#museum title: the kiss
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
Maybe dinluke-it The Kiss, 1859 by Francesco Hayez ?
big heart eyes for how your brain works @cutoutthepoetrywatson
#dinluke#the mandalorian#digital art#dinluke art#master work#painted 1BBY by coruscanti artist during sabbatical on tatooine#later purchased by current mand'alor leading to speculation on the couple's identity; no comment forthcoming from mandalore#museum title: the kiss#alternate title: when your guy won't let you leave without a kiss even tho you needed to be in your ship an hour ago#so you gotta find an alleyway to sneak a smooch in#the original artwork's scenery reminded me of tatooine and i wanted to put luke in lighter clothes for contrast so early meeting au!!#also some sneaky original armor din
320 notes
·
View notes
Text
Me n who? đ
#I may have been in the Van Gogh museum but I was more focused on this than sunflowers#Like itâs literally women kissing#âtis too homosexual to ignore#queer#wlw#classic painting#no but women kissing is the title#van gogh museum#idk if this is by Van Gogh or not tho#I was not paying attention to the artist#to say the least
1 note
·
View note
Text
We Fell in Love in October | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Hello everyone, andâŠ
đŠđ§ââïžđ»đHappy October!đđ»đ§ââïžđŠ
It is truly the most wonderful time of the year! Halloween is my favorite favorite holiday, so of course I had to write a little something. I borrowed the title from a girl in red song that I enjoy. Also, if you're a New Girl fan, parts of this plot line might be familiar to you :)
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: minor reader injury
Shrieks and laughter echoed from every direction. The smell of fresh kettle corn wafted through the crisp autumn air. And two separate groups of children in Halloween costumes almost knocked Bucky to the ground. They blew past him in a blur of candy and chaos, shouting as they ran. He was certain that a rogue kiddo had somehow smeared the sleeve of his jacket with the sticky, sugary coating of their caramel apple, but he didnât mind.
He simply took in the sights and sounds of the Halloween carnival, smiling to himself as went out of his way to step on crunchy leaves.Â
Autumn was his favorite time of year- October, specifically. It was October when he first bumped into you at his favorite coffee spot, spilling your pumpkin cold brew all over your shoes. His insistent apologies and dedicated clean-up efforts endeared him to you instantly, as did his shy smile. He graciously replaced your drink and bought you a slice of spiced pumpkin bread for good measure, which you happily shared with him.
After that, Bucky knew he was done for.
He found himself spending as much time with you as possible. The two of you frequented bookstores and museums. You introduced him to a swath of movies and tv shows that heâd missed out on over the years. And he brought you back in time with each 40âs crooner he showed you on his record player. Heâd never felt so comfortable, so at ease. And you returned the feeling ten-fold.Â
It was October of the following year when he showed up at your apartment with a massive bag of candy and a bottle of your favorite wine. He knew how much you loved Halloween and all it entailed: the movies, the décor, the spirit of the season. And he was determined to make it extra special. The two of you watched scary movies and laughed uproariously each time the other jumped. And both of you consumed so much candy, you feared you might be sick.
But that fear subsided when Bucky finally pressed his lips against yours for the first time. It took him all night to work up the courage. He found his focus drifting from Nightmare on Elm Street and settling on you. Your jack-o-lantern sweatshirt. Your slightly messy hair. Your bright smile. But he didnât make his move- he couldnât. He was far, far too nervous.Â
It wasnât until the night came to a close that he finally found his nerve. You walked him to the door and thanked him for the candy. The wine. The company. And for making the first day of October one for the books. The goodnight hug you shared lasted longer than it ever had, and you swore he held you tighter than before.
The two of you lingered by the front door, chatting about nothing of consequence. Bucky needed to buy himself some time, and you wanted to keep him in your apartment as long as possible. You figured that if he hung around long enough, maybe heâd finally make his move.
But he left. After another long hug and some more nonsensical chatting, he bid you goodnight. He intertwined his fingers with yours for a moment, sweeping his thumb across the back of your hand. He gave your hand a squeeze and swept a kiss across your knuckles, and then he slipped out the door.
But before the disappointment had a chance to settle into your chest, a metallic knocking vibrated through your front door. You opened it instantly, figuring that Bucky had forgotten his phone or his keys on your coffee table.
But he wasnât after any forgotten personal effects.Â
Breathlessly, he asked, âCan I?â
âPlease.â
And that was it.
His mouth met yours in long, deep kiss full of want and adoration and Halloween candy. His hands cradled your face, yours twisted into the front of his t-shirt. And neither of you took a breath for a very, very long time. Only when your chest burned from lack of oxygen did you finally pull away- but it was only for a second. He greedily recaptured your lips before you even knew what happened, not that youâd ever complain about it.Â
And when Bucky eventually broke the kiss, you knew you this was it for you- he was it for you. He brushed his lips against your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose. And he asked you if youâd like to join him for an official date. You, of course, said yes.
Said date came only a few days later, when Bucky took you to a pumpkin patch and the two of you carved jack-o-lanterns together. You carved a rather accurate depiction of Ghost Face. And Bucky, of course, decorated his with a stick figure representation of the two of you at the coffee shop where you first met.
The night ended with a Halloween Hayride followed by a corn maze- and you swore Bucky got the two of you lost on purpose. He kept pulling you down errant pathways, insisting that theyâd lead to the exit. No exit ever materialized at the end of his rogue, twisting trails. But they did provide the perfect venue for him to steal a kiss or three. And you didnât complain once.
On October thirtieth, he asked you to be his. And you told him that you already were- youâd been his for a long time. He just didnât know it.
It was hard for Bucky to believe that only two Octobers ago, you were a stranger. And now, you were his girl. Heâd given all of himself over to you, and you accepted him with nothing but warmth and kindness and love. He couldnât believe heâd been lucky enough to meet you, to win your affections, to call you his.Â
He was never a huge fan of dark, dreary, autumn, as he always preferred the warmth of summer. But meeting you was enough to turn him into fall's biggest fan. The two of you were inextricably linked to the season, turning it instantly into his number one favorite. And as he strolled through the Halloween carnival and allowed autumn to wrap around him like a blanket, he couldnât help but feel at home.Â
At the sight of the Haunted House, Bucky hung a right and curved around the back of the structure. He listened to the screams and subsequent laughter of the patrons inside as he waited for you. He didnât particularly love haunted houses, and probably never wouldâve considered partaking in one if it hadnât been for you.
âBuck!â your voice broke through the noise of the festival and pulled Buckyâs attention.Â
But as his head perked up, he didnât find his best girl. No, he found only a bloody, decaying zombie sprinting in his direction. Heâd never been so happy to see a monster.
âWoah! You look amazing, baby!â Bucky motioned for you to do a spin for him and admired your elaborate, almost-too-realistic make up and costume. âYouâre gonna scare the hell outta these people, doll.â
A wide, satisfied smile stretched across your zombified face, âThatâs the idea.âÂ
As carefully as you could you leaned in and brushed a kiss to Buckyâs lips. Of course, you didnât want to dirty his face with your gory make up, but you simply couldnât resist kissing him. And youâd never want to.Â
âWait, I thought Sam was coming with you,â you scanned the area, looking for Buckyâs partner in crime. âDid he change his mind?â
Bucky let out a breathy laugh, âNo, heâs here. But he saw a caramel apple stand near the front of the carnival and I lost him immediately.â
Your laughed matched Buckyâs, âYeah, that sounds like him.â
Bucky eyed the haunted house, with its flashing lights and eerie exterior. It loomed over the entirety of the carnival, promising heart-stopping terror and endless fright for anyone who dared to enter. A cold sweat dampened the palm of his right hand; he swiped it on his pantleg without a word.
âSo, howâs it been going, doll? Are you having a good time?â
At first, you thought it might be strange to volunteer as a scare actor. You didnât have any experience, and didnât think of yourself as much of a performer. But the second you saw the listing for volunteers online, the idea wormed its way into your brain and refused to leave. You always loved Halloween, always loved all things creepy. And working as a scarer for a few nights a week sounded like fun.
But it was Bucky who gave you the final push you needed. He knew you were second-guessing yourself, knew youâd talk yourself out of it if he didnât step in. And you were grateful heâd been there to encourage you.
âIâm having the best time! Itâs been a blast so far,â the excitement radiating off of you was almost palpable. âEveryoneâs so nice and weâre having so much fun. Iâm really glad I decided to go through with it.â
âSee? I told you,â Bucky shot you a wink. âI only wish I couldâve been here on opening night of the festival-â
âBuck, you were literally saving the world. I understand,â you told him. âThereâs no hard feelings.â
âWell, Iâm really happy for you sweetheart. Iâm so glad youâre having a good time.â He gently placed his metallic hand on the least bloody part of your face, âAnd Iâm so excited to see you in action.â
You gave him a strange look, âWhat do you mean?â
âI just mean that I canât wait to see you doing your thing in there!â He gestured toward the haunt, âCanât wait for you to scare me to death, baby.â
âOh, Buck-Â no. I donât-â you cut a glance toward the haunted house, knowing full well what lurked inside the walls. âI donât think thatâs a good idea.â
âWhat? But I want to support you, doll-â
âYouâre supporting me just by being here,â you leaned into his touch. âBut I donât think you should go in there, babe.â
Admittedly, he wasnât looking forward to his trip through the haunt. Of course, he was excited to see you in your element- he just wished your element wasn't a terrifying, immersive experience.
âItâs a dark, enclosed space with blood and gore and people screaming,â you cautioned him. âAnd thereâs actors who jump out at you from the dark. I swear, thereâs one of us popping out around like, every corner.â
Buckyâs lips twisted into an uncomfortable, tense expression. He thought about what that experience might be like for him. How it might affect him. Once again, he found himself wiping his palm against his thigh.
âI just donât want it to trigger anything for you, you know?â And you meant it. A trip through your stupid haunted house wasnât worth his mental health.
He forced the tension out of his face and blanketed his features with a manufactured calm. You were always so supportive of him, always did your best to be there for him. And it was his turn to be there for you. What kind of boyfriend was he if he couldnât even see you perform? Sure, going inside the haunt wasnât his idea of a perfect evening, but he owed it to you.
âYeah, but Iâve been through way worse, sweetheart. I can- I can handle a haunted house.â He wasnât sure who he was trying to convince- you or himself. âAs long as there isnât a Hydra torture chamber scene, Iâm sure Iâll be fine.â
âWell, I assure you there is not a Hydra torture chamber in there, but I still think you should think it over before you go inside. Okay?â You knew Bucky too well. Knew heâd do anything to make you happy- even if it meant sacrificing his peace. But heâd worked so hard to find that peace, and you couldnât let him shatter it just for you. âI wonât be disappointed or get my feelings hurt if you decide not to go inside, I promise. I just want you to have a fun night without any pain or flashbacks or panic attacks.â
Bucky found nothing but authenticity in your voice. You werenât just saying these things, or secretly hoping that heâd still venture into the haunt. No, you meant everything you said; you just wanted what was best for him. Wanted him to enjoy himself. And he was endlessly grateful for your understanding. For your kindness.
