’re blushing! Oh my God, you have a crush on her!”

“I do not!” he retorted.

“You do!” She slammed her fist on the table, smiling with her mouth open. “And you thought I had a thing for her, didn’t you?! You were cranky last night because you were jealous!”

“Not true!” Harry gasped and quickly got up. Millie jumped in his way, not letting him off the hook so easily. “Admit it!”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

He attempted to sidestep her yet she was quicker. She folded her arms and leaned a shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “I know that face, Hazza. You made the same face when we were kids and found a lost puppy in the park and the puppy grew more attached to me.”

Harry pointed to himself. “I found the puppy okay? The puppy was mine first.”

"You petty little shit!" Millie’s jaw dropped, then she poked at the left side of his chest. “I didn’t know this thing worked. Wow, a miracle named Y/N!”

Harry smirked and brushed her finger off. “Very funny, Mil.”

“It sure the fuck is. I can’t believe you thought I was into her. One look at Y/N and I knew she wasn’t gay. My gaydar is never wrong.”

“Good to know,” Harry said flatly. “Now can I please get out of this kitchen?”

Millie ignored his question as she eyed him up and down and chewed the inside of her cheek to suppress a smirk. “You two are in love with each other.”

“No, we’re not. We’re friends,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “And I was only mad because you came here to see me but spent all your time with her.”

“Oh, please. Do not make this about me. You’re so in love with her it’s embarrassing.”

“In love with who?”

Harry almost screamed when Y/N appeared in the doorway. Somehow he managed to keep his calm and force a laugh. “Jennifer Aniston! Beautiful, beautiful woman!"

Y/N looked at him funny, probably assuming he was high on caffeine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Millie fighting the urge to expose him.

“I’m going out now,” she said to his relief. “Gonna meet up with some old friends today. You kids have a great day.” Backing out of the door, she did the finger-guns and winked at him. “We’ll talk more about Jennifer Aniston when I get back.”

“No, we won’t!” he shouted after her.

Once his cousin was gone, Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. Y/N didn’t seem to suspect a thing. She tiptoed to get a cereal box from the cabinet while humming a song she’d been listening to on repeat for the last few days.

Yes, she wasn’t the only one paying attention.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and padded to her side. “Hey, Y/N.” When she turned around and smiled at him, he almost forgot what to say. “I-I um...I was thinking of buying a new shirt, and um...I was wondering if you could go with me, to help me pick one.”

Y/N suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Yes! I know this shop–” she blurted but then her mouth snapped shut and she lowered her voice. “I mean, yeah, sure, I know a shop...I think...But didn’t you say you preferred going shopping alone?”

Harry gave a half-shrug. “It’s getting boring. Doing things alone, I mean...”

Her lips curved into a cute little smile. “Let’s go this afternoon,” she said. “I feel like we haven’t hung out in days. You were always busy.”

Harry was taken aback. He pointed to his face. “Me? Busy?”

“Yeah, well, you seemed...not yourself. I thought you were stressed out about an exam.”

“No, not at all,” he mumbled, turning his face to hide his blushing.

She giggled softly. “Okay. So...it’s a date?”

“Yeah. A date.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, cool.”

“Cool,” she echoed.

Harry nodded once then grabbed his coffee and sauntered out of the kitchen before he could embarrass himself again. Suddenly, his phone chimed with a new text and he pulled it out of his pocket to see that it was from Louis.

Hey, Niall told me. I found this article that might be helpful. Stay strong!

Then a link to: “How to deal with depression when your crush turns out to be gay.”

Harry threw his head back and exhaled.

He was going to murder Niall.

[dinuhsoar]

ғʟᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀᴏᴡɴs

Summary: You were invited to play a game of Among Us with Sean and the rest of the Crew. You've never played before, but went against that fact and joined. While people join, you meet and talk to Corpse: and the viewers ship you from what they see and hear. You also have a little brother who wins the boys hearts.

Pairing: Corpse x fem!reader

Warnings: prolly spelling errors, shit writing

Author's note: First imagine on anyone! Please be kind and nice. I also am sorry if I got Corpse wrong, I have never heard of him until a month ago, and I'm not really all that obessed with him (no hate). I enjoy reading the cute imagines between him and the reader, and so that's why I'm writing one about him. I'll write for Corpse, John B. and JJ (outerbanks), Peter Parker, Thor, (Daddy <3) Tony Stark, (and pretty much the main avengers), oh, and I'll also write for Roman Reigns (because he's my Daddy too). I also don't mention everyone he plays with, but mention Sean a l o t. I'm not familiar with his, "crew." Anywho, enjoy!