âShit. Alright, I-â you looked down at your phone and sighed at the new text illuminating your screen, âI have to get back inside, my breakâs over. Sorry, baby.â
âNo, doll, donât worry about it. Sorry I monopolized your entire break.â
âAre you kidding me?â You pressed a kiss to his cheek, âthis was exactly how I wanted to spend it.â
He pulled you in for deep- yet careful- kiss. He didnât want to mess up the makeup youâd worked so hard on but couldnât let you go back inside without a kiss.Â
âJust promise me youâll think it over before you actually go inside the haunt, okay?â You eyed him with a serious, almost grave expression. âThere wonât be any hard feelings if you sit this one out.â
âI promise,â he said. âAnd to tell you the truth, Iâm- Iâm thinking I might just stick to carnival games and funnel cake.â
A massive sigh of relief left your chest. The worry youâd been holding onto dissipated into the chilly autumnal air. And suddenly, nothing sounded better than cheap, rigged carnival games.Â
âSee, now that sounds like fun.â You left one more kiss to Buckyâs lips before heading toward your next shift. âHave a good time tonight, Buck.â
Bucky watched your bloody form receded toward the haunt. He couldnât help but smile as he thought about your warnings, your cautionary words. You really did care about him. You loved him more than anyone ever had. And you always, always put him first. He wasnât sure heâd ever be able to express how grateful he was to have you. And as he observed the way you went out of your path just to step on the crunchiest leaves you could find, he knew the two of you were perfectly suited.
âBaby!â Bucky called after you as you reached the back door of the haunt.
You turned.
âDo you still wanna come over later?â he shouted over the noise of the festival.
Your âDUH!â echoed across the distance. And then you disappeared inside.
âAw, man. Did I miss her?â Sam appeared just behind Bucky, two caramel apples in hand.
âYeah, she had to get back to work. Oh-â Bucky reached for the apple in Samâs right hand, the one that hadnât yet been marred by Samâs teeth. âIs this for me? Thanks, I-â
âUm, no,â Sam yanked the treat out of Buckyâs reach. âThese are both mine.â
Bucky scoffed, âYouâre joking, right?âÂ
âNope.â
Bucky rolled his eyes, âYouâre actually double-fisting caramel apples right now?â
Sam gave a confident nod and took a bite out of one of the treats. âLeave me alone, man. Iâm just participating in the spirit of Halloween.â
âJesus Christ,â Bucky couldnât help but laugh at his friendâs antics. âOkay, well then, Iâm gonna go get one of my own. Are you coming?â
Sam tilted his head to the side and gestured toward the haunt with one of his apples. âArenât we going inside now that sheâs back on shift?â
Bucky gave the unsettling building a long look. He really did want to support you- but he just couldnât bring himself to willingly venture into that environment. He thought back on what you said: Dark. Enclosed space. Blood. Gore. People jumping out of the darkness. It was the perfect recipe for a flashback. He could practically feel his PTSD crawling out of the darkest corners of his mind, waiting to pounce.
âUm, no, actually. Iâm not- Iâm not gonna go in,â Bucky said. âI was cautioned against it by a very sweet, very beautiful zombie.âÂ
It didnât quite make sense to Sam. âShe doesnât want you to go inside?â
âShe said itâs just not the best idea. The way she described it, I know itâs not gonna be a good experience for me,â a sad smile pulled at Buckyâs features. âPlus, I donât know how Iâm gonna react to bloody people popping out of the shadows and screaming at me. I feel like my training- or my PTSD- is gonna kick in and I might hit first and ask questions later,â he shrugged. âI donât wanna hurt anyone.â
Sam didnât suspect that Bucky would actually harm any of the actors; he trusted Bucky more than Bucky trusted himself. But he wasnât going to push. If there was any possibility that the things inside the haunt might send Bucky into a spiral, he was happy to steer clear.
âAlright, yeah, we can- we can go play some games instead,â Sam suggested. âAnd you can win your girl a prize. Come on.â
Sam pointed Bucky in the direction of the carnival games- but not before he granted Bucky his second apple.Â
âWilson⊠Iâm touched,â Bucky took a huge bite of the tart, sticky treat. âThis is real friendship.â
âYeah, yeah. But youâre getting the next round.âÂ
The two of them set off in the direction of the large array of carnival booths, both happily gnawing on a caramel apple. Bucky was grateful to have two people in his life who truly cared about his mental health. Two people who never forced him into situations that had the potential to rip open his old wounds.Â
And though Bucky wished he could visit you inside the haunt, he knew it was better this way. If he chose to experience the haunted house and ended up having a violent flashback or a panic attack, he knew it would ruin your night. Youâd spend the entire evening taking care of him, looking after him, worrying about him- youâd completely abandon your post inside the haunted house, and he couldnât do that to you. He couldnât take away your Halloween fun, especially not when youâd just told him what a blast it all was.
No, heâd instead spend the evening playing shitty carnival games, drinking pumpkin beer, and betting Sam that he couldnât eat another caramel apple. And later, after youâd finished your night of scaring, heâd welcome you into his apartment and spend the rest of his evening snuggled up with you on the couch. Heâd make a batch of spiced apple cider and curl up with you under a blanket. And the two of you would fall asleep while Scream played in the background.
Bucky wouldnât have it any other way.Â
Around ten-thirty, a quiet knock pulled Bucky from his book. He dropped it on the coffee table- taking no care to mark his page- and dashed toward the front door. He couldnât wait to ask you a million questions. To hear your stories from the night. But when he threw open the door, he didnât find the smiling zombie heâd seen just a few hours ago.
Something about you seemed off. Almost hollow. But Bucky couldnât quite put his finger on it. He was certain you had to be tired- exhausted, really. Youâd spent hours chasing after your victims and screaming at the top of your lungs. Surely, you were just worn out.
âHey, Buck,â you did your best to force a smile, but it wasnât at all convincing.Â
âHey, baby,â Bucky pulled you into his body without caring that you were still covered in a thick layer of fake blood and zombie make up. âYou good?â
You nodded against his chest, âYeah. Just tired.â
Bucky felt his worry recede a bit- but it didnât vanish completely. He took you by the hand and brought you inside, but didnât pepper you with questions like heâd planned. All of his wonderings could wait until after you got a well-deserved night of rest.Â
âI was thinking I could make us some spiced apple cider,â Bucky offered, âBut if youâd rather just go to sleep, I can save that for tomorrow. What do you think, doll?â
âUm, whatever you wanna do, babe,â you rummaged through your overnight bag and unearthed your toiletry bag and pajamas. âIâm gonna go shower and take off my make up.â
Without another word, you retreated down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom. Something about your demeanor didnât sit right with Bucky. This wasnât just exhaustion; something darker lurked beneath your still waters. But he opted to give you your space. He didnât want to delay your shower; surely, you wanted to shed your grime and get comfortable. And once youâd emerged from your clean up, heâd once again ask about your well-being. But not a moment before.
He quickly changed shirts, shedding the one that heâd willingly dirtied by hugging you, and went to work on the cider. Even if you only wanted a sip or two before bed, that was enough for him. He didnât mind putting in the effort if there was even a chance it might make you smile- heâd do anything to see that smile. To make you happy.
âSorry that took so long,â you said as you padded down the hall half an hour later. âGetting all of the blood and make up off is kind of a process.âÂ
At the sound of your voice, Bucky rose from his seat in the kitchen and met you in the hall with a mug of hot cider, which you accepted.
âDonât worry about it, doll. I was just-â a smiled flashed across his face, âOh, sweetheart, it looks like you missed some.â
Some of the blueish purple make up still stained your cheek and tainted the skin around your eye. A bit of fake blood ran through your brow. And clearly, youâd forgotten to remove one of your bloody contacts.Â
âHere, let me.â He raised his hand to your cheek and tried to swipe the remaining make up from your skin with his thumb, but you yanked your head away.
Pain burned in Buckyâs chest. Youâd never flinched like that around him. Never once did you dodge his touch or fear that he might hurt you. You always said you didnât see him as a threat, didnât think of him as a monster. What had happened in the last few hours that changed the way you saw him?Â
He felt himself teetering on the edge of heartbreak, but the puzzle pieces fell together before he had the chance to fall apart. He didnât recall you wearing bloody special effects contacts earlier tonight. And your zombie make up hadnât been that shade of indigo.Â
Bucky flipped on the hall light, bathing your face in a warm glow. He carefully raised his palms in a wordless promise that he wouldnât hurt you. And once you gave him a small nod, he gently cradled your face in his hands. He carefully turned your head toward the light, allowing him a good, clear look at the marks on your face.Â
And what he found ripped open a pit in his stomach. You didnât flinch because you feared him- no, you flinched because you were hurt.
A large, dark blue bruise bloomed under the skin of your cheekbone. And another bruise stained your orbital purple. The area was already swelling, and Bucky couldnât help but think about how much pain you were in. A gash sliced through your eyebrow, just above your blackened eye. And unfortunately, the blood staining the white of your eye wasnât part of a creepy contact lens- it was real. It was all real.
âShit. Baby, what happened?âÂ
âIâm fine,â you lied.
âNo, youâre not,â Bucky insisted.Â
A few tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You spent your entire ride to Buckyâs telling yourself that you were fine. That you were okay. That it was just some bruising. That crying wouldnât fix anything. You told yourself that people go through way worse every day- that Bucky had been through way, way worse for almost a century. You told yourself that it wasnât a big deal. That getting emotional over something so small was unnecessarily dramatic.Â
But Bucky automatically validated you- without even knowing it.
âWhat happened, sweetheart?â
You cut a glance to the side- which only made your eye throb. âUm, there was this guy who came through the haunt. And when I jumped out at him, he um,â you shrugged. âHe hit me.â
A hurricane of emotion ripped through Bucky. He was horrified. Concerned. Wrathful. Heartbroken. All at once.Â
âHe hit me twice, actuallyâŠâ You knew it would only make Bucky more upset. But what was the point of hiding the truth? He was going to be distraught either way. âHe hit me here first,â you pointed at your cheek. âAnd then the second time, he got me in the eye. He had one of those big, collegiate class rings on- thatâs what sliced my eyebrow open.â
âJesus. Okay, um, you hang tight right here. Iâm gonna grab my keys and some shoes- I need to get you to the emergency room,â Bucky threw his attention down the hall, searching for his keys.
âI donât need to go to the ER-â
âThen Iâm at least taking you to a minor emergency clinic,â Bucky insisted. âYou need to be seen by-â
âThe medic at the carnival already gave me a once over,â you rested a hand against his chest, calming him. âShe said Iâm fine. The cut doesnât need stitches. I just have a minor concussion.â
Bucky stared at you for a long moment while a war raged inside his head. He knew you were okay, that your life wasnât in danger. And he could tell you were too tired for an unnecessary trip to the hospital. But heâd feel more comfortable if a doctor took a look at you. If he had a guarantee that youâd be alright.
âI promise Iâm okay,â you told him. âI really just wanna rest.â
And after another long moment of internally weighing the pros and cons, Bucky conceded.
âOkay. Here, Iâll take that,â he took your mug of cider and placed it on the hall table. âCome sit, sweetheart,â Bucky took you by the hand and led you to the living room. He got you situated on the couch and draped a blanket over your lap.
âHe actually tried to hit me a third time,â you said. âI was already on the ground at that point. But he still went for it.â
You didnât mean to sound so wounded. So pathetic. But part of you was still in shock. And the other part was heartbroken that one person had ruined your entire experience.Â
âThankfully, a few of the other actors got to him before he had the chance to actually make contact again.â
Bucky thought he might be sick. âWhat the fuck?â
You shrugged, âIâm not⊠I donât know.â
âUm, do you need- Iâm gonna get you some ice, okay?â He didnât want to leave your side, but he could practically feel the throbbing, pounding pain hammering inside your head. And when he returned from the kitchen with an ice pack, some Tylenol, and a glass of water, he took a seat next to you.
âWhy would he- he knew he was going into a haunted house. Why would he hit you?â Bucky couldnât wrap his mind around it. He knew it was possible that the trauma from his Hydra days could make him lash out inside the haunt, so he chose to abstain. Why your assailant hadnât done the same baffled him.Â
âAnd why would he hit you multiple times?â
You shook your head and instantly regretted it as pain surged through your face. âI mean, they say âfight or flight.â He clearly chose fight.â
âBut after the initial hit, the shock and fear wouldâve worn off,â Bucky reasoned. âHe wouldâve been able to recognize that he wasnât actually in danger. That you were an actor, not a threat.â He sighed, âAt least, he shouldâve been able to figure that out.â
With a swig of water, you downed the pain relievers and sunk back into the couch cushions. The ice stung against your tender, pulsing wounds and you hissed at the sensation. But as the cold rendered your face completely numb, you recanted your initial, ungrateful thoughts.
âWell, Iâm pretty sure heâd been drinking,â you rolled your eyes. It sent pain rocketing through your skull. âOne of the guys that pulled him off of me said the guy was slurring his words pretty badly and absolutely reeked of beer.â
âOh, perfect,â Bucky clenched his hands into tight fists. âDid anything happen to him? Is he gonna face any consequences?â
You offered him a downtrodden half-shrug. âIâm not sure. There were some security guards who escorted him out, but thatâs all I know.â
Bucky leaned over and brushed a light kiss to your cheek- the one that hadnât been marred by strangerâs fist. A razor-sharp feeling of helplessness carved deep into his flesh until it struck bone. He had a duty to you, and felt as though heâd failed. He couldnât save you. Couldnât protect you. Couldnât even take you to the emergency room.Â
All he could do at this point was try his best make you feel comfortable. Safe. And above all, he had to take care of you.Â
Alarm struck him in the chest as he noticed what appeared to be a fresh drop of scarlet oozing from your brow. He stood from the couch with worry pulsing through his veins. âSweetheart, Iâm gonna go get some supplies to tend to your cut. Okay? You stay here, Iâll be-â
âNo, thatâs okay, Buck. Itâs not that bad,â you shook your head, rejecting his offer; the throbbing inside your skull multiplied. Â
âBaby, youâre bleedingâŠâ
âWhat?â you removed the ice pack from your face and used your free hand to swipe a finger across your brow- only to find a warm, sticky sensation. âOh, I didnât even notice. My face is numb,â you brandished the ice pack at him.Â
Buckyâs soft laugh filled the room, âI guess thatâs a good thing?â
You gave him a careful nod. âDefinitely.â
âSit tight, doll. Itâll only take me a second.â
And he was right. He was only gone a few moments at the most; anything more than that felt unjustifiable.Â
âAlright, let me see,â Bucky took a seat on the coffee table and placed his first aid supplies down next to him. As carefully as he could, he took your face in his hands and appraised your wound. He used gentle pressure to hold a piece of clean gauze against the bloody ooze. And though the cut wasnât severe, it didnât stop the dread from circling him like a vulture.
âI shouldâve stuck around longer,â he lamented. âI shouldâve stayed at the festival. Maybe I couldâve helped you somehow. Maybe I couldâve-â
Your hands found his forearms and wrapped gently around his wrists. âNo, Buck. I didnât want you going inside the haunt, regardless. Even if it was only to be my knight in shining armor.â
He stroked along your jaw with his cold, metallic thumb. âYou always put me first, donât you?â
âOf course,â you swept your thumbs over his skin, âIâd never dream of having it any other way.â
If there was one thing Bucky could count on, it was being your first priority. Heâd never imagined heâd meet anyone who valued him. Who saw his worth. But you did- you always did. And you placed him proudly on a pedestal as your number one. Nothing came before him; nothing could take his place. He mattered more to you than anything or anyone ever had.
You were the kindest, most understanding person heâd ever met. You saw the good in everyone, even if they couldnât see it themselves. And knowing that someone hurt you, that you were shown anything other than gentleness, killed him.
âBaby, Iâm- Iâm so sorry this happened. You didnât deserve it.â
You poked at the ice pack resting in your lap, âItâs fine. I mean, itâs not ideal. But Iâm not dying, or anything.â Your gaze dropped to the floor, âItâs really not a big deal.â
âHey, look at me,â Bucky waited for your eyes to meet his, but had no luck. âSweetheart, can you look at me? Please?â
After another long moment, you finally dragged your eyes upward. Bucky instantly clocked the tears gathering along your lash line.
âI know youâre not dying; I know this isnât life threatening- but itâs still a big deal,â he said. âWhat happened is not okay. And you donât have to pretend like it is.â
You rolled your eyes, sending a tear trailing down your cheek. âBut youâve been through a lot worse. I got punched- so what?â You scoffed, âYou were abused for close to a hundred years. What happened to me isnât-â
âThat doesnât mean you canât be upset,â he said. âYou donât have to compare your life to mine, sweetheart. No one shouldâve laid a hand on you- tonight or ever.â He searched your face for a long moment, âOkay?â
It took a while for his words to sink in. For you to believe them. Rebuttals formed on your tongue every few seconds, but the concern in Buckyâs eyes banished them.
âOkay.â
A sigh of relief left his chest, and he delivered a long kiss to your forehead. He didnât want you to diminish the events of the evening all because of him. Didnât want you constantly using his suffering as a litmus test for your own. He knew youâd never consider your trauma as worthwhile if it always had to stand up to his.
With a fresh piece of gauze, he swiped the tears from your eyes. âGood. I love you.â
This wasnât what you expected out of life. You were the last of your friends to find something real. To find someone worthwhile. And you assumed youâd missed your window. All of your exes treated you like you barely existed. Like you werenât worth their time. None of them were ever concerned about your happiness or your well-being. And after dating more assholes than you could count, you resigned yourself to a life without romantic love.
And then Bucky spilled coffee all over your shoes, and youâd never been happier to have stained sneakers.
Bucky used a butterfly bandage to carefully close your cut and fetched you a fresh cup of cider. He took care of you in a way youâd never experienced. In a way youâd never thought possible. And after the night you had, all you wanted was to curl up on the couch with him. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms and forget all about what happened.Â
But just as Bucky took his rightful place next to you on the couch, he was gone.
âBuck, where are you-â
âI almost forgot!â he called from down the hall. And just as quickly as he vanished, he reappeared with his hands behind his back. âThose carnival games are really hard- I mean, really fucking hard. And it took me all night, but I won this for you.â
With a quiet âTa-da!â he revealed his prize and held it out for you.Â
âI know heâs kind of ugly,â Bucky laughed, âBut-â
âHeâs not ugly!â You snatched the prize and held it close to your chest.
It was a little black teddy bear with orange spots- and upon further inspection, the orange spots appeared to be jack-o-lanterns. An orange and black plaid bow sat perched around the bearâs neck, and a tiny witchâs hat rested atop his head.
âBuck, heâs perfect,â you reached for him, pulling him down for a long, deep kiss before he even had the chance to sit. âI love him!â
âIâm so glad, it took me longer to win him than Iâd like to admit,â Bucky laughed. âIâm sure Sam will happily tell you all about it.â
Once again, you captured Buckyâs lips with yours. Sure, you were exhausted. And hurting. And sad. But as Buckyâs hand cradled your face, and the prize heâd worked so hard to win for you rested against your chest, the pain of the evening melted away.
âThank you, Buck.â
He shot you a wink, âAnytime, I-â
 âI mean it,â you abandoned your new teddy bear for only a second and took one of Buckyâs hands in both of yours. It took most of your strength, but you finally got him to take his spot next to you on the couch, âThank you.â
His arm snaked around you and pulled you tightly into his side. âIâve always got your back, baby.â
With your new teddy bear resting in your lap, you snuggled as close to Bucky as you possibly could. He brought you a sense of peace, a sense of safety that youâd never experienced before. All he ever wanted to do was take care of you, and you thanked the universe every day for granting you someone so gentle and kind and sweet.
Bucky put on a classic Halloween movie from your childhood, Halloweentown, to help you feel a little more at ease. And it came as no surprise to him that you were asleep less than fifteen minutes in, but he didnât mind. He simply pulled you into his chest and carefully carried you to bed- along with your new stuffed animal.Â
And as he climbed in next to you, he couldnât have been more grateful for your cautionary words about the haunt. He thought about how different the night couldâve been, how much worse things mightâve gone had he stepped foot inside the dark, scary environment. What if he had a bad reaction and hurt one of your coworkers? What if he hurt you? If heâd been the one to strike you in the dark, you absolutely wouldâve required an ambulance and a hospital stay.Â
Just thinking about his metal fist connecting with your face made him nauseous. With a shake of his head, he forced the thoughts away. You were okay, you were right there next to him, sleeping soundly with your teddy bear tucked safely in your arms. He eyed you in the light of the moon, and thanked any deity who would listen for keeping him out of the haunt.
Just as he considered allowing his eyes to close, you moved. You loosened your grip on your bear and let him fall to the side as your sleepy hands searched for Bucky. He moved closer to you and watched with a smile as you draped your body over his. A tired, contented sigh fell from your lips, and Bucky thought his heart might melt.
He knew he didnât deserve you. Knew heâd done so much wrong in his life. But now that you were his, heâd spend every day trying to protect you. Trying to make you happy.Â
He couldnât wait to spend the rest of his life with you. He was already planning to offer you a ring next October- doing so during any other month felt like sacrilege.Â
ââââââââââââ-
@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes reader insert#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x yn#bucky barnes x you#bucky fanfic#bucky fluff#bucky fanfiction#bucky fic#bucky x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky x reader fluff#bucky x yn#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#fatws bucky#Halloween
566 notes
·
View notes
Text
seventeen and how they would launch their relationship with idol!you
PAIRING. seventeen (ot13) x idol!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship, scenario imagines WARNINGS. kissing, social media, staying the night, WORD COUNT. 991 words
rereading it makes me feel like they r all OOC pls give feedback in my ask box
choi seungcheol
he would hard launch
when your managers both give the go sign, he would immediately post his favourite date pics with you on to his instagram and weverse.
his captions would be one emoji.
he would tag you in his instagram bio and become upset if you don't do the same.
the rest of svt wld be so done with him because he wld just be spamming his story with all his favourite pics of you for his highlight he titles "y/n"
yoon jeonghan
he would soft launch after begging you not to post anything for one month
when your managers both give the go sign, he would just post a picture of your hands touching onto instagram, captionless.
then he would watch his instagram comments get flooded
a month later, he would post a picture of the both of you, again, captionless but tag you and turn off his comments so yours would be flooded.
when you asked him why he did that... "because it's fun." he says before kissing you.
joshua hong
he would hard launch
when your managers both give the go sign, he would post one picture of both of you on his instagram story before going offline for 1284284 years again.
the launching is left to you...
but when you post, he's the first to comment and like it.
he loves you but not social media.
wen junhui
he would start a lovestagram
he would firstly make you post the same stray cats as him just hours apart, then the same restaurant, then the same shops.
he would then wait to see if people began to catch on, then he'd reveal the relationship.
you find it funny how serious he takes this.
kwon soonyoung
he would hard launch
he prepared matching tiger shirts for this very moment.
he would post a dance practice you both had while wearing the shirts, in which the vid ends with an off screen kiss. that the other svt members can be heard to be groaning at
he would tag you in his instagram bio and add a tiger and a heart emoji
the rest of svt wld be so done with him because he wld be recording "horanghae" videos for you even more.
jeon wonwoo
he would soft launch
since you both met due to your love for gaming, he would just subtly change his gamer tags to match yours
he would add the words "player 1" to his instagram bio and you would add "player 2"
he would then start a "gam3 boi" and show off your characters in [game] having a cute house together and being married
after a while, you both decide to post a picture together and finally fully reveal your relationship.