Gif credit: @leahberman @velvetmotel

You looked down at your nails, biting your lip gently. Sean invited you, and with pleading moans and groans, you decided to join. You didn't know what to do or what did what, so you just stood in the lobby: you weren't moving.

"Y/n, go change your character's colour!" Said Sean, talking into his microphone.

"How? I don't know how to play." Your voice was soft as it held embarrassment. You knew Sean's stream was blowing up at this point.

"I can tell you," came a deep voice. Holy- who in the world was that?

"Aye, Corpse! Guy's welcome Corpse."

You heard the group of men laugh and shower him with greetings: you were still trying to figure out who Corpse was.

"Ayo, Y/n? You gonna greet God himself or what?"

At this you laughed softly to, whispering a sorry on your end. "Sorry," you said a bit louder, "Welcome to the game, Corpse."

You sucked in a breath, crossing your legs in your chair, nervous of the game and how it was suppised to go down.

"Hello, Y/n. Still need help on changing the colour, I see. You need to go to the computer. Then you can select whatever colour and you can also pick a hat."

"Ah, thank you, Corpse." You walked over, hearing mumbling through the other end of the mic. "Sorry if I'm making this weird, Sean." You laughed lightly, opening the computer to select your colour.

"No, no. It's not you, Y/n. Just reading what the stream says: gotta kick these haters, ya know?" Said Sean. You looked down at your lap, frowning.

"Right," you breathed out, looking back at the screen. "Um, why can't I chose black?"

"Because Corpse-" Felix started, only to get cut off by Corpse.

"Here, I can be purple. Just get it as fast as possible or else someone will take it." Ethan started laughing at Corpse as you did as told.

"Wanna give her your last name too, Corpse?" Boomed Ethan. At this you were confused and lost. You were quiet on your end.

"Guys!" Boomed Sean, "Stop messing with Y/n: she's new to this game. Don't stress her out and make things awkward."

"Thanks, Sean. But I don't mind it, really."

"So you don't mind if you have Corpses' last name?"

"What?! No! I wasn't implying-"

"Felix, leave her alone." This time, Corpse spoke.

"Just messin' man."

"We ready to start?" You asked, voice a bit shaky.

After the game started, the boys relaxed a tad bit, laughing and tossing heads back. You were quiet, but when you spoke your voice was soft and dull, all in which caused Corpse to scream into the mic to tell everyone to quiet down for. The people on the stream were going crazy, you could tell. You just ignored everyone on the stream: you never could read, watch, and play at the same time. But the tables started turning. When you were imposter for the first time that night, you were confused. You followed Corpse, Felix, and Ethan. But they were boring. So you found Sean and he was secluded. You killed him and jumped out of your chair, squealing. "Ha! I killed you Sean!" You screamed, not noticing how your mic was still on. The boys laughed, but when it came to voting, you were voted out, despite denying and denying, and denying. You pouted and didn't move when you were a ghost. Grumbling as the game went on, talking negative about the game: even denying you weren't the imposter even when the ejection said so. You were mad. Sean grumbled back, fighting against you in only whispers. The game ended, then you were back in the lobby.

"Good first game," Felix and Ethan said.

"You're dumb and mean," teased Sean.

"I'm sorry, Sean. E-everyone else was in a group a-and I just went for it." You said into the mic, stumbling over your words.

"That was perfect, Y/n. At least you knew not to attack a group. Stick with me next round, and I'll show you more tips." Corpse said, grinning as a notification went off on his phone. "Ethan!" He boomed.

"Just sayin' bro."

Not questioning it, you laughed into the mic for no reason. No one questioned it, however.

"So, Y/n? Howcome you've never played this game before?" You looked on your screen, heading to the computer, looking at the array of colours.

"I didn't have an interest in it. Corpse, you can have black back, it's kind of boring." You changed to blue, then purple when it was open and Corpse has secured black.

The game started and you confirmed being partners with Corpse. "Where are we going first?" You asked.

"Follow me."

You both walked into reactor, you walking up to that number order task. "Um, what do I do?"