lee jihoon
he would soft launch
he isn't the type to be super affectionate, so at most he would start by liking your instagram posts.
after a while he just decides to repost your posts on his story
once the speculations that you were dating became more apparent, he would finally let you convince him to start a lovestagram with you.
it's kinda cute because he secretly likes it a lot.
xu minghao
he would soft launch on weibo
he would start by posting pictures of himself at museums that you took, then take photos for you which you would post on your instagram
after that he would subtly hint his presence in the photos he takes of you. like maybe a fraction of his reflection in a window, or his shoe in a photo of you petting a cat.
soon, people would catch onto his presence and your relationship
kim mingyu
he would hard launch
he would tag you in his instagram bio and start pouting if you don't do the same.
he would just announce it on his weverse "I'm dating y/n."
after that he would keep posting stories of his dates with you and clips of your performances that he really likes
lee seokmin
he would hard launch
when your managers both give the go sign, he would immediately post his favourite date pics with you on to his instagram and weverse.
his captions would be along the lines of "my precious sunshine"
he would be so happy after that, because he gets to tell the world that you're his!
he would post videos of your best concert fancams and caption them with hearts.
boo seungkwan
he would hard launch with a lovestagram
typical photos taken by both parties.
he would caption all the posts with a heart emoji.
when people would begin to realise the photos match up, he would officially reveal it .
you would post your photo with the caption "i don't love anyone more than boo~" and he would be all smiles for a week.
vernon chwe
he would just wait for dispatch to announce it first before posting anything
after that then he would post a solo pic of you he took when you stayed over at his house with the caption "pretty u" which is quite cute.
he would still pose the same even when you take selfies together and that makes your pics look like you edited him in, so they're not postable. so you just take and post boyfriend pics of him.
lee chan
he would hard launch
when your managers both give the go sign, he would immediately post his favourite pics of you on to his instagram.
his captions would be lyrics from your hit love songs
he would get teased nonstop when his hyungs see the post, but wouldn't care because the smile on your face seeing those posts are worth it..
in turn, you would caption boyfriend pics of him that you post with "my otter" or "my chan" or you would tease him with pics of your good fits with "oh my god! look at my fit!" and the other svt members would comment "it's good!" (pls get the ref...)
#caratsland#seventeen imagines#seventeen headcanons#seventeen reactions#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#svt x reader#seventeen#svt#scoups x reader#seungcheol x reader#jeonghan x reader#joshua x reader#jun x reader#hoshi x reader#wonwoo x reader#woozi x reader#minghao x reader#the8 x reader#mingyu x reader#dokyeom x reader#dk x reader#seungkwan x reader#vernon x reader#dino x reader#svt idol#sadako's 1001 drabbles#idol!svt x idol!yn
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Addams Family B-Side (1)
Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (on the way!)
This is part of a series of unrelated works entitled "Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually" and I think that title is fairly self-explanatory. If there are any other couples you think would be good parents for our Stevie boy, let me know and I'll take them into consideration!
Anyway, the B-Side thing is because this is like taking my Addams Family Steddie au and just flipping the cassette tape hfjsdk
This time, it's Steve that's the Addams and Eddie that's normal!
Anyway, blame @whatthemeepever for this one specifically cuz it's gonna spiral into a wild ride actually, so let's all pray for Eddie in advance
If you'd like a tag for any future parts, let me know!
And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't
-------
The moment Steve is born, his father sticks a light bulb in his mouth. When it glows, he jumps with joy and throws Steve into the air. The moment Steve's mother realizes what's happening, she slaps his father upside the head, throws the light bulb at him, and threatens to blow him up again if he sticks anymore into Steve's mouth before he starts teething.
She follows through on the promise exactly two weeks later, and Steve's parents (one smug and the other notably singed but delighted) rebuild their house next door to his father's brother.
Steve's mother chooses his first and last name (Harrington, a reference to some long-lost family friend or other), and his father is reluctantly given the freedom to choose his middle name. In the end, he is dubbed Steve Faustus Harrington, a name his mother is so surprised to find acceptable that she kisses his father as a reward.
And so begins Steve's life.
------
"I can't believe you got expelled," Steve's mother seethes, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. "Again!"
Steve crosses his arms, sinking lower in his seat as he glares out the window. "It's not my fault they were shitty friends. They got what they deserved."
He hears his mother laugh, the sound strained and indignant and very quickly followed by his father turning to look at Steve from the passenger seat. His sunken eyes are filled with suppressed delight as he asks, "What did they do this time?"
A few seconds pass before Steve sighs. "They said they couldn't go out later because they had to study for finals. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? Finals are three weeks away, and they can't spare one weekend for the funeral museum?" he says, scoffing as he looks at his father, grins, and adds, "So, I brought the funeral museum to them, coffins and cremations and all."
His father's eyes light up, sheer joy and pride dancing in them. And for the very first time in Steve's life, his mother pulls over to the side of the road and parks the car.
"Pumpkin?" his father asks.
"Fester," she says, her voice low and somewhere in the range of upset, "do you remember when I tried to kill your entire family?"
"Of course. It was a splendid attempt."
She nods and looks at him with a tiny, somewhat pained smile. Then she turns and sets her gaze on Steve. "Darling, what kind of grades do your friends have?" she asks. "Because if you're anything like me, and I know you are, you tend to befriend people who are significantly dumber than you."
Steve blinks, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, most of them were about to fail," he admits.
"Then, isn't it possible they really were studying for finals? Especially if they were close to failing at a school where passing is a requirement of attendance? Perhaps you could have suggested going to the...funeral museum after finals?"
A few seconds pass as Steve considers her words, a crushing sense of realization and guilt dropping on his shoulders and traveling to the pit of his stomach. It makes him feel nauseous, and he stares down at his lap. "I fucked up," he finally says, voice quiet and apologetic.
"Of course not!" Fester says, reaching out and ruffling Steve's hair despite the affronted noise from Debbie, "Your plan was beautifully conceived and masterfully executed. Perhaps you should just talk a little more before pulling out the urns next time."
"Incredibly, your father is right," Debbie says, looking pleasantly surprised before turning her gaze to Steve. She sighs and holds out a hand, squeezing Steve's when he takes it. "Don't get so blinded by a beautiful pair of shoes that you completely miss the sale two aisles over, Steve. At the very least, do a little more research before resorting to torture and murder. Personally, I'm very tired of calling the family's lawyer."
Steve snorts at the utter lie. Debbie loves calling the family's lawyer. She does so regularly just to double-check the state of Fester's stocks and bonds and deeds and general worth. "Okay," he says, nodding once, "I'll remember for the next school."
"You know," Fester says, looking at Debbie hopefully, "Pubert is a senior this year. Maybe Steve could go to high school with him."
Debbie hesitates, frowning slightly before saying, "Yes, but it's...public school."
"The best Gomez and Morticia could find! It was highly recommended by Margaret, and Pubert can make sure Steve adjusts and makes friends."
Steve can see the moment his mother agrees. She sighs, lets go of his hand, and fixes her already perfect bob. "Well, I suppose," she says before looking at Steve once more. "And you, Steve? Would you like to try...public school for your junior year?"
"Sure, might be fun," Steve says, thinking about all the movies he's seen that display public high schools as a zoo and the worst place on Earth. It sounds great, and if the place is still standing while Pubert attends, it must be somewhat entertaining.
------
"You've got everything you'll need?"
Steve looks up from lacing his shoes and smiles at his mother, earning a nervous grin in return. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically frazzled, and Steve feels warm and fuzzy (like a mold growing over his heart) at knowing she's so worried as to appear less-than-perfect in front of him.
"Yes, I've got everything," he says, gesturing to the backpack on the stairs next to him. In addition to notebooks and his pencil case, Steve has also packed a travel mace, a miniature bomb (alarm clock detonator stored separately, of course), a tiny bottle of tequila, and his lucky lightbulb (just in case).
His mother nods once, takes a deep breath, and then turns her head toward the kitchen to shout, "FESTER!"
Something crashes, a cat (they don't have a cat) yowls, and Steve's father slides into the doorway. "Yes, Pumpkin?" he asks, eyes bright and happy and utterly stuck on Debbie.
"Is Steve's lunch ready? You made something normal, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.
Fester glances at Steve, a brief look shared between them that's both sympathetic and endeared toward Debbie. "Of course," Fester says, disappearing for two seconds before striding over to the stairs with a pink lunch box decorated with black skulls (Steve chose the color, Fester chose the pattern, and Debbie gave them her stamp of approval). "A turkey sandwich, fruit, cookies, and juice."
"Fruit?" Debbie asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Apple slices!"
After a few seconds, Debbie nods, and Fester gives the lunch box to Steve, shifting some so Debbie doesn't see the conspiratorial wink that tells him the juice is definitely poisoned. Steve grins and shoves the lunch box into his bag. He finishes lacing his shoes and stands, holding his arms out so his mother can inspect him.
"You've done a wonderful job pairing your shirt and shoes," Debbie says, walking around Steve with an air of pride and approval. She rubs the sleeve of his pastel yellow sweater between her thumb and forefinger, nodding once. "The plum pants are a bold choice, but it pays off. And, as always, your hair is flawless, dear."
Steve grins, letting his arms fall to his side. "I tried that new mousse you gave me," he says, fingers twitching as he fights the urge to run them through his hair. "It works great."
His mother smiles even wider and kisses his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the lipstick residue she leaves behind. "I knew it would," she says, inspecting Steve's face once more before nodding with approval.
"Pumpkin, it's time for Steve to go. Pubert is waiting."
Debbie huffs softly and gives Steve one last once over before nodding and hurrying him toward the door. "Have a good day at school, try not to blow anything up, and call me if Pubert tries to cut off your head with a rusty knife again," she says.
"What if it's a clean knife?"
"Well, that's fine. Grandmama will just sew it back on."
Steve grins and waves to both of his parents before hurrying toward the sidewalk where Pubert is waiting. His hair is parted down the middle and gelled down, his pencil-thin mustache is immaculate as ever, and he's wearing a three-piece suit. When Steve is closer, he pulls out two cigars and offers one.
"This isn't an exploding cigar again, right? I'm wearing a new shirt," Steve says, taking it and looking it over.
"Nah, that joke only works once," Pubert says, dragging a match against his palm to light it. He holds it to his cigar first, puffs a few times, and then does the same for Steve. "How long till you get expelled again, you think?"
Steve shrugs as he takes a puff from the cigar, letting the smoke linger for a moment before skillfully blowing it out in perfect circles as they walk. "I haven't been to a public school before," he says, tapping the cigar over the sidewalk, "so, hopefully, at least a year."
"Public school is fun," Pubert says, getting a wicked grin as he looks at Steve. "You can get away with a lot."
"And the other kids?"
"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn. I mean, most of them can't even handle a little cyanide."
Steve scrunches his nose and takes another puff of his cigar. After a few seconds he asks, "Will we have any classes together?"
"You're a year below me, so maybe an elective or two. What did you sign up for?"
"I signed up for, uh, shop class, forensic science, and Gothic literature."
"We'll have Gothic lit together," Pubert says, flashing a smile before asking, "And you know what shop class is, right?"
Steve blinks, suddenly a little hesitant. "Is it not, like, something about shopping?"
"No. It's building things. With wood, usually."
"Oh! So, I can build anything?"
"I guess. I haven't taken it."
"Well, I'll find out. Maybe I can build Dad a catapult or guillotine or something."
As they get closer to the school, more students fill the sidewalks, but Steve notices that most of them seem to give him and Pubert a wide berth. They also stare, looking at Steve like he's some kind of puzzle to be solved, with more than a few flashing sympathetic smiles like he's trapped and can't get away. "You're popular," Steve notes, taking one last puff of his cigar before dropping it into a trash can.
"I would fucking hope so," Pubert says, finishing off his cigar and tossing it into the next trash can they pass. "I didn't flood the place with roaches and vermin to not be known."
Steve grins, listening as Pubert regales him with the tale only to cut it short when they get inside the school and pass the front office. "I need to get my schedule, but Mom said she made sure we'd have lunch together," Steve says.
Pubert waves him off. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Have fun, cousin," he replies, mockingly saluting him before heading off down the main hall.
-----
Steve's first class of the day was AP Calculus, followed by AP Physics, Wood Shop, and AP U.S. History. When it's finally time for lunch, he surveys the cafeteria for a few seconds before finding a table in a dark corner that everyone seems to avoid. By the time he gets there, Pubert has sat down with a tray from the lunch line.
Steve sets his backpack on the table, sits down, and says, "For a place that's so lifeless, it's not even fun."
"Yeah, it's like that," Pubert agrees, poking some unidentifiable mush on his tray with a spork before spooning some into his mouth.
It's with a somewhat jealous expression that Steve pulls out his lunch box and removes a thermos of poisoned juice. "Is it bad?" he asks, nodding to the tray.
"Utterly repulsive."
Steve sighs and takes a sip from the thermos before pulling out everything else in his lunch box. "They made me wear safety goggles in shop. Safety goggles! It's like they don't know how fun splinters in the eyes are. And everyone is soooo scared of the saws, it's ridiculous," he complains, taking an angry bite of his sandwich.
"What about your other classes?"
"Physics would be better with more practical examples. I mean, who cares about apples when we could learn if a body falls faster than a cannonball?"
"From experience, no," Pubert says, "Anyway, you gonna join any clubs?"
"Maybe the swim team? If I'm lucky, I'll drown," Steve says, perking up a little at the thought.
"Best of luck with that," Pubert replies, stealing Steve's thermos to take a sip of his juice. When he places it back, he offers Steve a sporkful of the mush.
Steve lights up and happily tries it, wondering how something can be so perfectly undercooked and overcooked at the same time. "Impressive," he says, passing the spork back. "Is that freezer burn?"
Before Pubert can answer, a bang from the other side of the cafeteria cuts off all other sounds. Steve glances over to see a boy in heavy combat boots climbing onto his table with a mischievous grin. He's wearing a shirt with a devil head on it and "Hellfire Club" emblazoned above and a vest with spikes, pins, and patches. His hair is just below his shoulders and a little curly, and Steve can see from here the wild glint in his eyes as he stomps down the table while talking.
"I'm tired of the double standards of this lame school. If you're into science or band or some other 'uncool' interest, the administration couldn't give two shits! Oh, the choir room needs new risers so the current ones don't break any necks? Well, that's too bad, we've got to give the football team new monogrammed towels for the locker room!" the guy says, grinning when a group of kids to the side shouts their agreement. "And never mind that our Robotics team has won the school three trophies when the basketball team so valiantly scraped into third place last year for being kinda good at throwing balls into laundry baskets."
"Prick!"
Steve glances at the guy who shouted, taking in his letterman jacket before quickly dismissing him. He looks back in time to see the boy on the table sticking out his tongue and holding his hands to his temples to make horns. There's an even wilder look in his eyes now, a sheer glee at causing a scene and getting under someone's skin.
Steve doesn't realize he's smiling until the boy scoffs, shouts one more line about the school's unfair preference for "mediocre jocks," and hops off the table. He looks over at Pubert and asks, "Who was that?"
Pubert glances at Steve, studying him for a moment before swallowing another mouthful of mush and saying, "Eddie Munson. He does that once a week, usually."
"Eddie Munson," Steve murmurs, glancing over at Eddie's table again and smiling a little wider.
#steddie#steddie fic#addams family b-side#that'll be the tag for this one lol#addams! steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#debbie jellinsky#fester addams#pubert addams#steve deserves good parents actually
983 notes
·
View notes
Text
To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7
Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours
Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader
Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn
Summary:Â Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.
Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.
Word Count:Â 4,463
Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM
A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.
Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nelâs flight leaves a half hour before Yuriâs gets in at the same airport.Â
But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like youâve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories youâve both made.Â
Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nelâs hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really.Â
He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you donât. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.
The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next.Â
Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together.Â
Thereâs a lump forming in your throat that youâre trying to swallow. Itâs thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you canât get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.
Painful doesnât even begin to describe this feeling.Â
As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. Youâre trying your best to blink them away, but you wonât be seeing him until winter break, and even then, thatâll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.
It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if itâs only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when youâre in the middle of it.Â
Funny how the concept of temporary doesnât make the gash in your heart open any less.
You donât want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you.Â
You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.
But he canât.Â
You reach his gate and before you know it, his flightâs being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow.Â
Maybe theyâll create a little lake in the hole heâs leaving you with. Thereâs certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.
Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.
âI love you so much,â he says. You donât see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, âItâs not forever, itâs just for now.âÂ
He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later.Â
Theyâve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations.Â
âJust for now,â you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake.Â
It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. âI love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.â
He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. Youâre going to miss seeing that smile in person.
Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. âItâs always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but Iâll manage.â Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and youâre pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. âI promise Iâll message as soon as I can. And Iâd wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.â
The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You donât want him to go. He doesnât want to go.
But he has too.Â
You separate only enough to kiss. Itâs messy and wet and gross, but you donât care. Itâs the last one youâll have for a while and you never want it to end.Â
But it does.Â
Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.
You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you.Â
You wave, mouthing âI love you.â
He mouths âI love youâ right back, and turns the corner.
You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking fiveâokay tenâminutes to violently sob in the bathroom.Â
She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed.Â
âItâs okay Sweets, youâll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,â she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.
They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.
You hate goodbyes.Â
But Yuriâs seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that wonât stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream.Â
Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesnât hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation.Â
The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. âShit personality and even shittier sexâ according to Yuri. No consultation needed.Â
But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. Heâs a Count of something she canât remember but in her words, âbig heart and even bigger dick.âÂ
That makes you giggle. And youâre happy for her.Â
âBitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think Iâm in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and Iâd still say thank you afterwards,â sheâs rambling at this point and youâre mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it.Â
You, on the other hand, donât mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now.Â
You donât want to start crying all over again. By the morning youâll be fine, youâll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, itâs a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.
So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasnât been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her.Â
You love her for it. For this.Â
For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.
You really fucking hate goodbyes.Â
Youâre staring at him.Â
Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him.Â
And Jungkookâs pretending he doesnât notice.
Youâre sitting in your chair and heâs back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screenâs filled with this week's newly assigned âStudio Portrait Techniques 1â homework.Â
His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.
His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.
And youâre staring at him.Â
Heâs hoping itâs because this is the first time youâve seen him since Nel left.Â
But itâs probably to do with the fact that he hasnât looked at you once today. Or the fact that heâs barely spoken at all when he usually canât seem to shut up when itâs been more than 48 hours since he last saw you.Â
Because itâs also the first time heâs seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasnât Adaline.
âYouâre acting weird,â you say.
âNo Iâm not,â he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.
Yes he is. He really, totally is.Â
âYes you are, you won't look at me and youâve barely said two words since I got here.â Well your knack for observancy is still intact.
Normally that's a good thing, but right now?
âDid I do something wrong?â
No. No you didnât.
He did.
He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isnât allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.
And now if he isnât paying the goddamned consequences.Â
After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. Heâd crossed a line he didnât even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.
For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be withâŠ
And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He canât look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted.Â
Wants.
Fuck, heâs in over his head.
Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.
Because you can never know.Â
He canât lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. Itâs not your fault he feels like this.Â
So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.
âNothingâs wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and Iâm planning out all my shoots.â
You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive.Â
âIf you say so,â your tone implying you donât believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesnât hitch, âWhatâs the project?â
âItâs my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. Itâs easy to make things look different when itâs different people being photographed,â he explains.
Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. Heâs glad itâs due in the middle of December because itâs going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit.Â
But thatâs the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a âportraitâ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it.Â
âTo broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,â as his professor would say.
He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box.Â
âOh wow, that is a lot,â you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings donât just happen in a day. âDo you have any ideas yet?â
âYeah! I have them all already, actually,â he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.
- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, âregalâ _|(_*-*)>_. Flag. - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels?Â
âIâm really excited for this project,â he says, âitâs just the prep thatâs going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. Itâs mostly concepts right now.â
You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways.Â
âAdaline going to be your model?â
It doesnât surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework.Â
âActually, I⊠uhhâŠâ he trails off. Jungkookâs trying to get the words out, he is. But theyâre surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat.Â
Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force.Â
It shouldn't be this difficult. It wonât be the first, second or fifth time heâs asked you.
Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.
He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, âI was going to ask you if you would.â
You somehow hear him.Â
âMe?â you look dumbfounded.Â
âYes, you.â Heâs always used you for homework assignments before, so heâs not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because itâs a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater?Â
âBut you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.â
Oh. That makes more sense.Â
But that is one mistake he wonât be making again, because he did ask Adaline.Â
Once.
It was recent, Nel was still here and he didnât want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.
So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.
What he didnât expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best.Â
All he did was click the capture image button when she said too.Â
And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed âugly.â
He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better.Â
So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model.Â
Ever again.
âNah. Youâre a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.â
You snort. âSeriously? Is she that self absorbed?â a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.
Thatâs new.
Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her.Â
But this one? Itâs like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didnât know it was this severe.Â
Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?
It certainly sounds like you donât like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldnât, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.
And if heâs honest, that wouldnât shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that.Â
He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.
âSheâs just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Canât really blame her for that.â
Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, âno, you canât,â placing a splash of pink on a flower.Â
He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back.Â
And the fact that you didnât answer him.Â
Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.
Jungkookâs editing a picture when you stretch.Â
You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study.Â
Theyâre some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and youâve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.
âShots blurry.â
Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. Heâd spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadnât noticed that.
Because itâs not. Itâs perfectly crisp and clear.
When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face.Â
Ah, he knows that look.Â
You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. âPay back for that first day,â you claim.Â
WellâŠ
Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.
âOh, you're right. Thanks,â and he switches to another image.Â
Your grin falters but you recover quickly.
âNo problem.â
See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows howâŠparticular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like âblueâ or âred.ïżœïżœ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of âsub colours.â
âItâs not blue, itâs cerulean,â youâd remark.Â
âThatâs not red, itâs burgundy,â youâd correct him.
Youâre always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But thatâs on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line.Â
Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you.Â
He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But heâs glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.
He gestures to your canvas. âThose pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?âÂ
âTheir common name is Ladyâs Eardrop. And theyâre magenta.â
Hook, line, sinker.Â
He doesnât even have to try, you walk right into it every time.
âLadyâs eardrop? Thatâs a weird nameâŠdo they come in other colours besides pink?â
You donât look up as you reply.Â
âMagenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but theyâre a different type, longer. Not the same as those,â you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta ladyâs eardrop sits in the window.Â
âAnd are these pink ones your favourite?â heâs really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.
âTheyâre. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.â
âNoted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.â
You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.
âThey are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, thereâs more titanium white in pink. That,â you point again, âis very clearly, magenta.â
He has to.Â
He canât help it.Â
Youâre sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.
But also hilarious.Â
âSame difference.â
He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.