"Click the numbers in order."

Thanking him you did so, telling him to follow you this time. You went into lower engine, only to be killed by Corpse. You screamed into your hand.

"Um, guys, I'm gonna be afk for a moment, gonna get water-" You started, only to get cut off by your baby brother crying. "And I'll need to put him to sleep."

"Is that your baby, Y/n?" Asked Felix.

"She's married, sorry Corpse?" Said Ethan, questioning his statement.

"Guys, that's her little brother, calm down. And she's not dating nor married to anyone." Sean rushed to stay. But you were gone at this point.

"Guys, Y/n was killed!" Corpse said. And thus let the voting begin.

You looked at your baby brother, grinning as you changed his diaper and gave him his bottle. You left to get water, only to hear more crying. Placing the glass by the computer, you told them another minute.

"One more second, guys. Sorry, he's still crying." The game ended then, and you were back in the lobby.

"Send us a picture of him, Y/n!"

You rolled your eyes at Sean, laughing. "Alright, chill. Someone send Corpse my number, so I can send him it as well."

"Corpse, my man, look at the stream messages for gods sake!"

Corpse grinned at Felix, telling him to shut up before he looked at the stream and laughed, "guys, calm down. Y/n is a friend, nothing more."

You came back with your baby brother in your arms, him suckling on the bottle. "Imma have to play with him. If I leave, he cries." You sent everyone a picture, and they all showed the photo to their screens. Except for Corpse that is.

"You know what your character is missing, Y/n?" Asked Corpse after a minute.

"What's that?"

"A flower."

"And why's that?"

"Because you need to stand out amongst these idiots."

Laughing, you included a flower, also changing your colour to white. "You know what your character is missing, Corpse?"

"What's that?"

"A crown."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're my king."

You simply laughed, enjoying the slight teasing on the man. The stream blew up and to this you took notice. Corpse laughed louder than ever as well.

Oh my gosh

Ship. It.

Ew, Y/n

You laughed a bit more, looking down at your brother as he nearly started to cry.

"Oh, come here," you said with a giggle, "sorry to scare you, little bubba. Shh, now. How about you play for me, yeah?"

The boys were confused for a moment, before they awed. However, Corpses' deep voice scared him. "Shut up, Corpse, he just flinched."

[21burritoseavey]

good memories - daniel seavey imagine

a/n: okayy this one’s kinda cutee but a little long. i hope you enjoy tho, let me know what you think bestiess. 

The vibrant city streets were bustling with swift footed individuals, from drunk teenagers to kids holding the hands of their parents as they plodded down the pavement. The young couple walked briskly, with Y/n nearly skipping in pure joy as they weaved through the crowded footpaths with their hands interlocked. Y/n’s red, lace up Dr. Martens clicked on the ground before she stopped abruptly at the end of the line for the club, her eclectic dress swayed with the light evening breeze gracefully and her striking figure caught the eye of Daniel who stumbled clumsily beside her. 

 “You ready to have some fun?” He asked cheekily, raising a brow. 

 “Yeah, really excited!” Y/n said quickly, her tone filled with glee. Daniel smiled lovingly at her before leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her forehead. 

 “You deserve it.” he whispered. 

 They stood impatiently among other groups of young college and high school students, talking and giggling quietly to each other. The gentle, dusk sky lifted to reveal an ombre of blue before they were finally at the front of the line. They politely unveiled their IDs to the bouncer and were quickly waved through the doorway into the club. 

 Y/n quickly noticed the neon signs above, strobing the dark niterie with bright colours and she almost tumbled into the giddy darkness from sheer excitement, pulling Daniel’s arm who was a few paces behind her. Daniel chuckled at Y/n’s obvious eagerness. “Y/n” he glared at her jokingly, “we have all night.” He reminded gently, but Y/n merely looked up at him with furrowed brows and continued for the bar. 

 “So…Let’s make the most of it.” She replied cleverly. Daniel only pulled a gentle smile at her. The club was crowded from wall to wall with tons of energetic individuals on barstools and several couches and chairs were spaced out in the large area. “Do you wanna grab a drink?” Y/n asked enthusiastically over the loud music that was blowing through the speakers. 

 “Hey, I’m supposed to ask you that” Daniel glared mischievously, and they both chuckled as they took the two remaining seats behind the bar. “Two tequilas please” Daniel asked the bartender and looked back at Y/n after receiving a small nod from the young man. 