âNo, not âsame difference,â theyâre magenta!â
Heâs leaning in. âPink,â eyeing your lips as you speak.Â
You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. âMa-gen-ta.â
Your noses are mere inches from touching.Â
âTheyâre pink, Van Gogh,â he backs off before he does something stupid that heâll regret, âDonât get so invested.â
You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, âTheyâre fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and youâll label them as such around me.â
Youâve always had a mouth on you. One you arenât scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesnât push any farther, knowing heâs already gotten what he wanted and then some.Â
But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.
Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies.Â
Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile thatâs trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.
Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice.Â
But you do, because itâs you. Of course you do.
And the look on your face is priceless.
âYou did that on purpose!â
âWhat?â he says way too high pitched. âNooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.â
He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.
âI was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.â
You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains.Â
âYouâre such a dick,â you quip.
âYet, you like me anyways.â
You mumble something incoherent.
âWhat was that?â
âNothing.â
âAwe, câmon now. Fess up.â
A pause, before, âI said I just remembered I donât know your favourite colour.â
No you most certainly did not, but heâll let it slide.
âBlack.â
âUgh, boring.â
âWhat?â
âBoring,â you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. âAnd technically not a colour. Blackâs a shade.â
Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.
âWhatever, Seurat, itâs still black. What about you? Whatâs Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Coloursâ favorite?â
âItâs still a shade,â you repeat.
âItâs still my favourite. Answer the question,â he presses.Â
You give him an unimpressed stare.Â
âViolet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,â your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as âhis dadâ so casually. âAnd when itâs not that, itâs this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.â
Itâs Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he canât help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.
âWhy two?âÂ
âWhy not?â you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. âDonât you get bored of one colour for too long? Itâs nice to switch things up every now and then.â
His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.
âRed.â
âHmm?â you touch ground.
âIf you wonât accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.â He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one.Â
He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...
But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.
âRedâs a great choice, strong,â you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.
âThanks.â
Thereâs a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.
âWhen do you need me for the shoot?â
Jungkookâs eyebrows find his hairline.Â
That was a yes, right? Youâre saying yes?
âUhmâŠsoon, Iâll let you know the specifics when I do.â
âSounds good.â
He was going to leave it at that, but adds, âThanks, Y/N.â
He hasnât said your name since the assembly.Â
Always nicknames when talking to you. Always.Â
Never your name.Â
Not once in two months. Almost three.
Youâ
An inhale.
YouâŠlike it.
The way it sounds coming from his lips.
Exhale.
Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries
A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!
A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3
<- Back
#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x oc#jeongguk#jeon jeongguk#jungkook au#jungkook college au#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#bts#bts imagines#jungkook imagine#bts fic#jungkook x y/n#bts jungkook#jungkook scenario#bts au#bts smut#bts x reader#bts x you#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#bts fanfic#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x oc#jeon jungkook x y/n#yoon writes#TWWWBAATTA
266 notes
·
View notes
Text
BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs
pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)
genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut
word count: 6.0k
summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?
playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries
warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument
note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3
The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. Youâre stirred by a sense of poignancyâthat youâre alive and theyâre not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what theyâve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; youâre sure they wouldâve handled your cursed life better than you can.Â
Or you wish you were as stony as them.Â
But youâre an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.Â
This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as youâre adventuring on your own in this art museum and thatâs the only sliver of kindness heâs shown you this very morning.Â
The only compliment youâve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so smallâand awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.Â
It hasnât even been a month since youâve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldnât help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.Â
Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and youâve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And youâve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You shouldâve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.
Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.Â
Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where youâve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.Â
Youâre surprised he didnât stand you up.Â
You donât even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you canât. Canât ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Canât really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when youâre the type of person that doesnât find love upon every corner you turn to.Â
This is your only chance. And heâs the only man youâll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.Â
You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they havenât strayed from you during the entire half an hourâand that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, heâd share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.Â
Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you canât bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace youâto have but a fragment of pity for you.Â
âYou hungry?â you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesnât know anything about you. Doesnât know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. âDid you have breakfast?âÂ
Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didnât mind, not really, in fact it animated youâbrought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.
Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but fullâyou wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if heâd be gentle with you or violent. If heâd stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon youâre wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.Â
Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesnât deserve to be juxtaposed with.Â
Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. Youâre too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. Youâd do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.
âI havenât eaten yet,â Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his armsâa pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. âTruth be told, I was too nervous.âÂ
A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little youâre worthy of such kindness and favor.Â
Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you donât understand it, you donât question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you havenât yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.Â
This is good.Â
You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because youâre so grateful for what heâs unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.Â
âLetâs go eat, then.â Your eyes crinkle and youâd bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. âThereâs no need to be nervous. Itâs what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.âÂ
Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. Youâre so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and whatâs more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.Â
Youâre despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. Itâs the least you deserve.Â
But youâre not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, youâre a witness to that tremblingâs halt, to Hoseokâs visible tranquility, and you want to weep.Â
You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, youâd see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.Â
âIâm sorry,â Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what heâs apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. âIâm sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.âÂ
He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. Youâd much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you donât make the mistake of distorting him again. Youâre not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.Â
âDonât worry,â you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steadyâand it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. âYouâre good. No need to apologize.â
His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact heâs touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on itâfocus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.Â
And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. Itâs your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smileâyour heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.Â
âNo, I really want to apologize. Itâs been too long since Iâve been on a date and youâre so stunning that Iâve forgotten my game, so I canât help but to be nervous. I donât know how to act around you,â he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. âArt isnât really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.â He nods at your necklace. âAnd like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?â
Youâre so taken aback that you donât have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likesâright in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspaceâall before war could be declared with you.Â
Hoseok, the prince of peace.Â
The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angelâs wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think youâve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.
You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quiveringâall because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you havenât felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you canât explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you donât mind. Let that be captured in the memoryâthe mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.Â
You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.
âYou canât take pictures with flash here. Theyâll throw us out,â you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an âOâ, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.
âI didnât know,â he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. âI havenât been here since I was a kid.â You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didnât have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure itâs all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. âOkay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.âÂ
Itâs your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touchâhalf on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.Â
A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and itâs all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: âGood, good.âÂ
Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring whatâs hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didnât expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and youâve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone elseâs as well.Â
Youâve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have itâso when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.Â
You didnât anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because youâre being fed, you donât really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.Â
Canât let the opportunity run away from you.Â
And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.Â
âNow from the back,â he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. âJust like you were.âÂ
A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until thereâs nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.Â
Itâs those things that drive forth your following words with the worldâs ease, unabashedly.Â
âYou want it from the back?âÂ
Hoseokâs mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesnât. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseokâs eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.Â
There is itâthe heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the deadâand you grin.Â
âBehave.â
A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.Â
Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joyâs strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.Â
âYes, sir.âÂ
Hoseok coos his approval and you canât take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.Â
Youâre done for. You need to take him home. Youâre not even curious about how the pictures came outâyou can always look at them later.Â
Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.Â
âSuch a pretty girl,â he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. âThe pictures are great. Wanna see?âÂ
Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. âWhat I want is to make you breakfast,â you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.Â
Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. âOh, yeah?âÂ
Fuck. If his scolding already didnât make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.Â
âThank you, sir.âÂ
A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. âLetâs go.âÂ
He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and youâre so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.Â
They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldnât allow that to happenâand a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.
And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.Â
A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.Â
Your bloodstream doesnât cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.Â
A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichorâshe walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.Â
You wished for him to be in Hoseokâs place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.Â
Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.Â
And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.Â
And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.Â
âDo you know him?â Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.Â
And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his dateâs short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.Â
A breath of fresh air, he is.Â
You donât know what to say. Donât know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that wonât devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, youâll stumble into a dead end youâd much rather stay clear of. Youâd see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.Â
Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.Â
Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.Â
What would the angels do in your place?Â
Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. Heâs pretending he didnât see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.Â
You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.Â
Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.Â
âYeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?â
The corner of Hoseokâs mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. âGo, Iâll get the car ready.âÂ
Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecureâletting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesnât include him just yet. And for that very reason it willâas soon as youâre done putting out that fire in you.Â
Itâs not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.Â
Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.Â
His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.Â
âThank you, Hoseok. Really,â you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.Â
A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. âNo need to thank me,â he assures, reciprocating the smile. âAnd call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.âÂ
Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.Â
He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He mustâve undergone his military service.Â
A beautiful man. You canât wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.Â
Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, heâs appreciating the angel sculptureâthe very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.Â
A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.Â
Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesnât comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.Â
Doesnât say anything.Â
You scoff, fury grazing your fire. âYouâre pretending not to know me? Thatâs low.â His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination heâs caused. Remains silent. âWhoâs your little girlfriend? I thought youâd introduce me. Where is she, anyways?âÂ
Itâs him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. Itâs like heâs staring right at you. âYou shouldnât be doing this, little one.âÂ
The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasnât real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing youâall of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, youâre safe.Â
âWell, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,â you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. Youâre just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.Â
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. âDonât call me that.âÂ
You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. âI can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.âÂ
He grits his teeth. âNot when youâre talking to me, you canât.âÂ
Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.Â
You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.Â
What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didnât want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that heâs reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didnât want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldnât breathe and let you go.Â
Three weeks ago.Â
You havenât seen him or heard from him since until now. Until youâve found someone else and moved on with your life. Thatâs just your luck.Â
And now the person youâre gazing at, itâs not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day evenâbut that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.Â
Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.Â
Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.Â
You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel betterâbecause once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.
Youâre a locked orchard.Â
Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. Thereâs a strain to his shoulders and his Adamâs apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoeverâyour heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.
âI thought youâd already left,â he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. âIsnât your boyfriend waiting for you?âÂ
You donât bother to correct him. Itâs none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.
âWe were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,â you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. âWhat the fuck was that?âÂ
A smirk. âGlad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.âÂ
You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. âTrust me, I wouldâve done this with anyone I know. Youâre not special.âÂ
His smirk widens. âSo, youâre not jealous?â He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.Â
He did it for that very reasonâto make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.Â
Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.Â
A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesnât suit her, not in the slightest.Â
âThere you are,â your ex-boyfriendâs companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. âWho are you?âÂ
You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that youâve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. âItâs not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?âÂ
You donât hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.Â
When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkookâs eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because youâre reverently acknowledged with his soulâyou know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you donât soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didnât run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.Â
You donât soften because you simply donât want to.Â
You donât want to give in to any means of getting close to him.Â
The chapter is finished. You shouldnât have called him. You shouldâve left with Hobi.Â
You donât wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.Â
Youâll hear him out, but thatâs the end of it.Â
âCan I see you later?â he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.Â
You donât really think thatâs a good idea.Â
âI wonât have time for you later, Iâll be with Hoseok.âÂ
To Hobi, you wonât lie, but the same canât be applied to Jungkook.Â
His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.Â
But he surprises you with the words he says next.Â
âIâll wait, then. Let me know when youâre alone.âÂ
And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.Â
đ ౚà§Â LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
BACK to masterlist
#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#bts smut#bts imagine#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook#bts scenarios#jungkook scenarios#jungkook fluff#btscreatorscorner#kpop smut#jungkook one shot#hoseok x oc#hoseok x yn#hoseok x y/n#hoseok smut#hobi smut#jhope smut#jhope x reader#jung hoseok
302 notes
·
View notes
Text
the look of love, the rush of blood
pairing: kim jiwoong x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 397
notes: cinema paradise jiwoong my beloved <33 this is very short but i'm a little rusty, inspo from this prompt list by @thepromptswhisperer, not proofread, pls forgive any mistakes!! i've had this song stuck in my head all day lmao, title from arctic monkeys - no.1 party anthem
shivers race down KIM JIWOONGâS spine as you casually brush your hand through his hair, twisting the soft strands between your fingertips. your knuckles brush against the edge of his jawline, trailing against his sharp features and smooth skin.Â
the comfortable silence that has settled over your apartment is only occasionally broken by the quiet chirps from nearby birds. sunlight fills the room, painting the world gold. hues of purples and pinks dance in the sky above but your gaze remains trained on the man lying beneath you. âyouâre so handsome, jiwoong,â you murmur quietly.Â
âreally?â he chuckles, shifting slightly to look up at you. his eyes shine the colour of honey in the sunlight - as captivating as the artwork that lines the walls of various museums. jiwoong smiles brightly at you. âyou think so?â
âof course i do.â stray strands of bleached blonde hair frame jiwoongâs face. your hands ghost against the faux freckles littering his flushed cheeks, careful not to smudge the makeup. blood rushes to jiwoongâs face, staining his ears with a bright pink tint. âyouâre blushing,â you tease.
jiwoong laughs. he raises his hands to his face as he twists away from you, halfheartedly hiding behind the sleeves of his hoodie. his eyes crinkle into soft crescents as he smiles. âi canât help it when you look at me like that.âÂ
his voice has fallen to just above a whisper; the words are barely audible over the gently whistling wind. your hand has fallen slightly, now gingerly tugging jiwoongâs hand into your own as you unconsciously intertwine your fingers together.Â
âyouâre beautiful, jiwoong,â you murmur. you can feel the heat rising to his face once again as you cup his cheeks in your hands with a soft smile. âthe most beautiful man iâve ever seen.âÂ
jiwoong sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair as he shifts to sit beside you. his knee brushes against your own when he leans in, gently meeting his lips against your own in a sweet kiss. your bodies move together effortlessly, like two puzzle pieces meeting in a seamless rhythm. your hands snake around his shoulders as his find your waist, tugging you even closer. âi love you,â he whispers breathlessly. jiwoongâs forehead rests against your own as you smile brightly.Â
âi love you, too,â you murmur before pressing your lips against his once more.Â
if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my zb1 masterlist <33
#zb1 x reader#zb1 x male reader#zb1 fluff#jiwoong x reader#jiwoong x male reader#jiwoong fluff#zb1 imagines#zb1 one shot#zb1 drabbles#zb1 scenarios#jiwoong imagines#jiwoong one shot#jiwoong scenarios#jiwoong drabbles#zb1 jiwoong#zb1 soft hours#zb1 soft thoughts#zerobaseone x reader#zerobaseone x male reader#zerobaseone fluff#zerobaseone imagines#zerobaseone one shot#zerobaseone drabbles#zerobaseone scenarios#kim jiwoong#zerobaseone jiwoong#x reader#x male reader#kpop x reader#kpop x male reader
153 notes
·
View notes
Note
hii, can I request something based on this
https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSL1YNSCU/?t=1
the reader is just mindlessly scrolling on her phone, and ellie is just a being little shit and annoying the reader cause she needs some ATTENTION ASAP !!!
it starts out as ellie peppers the reader with kisses innocently, and they accidentally (not rlly an accidentally đ) ended up in bed cuddling while naked đ
anon this tiktok couple drives me insane im so jealous theyre so cute i literally think about blocking them sometimes. the highway looking like a real good sleeping space rn!
warning: nsfw+fluff. THIS CAME OUT. NOT THE WAY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO. THERES NO CUDDLING BECAUSE I LOST MY MIND WRITING THIS AND ELLIE IS KIND OF MEAN AT THE END :( IM SO SORRY NONNIE đ€
this ones gotta be an actual hammer. theres no way in hell they could make a cake this accura-
fuck. how is everything fucking cake? if these yellow crocs arent actual wearable shoes, you were going to sue tiktok user 0087fakeorcake.
scroll
ugh, a slime video. your favorite. this oneâs crunchy, too. and the color? a deep hypnotizing purple. it looked like a galaxy, far far away. you just went cross eyed.
âbabeâ ellies voice echoed through your shared apartment. a new one at that. the smell of fresh paint, new wooden furniture, and a pinch of familiarity. ellies punctured sock was laying on the floor like a modern piece of artwork at a funky museum, but were gonna ignore that for a second.
scroll
ooh! a kitten looking dapper with a bow tie! double tap.
âbabeâ she said, slightly raising the tone of her voice.
not now, ellie! you were just about to watch a target haul.
a small huff escaped her lips. how was she now jealous of an actual piece of metal squeezed between your hands. if you didnt look so cute concentrated, eyebrows furrowed while trying to read a conspiracy theory about the moon landing, she would have probably snatched your phone off of your hands by now.
she got slightly closer, and positioned herself between your legs. you didnt even acknowledge your sweet girl, too bothered reading stupid tiktok comments on a prank video.
âHAH!â you giggled, slightly sliding off the cream colored couch.
âyou have to see this one, elâ you exclaimed, voice filled with anticipation.
ellie hummed in response, and sat on the couch near you, manspreading as usual, slightly pushing you to the opposite direction with the spread of her knees. ellie didnt even want to see. she needed your attention now, or else shed die. quite literally die. a fish out of water.
she sighed dramatically, side eyeing you. if ellies facial expression had a name, it would be ânotice me! notice me!!! im your dramatic girlfriend and you havent given me a kiss on the cheek for over 2 hours and i feel sick!!!â
âi dont wanna seeâ she said dryly, voice slightly raspy from the spliff she had smoked 10 minutes near the open window - âcreepâ by radiohead playing in her headphones. sometimes, ellie couldn't help but despise how deeply music affected her. she would get lost in the lyrics, immersing herself in the melancholic tones of the guitar. in moments like these, she felt as if she were the protagonist in a radiohead music videoâ broody, hunched, and consumed by a cloud of introspection.
you shoved the phone in her face, your eyes glued to the screen.
the title of the video flickered on the screen. âthis is how dinosaurs sounded like⊠đŠ part 1 đŻâ
the room was suddenly filled with the jarring sounds of screeching and growls. despite the cacophony, you smiled dumbly, looking forward to her reaction. i mean, its fucking dinosaurs.
âniceâ ellie remarked in her trademark dry tone, laced with a hint of sarcasm.
that was so fucking cool, she thought. âcan you show me the second part?â âactually, triceratops probably didnt roar like that⊠theyd make more cooing like sounds, yâknow?â is what ellie would have said, if she werenât so lost in her dramatic performance of her tony award winning play - âmy gf is ignoring me therefore i must die immediately.â
âyoure annoyingâ you said, tsâking and reverting your gaze back to the screen. you pressed save on the video. you knew her so well.
âmânotâ she said, sighing dramatically. âyou are.â
âfineâ you mumbled under your breath. then, your attention quickly shifted. ooh! baby goats! you smiled brightly at the screen.
ellie stared at you. when she saw your stupid smile, she couldnt help but soften her gaze. why did you have to be so fucking cute, all hypnotized and shit. âyoure so annoyingâ she whispered, and planted a small kiss on your cheek.
you couldn't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation of her plump lips against your skin. you were kind of over the doom scrolling now, but fuck- if seeing your girlfriend try to win your attention didn't seem tempting. you pressed "like".
she kissed your cheek again, small huffs of breath leaving her mouth as her lips met your skin. âannoyingâ she hummed playfully, and planted more delicate kisses all over your cheeks. her hand intertwined with yours, and she kissed it as well.
âmmhmâ kiss. it tickled. âsoâ kiss. that one was wet. âannoyingâ kiss. her tongue was peaking out of her mouth. âandâ kiss. her hand was on your thigh. âlameâ kiss. that one was on your neck.
you attempted to stifle your smile, fighting the urge to toss the phone aside in a moment of playful frustration. however, your efforts were in vain as a giggle escaped your lips, unable to contain yourself.
âgot your attention now?â she said smugly, continuously planting small kisses on your neck. although your eyes were still glues to the screen, ellie knew she won. so, so predictable.
âno.. theres- this⊠video nowâ you said, stuttering slightly. what video? god knows.
âyeahâŠâ she murmured, her voice husky and brimming with satisfaction. âmâsure youre watchingâ she kissed your ear, making you let out a small whimper. âhas to be a good one, got you all giddy like thatâ so smug.
suddenly, she ended the cascade of kisses, and pulled away. you pouted. âshould i turn the AC on? you look kinda hotâ yeah, she knew you were flustered now. funny, she thought. after all this time together, you still couldnât help but flush whenever she got near.
âmâfineâ you murmured. you were not.
âno i thinkâŠâ she straddled you, her voice now a seductive whisper in your ear. âyou feel really hotâ she murmured, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. âsure you dont have a fever?â she teased. âpoor thingâ
ânoâŠâ you giggled nervously, still scrolling, ignoring every single video on your feed. you were literally just moving your finger now, for no purpose at all. ellie chuckled.
âthink we need to get this off of youâ she suggested, her hand gradually inching up under your shirt, lightly tracing circles on your stomach.
âdont want you to get a heat strokeâ she teased. her skillful hand gradually removing the fabric from your warm body. it tangled with your phone. ellie couldnt help but let out a small laugh.
she couldve taken the phone off your hand and you wouldnt have resisted. but this⊠was so, so much more fun.
her hungry eyes roamed over the sight of your exposed bra, appreciating the beauty before her. with a gentle touch, she cupped your breasts, a soft grunt escaping her lips. "oof, babe... tits feel kinda hot too," she whispered into your ear, her warm breath sending tingles down your spine.
you couldn't help but giggle in between short, desperate breaths. âyeah?" you teased, still scrolling through another video on your phone, purposely avoiding eye contact with the girl straddling you.
"mhmm," she hummed approvingly, unclasping your bra. as the cold air brushed against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise, she couldn't help but feel a wave of hunger wash over her. the sight before her made her mouth nearly water, and yet, you remained engrossed in that damn phone.
ellie was pissed. she let out a small, frustrated whimper. she wasnt going to touch you until you threw that phone across the room. ball was in your court.
she crawled off of you. she planned on giving you a damn show. âmâkinda hot now tooâŠâ she murmured, feigning discomfort. âfuck- this apartment is like, scorching hot.â it was mid-december. the new apartment was⊠morgue-like cold sometimes.
she threw her shirt off to the back of the room.
your phone was invisible to you now. her toned stomach, muscled arms came into full view, leaving you breathless. fuck, she really was a fucking sight.
her eyes flickered over to you, a self-assured, cocky glint dancing within them. she let out a huff, her lips curling into a triumphant smile. she had you right where she wanted you.
âdidnt you have a video you needed to watchâŠ?â she teased. âlooked super importantâ she continued, smirking. you didnt respond, almost hypnotized by the sight in front of you. ugh, ellie.
âdont look at me, look at the screenâ she playfully teased once more. her voice carried a hint of seductive taunting. as if to further entice you, she flexed her muscles, the tantalizing display meant to captivate your gaze. she was a master of the tease, and she knew exactly how to make your attention sway in her direction.
she crawled back to you. âgo look at your dumb vlogsâ she whispered into your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. your eyes rolled back in response to her words. "keep going," she commanded with a smirk, claiming your compliance. as a final tease, she planted a tantalizing kiss on your neck, sucking the skin. she made sure you felt her wet tongue, felt what you were missing. your breaths were becoming raggedy now.
ellie continued her crawl, moving further down your body. âjust like thatâ she murmured when you bucked your hips forward. her needy, needy girl. her fingers skillfully unbuttoned your jeans, swiftly removing them along with your panties in one smooth motion. the cool air caressed your bare skin, causing you to flinch.
a small whimper escaped your lips.