 “We definitely gotta dance after this. I don’t care what you say” Y/n spoke seriously, gesturing to the busy dance floor behind them. Daniel put his hands up swiftly in defeat. 

 “Okay, okay! Fine.” 

 He pulled a tight smile as the bartender slid their drinks across the wood topped bar. “Cheers,” Daniel lifted his small glass to meet Y/n’s. “To us” He finished, and Y/n chuckled lightly. 

They clinked their glasses, tilted their heads, and downed the shots of tequila. Y/n scowled as she swallowed the shot, sending a loud laugh to escape from Daniel’s lips and Y/n frowned at him light-heartedly. They both slowly took in the aura of the nightclub from their spots on the wooden barstools, giggling and talking to each other organically with nothing but genuine affection flowing between them. 

 As Y/n promised, the young couple - after a little hesitation from Daniel, claiming he couldn’t dance to save a life - finally made their entrance onto the dance floor. Y/n trudged onto the round dance floor, encircled by various groups of mingling people. She pulled Daniel’s arm and he reluctantly started moving to the beat of music. Y/n’s floral dress billowed out around her as she twirled and danced ever so gracefully, and Daniel soon found himself acting more comfortably in the precious presence of his girlfriend. Despite the abundance of people around them, the young couple simply danced like nothing else mattered, relishing in the freeing euphoric sensation they felt- a wonderful moment suspended in time. The DJ lights launched every possible shade of the rainbow into the darkness and Daniel and Y/n burnt the night away with plentiful shots that burned their throats, dancing and singing. 

 As tiredness slowly took over and the young couple weren’t as energetic to dance and belt the lyrics to songs as loudly as they could, Daniel took Y/n’s hand and led her gradually back to the bar. “Oh my gosh, Y/n, I have never been so…” Daniel paused in thought, “-Tired…” he dragged out tiredly. 

 “I know” Y/n chuckled, “but aren’t you so glad we went out tonight?” She asked, expectantly looking up at him as she wobbled onto her seat. 

 Daniel nodded eagerly as he plopped down on the barstool again. Y/n wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand and looked at Daniel, noticing his slight trance on her. Daniel’s eyes lingered on Y/n’s cute figure. Her light brown space buns sat haphazardly on her head and even though she was utterly exhausted, Daniel thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He raised his arm to the wooden ring underneath the seat and dragged her stool over to his easily, placing a kiss or two on her lips. Y/n giggled softly as he pulled back and tried to ignore the growing fuzzy feeling in her stomach. 

 “Do you wanna go now?” She asked shyly. Daniel nodded lightly as he caressed her hand in his. They stood up and Y/n went to grab her coat before Daniel pulled her back casually and took it. “Thank you” she said quietly as she grabbed her purse. 

 “You’re welcome.” He kissed her forehead gently. They had burst through the doors into the artificial glow of street lamps, staggering onto the cement pavement with alcohol still buzzing in their system. Daniel draped an arm over Y/n protectively as they passed groups of people in a lamp-lit alley. 

 They finally found their way to a diner, eager to fill their stomachs with good food. The dark atmosphere transitioned into lively hues as the young couple were welcomed into the roadside diner and they took a moment to adjust to the lighting, taking in the comforting aroma of a late-night supper that filled their senses. The restaurant housed tons of customers in late hours of the night, buzzing with chatter and the familiar clattering of tableware. Daniel tenderly pulled his hand out of Y/n’s grasp as they took a seat in one of the booths, pulling out a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser. Y/n shifted in her seat, glaring at Daniel as if she knew what he was about to say. “I’m gonna-” She started seriously. 

 “No, you’re not” Daniel said easily without looking up, hiding his smirk behind the menu. 

“Daniel.’ Y/n said tiredly, “you don’t have to pay for everything.” She said playfully, cracking a smile.  

 “I do today.” Daniel looked up at her fondly. “You deserve it.” He grabbed her hand in his from across the counter and brought it up his lips to kiss it gently. “You’re my beautiful, hardworking girl” He spoke adoringly, eyes lingering at Y/n. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks, and she hid her face in her hands, giggling bashfully and a wide grin emerged on Daniel’s face too. His gaze remained on her, thinking about the past hours - the simple, sweet memory destined to take its place in his album of good memories.