âwhatâŠ?â she cooed, planting soft, wet kisses on your exposed thighs, looking at you with a hungry gaze.
did you really think she was going to give it to you, after youve ignored her for so fucking long? ellie rolled her eyes, and broke the string of kisses. you stared at her, and fuck, she couldnt have looked more cocky.
she got on her knees, not breaking eye contact. she looked so fucking mean.
ânoâ she exclaimed, as if she could read your mind. she knew exactly what you wanted.
she took off her boxers in one swift motion and threw them.
at your face.
âget that fucking phone to fuck you.â
#ellie williams#ellie x reader#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams blurb
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey pretty do you still take requests? If you do please write something about Lewis Hamilton x Fem Reader and their relationship is like that one video of rihanna and asap where rhi is looking lusty at asap. Lmao I'm bad at explaining I'm sorry, anything will do tbh i trust you. đ„°
Those sinful eyes - Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader
á°.á A/N: Oh i just know what you mean lol. All the requests in my account got deleted and this is recent so if you are one of those peeps who sent me a requests back then you are free to send it again, I'm very sorry for the long take. đ
áŻâ
One of the things you can use against lewis is your eyes. They have a big impact on him it can be staring up at him or staring down at him.
"Don't move so much babe, I'm trying to do your hair." You giggled as you place your feet behind your ass resting it on his knees to comfortably sit on his lap while he wiggled like a child, "I'm sorry missus." as his eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes.
"fuck.." he muttered looking at you breathlessly, "What you have a staring problem now?" you joked as your fingers made their way into his curls before carefully tugging a piece as you continued your work with braiding his hair since the fronts are the only thing that was left untouched.
"You are so beautiful and beautiful and beautiful." Lewis blabbed looking back at your left to right eyes as if he is watching a tug rope competition fighting over which side is he gonna look at with how close you are.
The biggest hate love he has on the way he folds quickly just by the eye contact. The intimate eye contact and smile does something to him that will make him want to go on convulsion.
George once pointed it out on him which became a whole joke on the grid.
"The family guy is here again." Max said as lewis approach the drivers who just sat down and talk after the practice race, "What do you mean, we don't have a kid yet?" lewis cluelessly said as he sat down between all of them.
"With how whipped you look at her oh you will be soon" George marked spreading his arms on the back of the chair to welcome lewis more to share a detail about both of yours relationship. "Have you seen how his girl look at her? If she looked at me that way i would even faint, lewis is just a humble guy." Lando pointed out to side lewis and to give him a concrete reason on why lewis acted like that when you look at him.
"I mean have you seen lewis? I would look at him that way too" max stated before sipping his redbull.
áŻâ
Get dressed, get your nails done, buy all your make up, own him up.
Another weakness of his is seeing you all ready and pretty for somewhere you guys are going for a date or whenever you go to the paddock.
"Hey guys i wasn't informed we are all meeting in here." Lewis entered as the laughter and talking went down to silence, "What's that on your face?" Lando was the first one to speak up which broke the silence.
"What what??" Lewis asked as he rose his phone up using it as a mirror to look at himself
"That kiss mark.."
"Oh it's from my missus." Lewis answered confidently before sitting down as a big smile still plastered on his face like a kid who's proud of his medal, "Yeah of course.." George bitterly said rolling his eyes and smacking his lips.
"Wow the missus really wifed you up."
That's one of his title that he is very proud of, hell have you guys checked on lewis when both of you first talked? He is very proud of it bragging it to everyone as if he won the most luckiest man alive. What worse when you said yes to his proposal of being your boyfriend who will definitely be your husband soon.
One of his dream is making a family with you, finally hearing his surname beside your name.
"Hello Mrs. Hamilton you look beautiful in that dress." Lewis addressed walking at your back feeling his palms on your back like he is sculpturing like those statues in museum, "Thank you Mr. Hamilton, you look handsome as ever.." You complimented back placing your hand on his face caressing his jaw and cheeks, holding up an eye contact on him with pure admiration.
"Of course i do, you are the one who picked my outfit" he commented and yes he lets you pick on what he wears. There are times where both of you wear a matchy outfit or just a same color shirt just so people can't tell you both apart. "Did you like it?"
"Oh i love it Mrs. Hamilton, look how good we look besides each other" He kept the nickname before looking at both of you in the mirror holding your waist like the mirror will take a picture any time moment. "I think something is missing hmm.." he said looking at you.
"What do you mean, you look really good." You muttered looking back at him, "My kiss.." he pouted as you smack his chest feeling a sigh of relief. "Darling you scared me" you giggled before grabbing his face with one hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.
Looking at the pigment that rests on his face is like looking at the painting of work from the history. The memories and moments of how many times you have did this, it's like reminding everyone that you own him, The seventh time world champion who makes everyone know that he can't function without feeling the affection you give to him by the daily basis.
"How i love looking at that on my face everyday, God knows you will walk down the aisle as a scene and confirmation to everyone that i am gifted with a gorgeous wife like you."
#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x fem!reader#formula one#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader
250 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dating Namjoon headcanons
Warnings: swearing, suggestive, teeny bit of angst
A/N: I realized that I hadn't written anything for Joon in a hot minute, so let's change that, shall we?
Masterlist
Requests are open
°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âąÂ°âą
Dating Namjoon feels like one of those early 2000s romance movies.
Utterly frustrating but soo worth it.
He talks a lot of hype in his songs, but I think when he first meets someone he's really into, he's a fucking mess.
Like it's Joon, but it's Joon, you know what I mean?
Red ears, stumbling over his words(and feet), getting flustered every other sentence.
Probably walked into a wall while distracted talking to you.
Don't get me wrong tho, once he gets the butterflies to chill and gets comfortable, the rizz is BACK and in full force.
Big on eye contact
Stares at you with absolute heart eyes(if you've seen that clip of him watching Hobi from Bon Voyage, you know what I'm talking about)
But can flip the switch in the blink of an eye, and be looking at you like he's gonna eat you alive(we love a duality king)
Simp Romantic. Will randomly bring you flowers just cause he was thinking about you(but he's always thinking about you, so why was today any different?)
Writes soo many songs/lyrics about you, but rarely tells you about them directly. He just asks if you wanna hear something he's been working on, and then sits back and watches your faves as you catch the hidden meanings and references. At the end, he's just sitting there, grinning, asking "You like it?"
(Like, yes, I like it you fucking dork!)
Always remember important dates like birthdays and anniversaries( first date, first kiss, everything)
Museum and bookstore dates are a given.
Buying/sharing books with you is probably one his favorite forms of intellectual intimacy, because, for him, each one is a glimpse into your mind.
If you mention one of your favorite titles and he hasn't read it, he's gonna find it asap.
Would try to get you to workout with him and be gym buddies.(I don't know if I like or hate that idea tho?)
Random texts at 1am asking if you're up and wanna hang out?(may or may not be outside your place already, cause he's over-eager and forgot to text earlier)
Endless, late night talks about everything from music to the meaning of life to what jelly bean flavor is superior(it's watermelon)
Also random trips together. Could be to the beach, could be to Sweden, who knows? You bring out his spontaneity and are one of the only people who can get him to take a vacation anyway.
He is a workaholic though, so you have to look out for him sometimes, make sure he eats, sleeps, touches grass, etc.
You probably bicker and butt heads a lot, but y'all make sure it never gets out of hand and try to find a solution.
(Lowkey possessive, but won't admit it)
Not a fan of pda, but he *clings*.
He tries to be subtle about it, but fails because it's like there's a gravitational pull between the two of you from the way he's constantly within arm's reach wherever you are.
Same goes for when you're alone. He's not technically cuddling you, but he always somehow ends up pressed to your side or back, or has a hand on you in some way.
Another member of the 'Protective Squad'. Like, if anyone so much as looks in your direction the wrong way, he's got the death glare locked on them.
Pretty classic when it comes to nicknames for you. Things like 'honey', 'baby', 'jagi'. Adds 'my' in front of any of them when he's in the mood to fluster you.
Which reminds me, he is the BIGGEST FUCKING TEASE ISTG.
He knows exactly what riles you up, and then just gives you these soft, sweet little kisses like you're not about to combust. Has the nerve to then smirk and call you needy(I wanna fight him)
Finds the most random things you do attractive. The way you read. The way you make your coffee. The weird little face you make when your flipping through Netflix.
Although he seems a bit cautious, I actually think a relationship with him might move pretty fast. Like, he's fighting back from asking you to move in with him after five or six months type of fast.
Lives for domesticity with you.
Quiet, sleepy mornings together. Messy hair and glasses over tired eyes, resting against your shoulder as he brings you coffee while you cook breakfast.
I know he said he's not sure abt kids anymore, but I do see him possibly getting a pet with you to 'round out the household'. Something quiet and low maintenance though, like a couple hermit crabs.(would probably name one after a favorite artist/author and then name the other smth random like 'blue')
Again, I don't know how to end these. Just love him, please.
#namjoon scenario#namjoon fluff#namjoon#namjoon scenarios#namjoon headcanons#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x reader#bts scenarios#bts fluff#bts reaction#bts reactions#bts headcanons#bts x y/n#bts x reader#7ndipity
996 notes
·
View notes
Text
For the @steddie-spooktober day 22 prompt : leaves
rated: E (?) | cw: none | tags: housewife role play, feminisation, established relationship
đđđđ
Eddie bought the place from a guy Hopper knew. A plot of land in Illinois, just outside Kentucky. A place to rest, to build roots. A new home.
After four platinum albums and near constant touring, Eddie made his lawyer find a clause in his contract titled âgive me a fucking break.â
So after a final summer of shows. Eddie bought the land officially and did the closest thing he could to marrying Steve Harrington.
He bought a home for Steve, to get him away from the city. He was always complaining about it, about wanting a change - especially now that Robin had settled in an apartment with her girl and had gotten comfortable at her job with the museum. (Eddie flies them out during holidays. Heâs rich now, and heâd do anything to put a smile on Steveâs face.)
So Eddie bought Steve a house, and a ring. And it was all very wholesome, and sweet. And Eddie always looks forward to coming back once heâs finished whatever show, interview or meeting that whisks him away. Heâs always craving his little bit of wholesome, his little life of sweetness.
Heâs also usually craving something else. Something thatâs maybe less wholesome, and sweet, depending on how you look at itâŠ
Eddie wipes the sweat from his brow, leaning over the pot of canned sauce heâs stirring. He still canât cook, and every time worries itâll mess with the fantasy.
But he canât think about that now, checking he definitely set the timer for the garlic bread in the oven. He did, 5 more minutes.
He hears Steve kick his boots against the wall outside the frontdoor. Heâd wanted to finish moving all the fallen leaves together to be readied for compost. They no doubt tacked themselves to the bottom of his shoes.
The door unlocks and Eddie scrapes a hand through his hair. He hears Steve shuffle around, taking off his jacket and hat. Eddie re ties his apron, pulling the strings tighter around his waist.
âHoney Iâm home!â Steve calls.
Eddie tenses for a moment, then goes back to stirring. He shivers as Steveâs thick, work worn hands slip around his waist and squeeze. The smell of Steveâs hard earned musk making Eddieâs knees weak.
âHey baby.â Eddie murmurs, as Steve kisses up the side of his neck.
The timer going off makes Eddie jump.
He shoos Steve into a chair and bends to take the garlic bread out of the oven, arching his back a little more than he needs to.
âOkay, I, uh, think I just need to dish up.â Eddie says, slightly frazzled, making sure everything is turned off and grabbing plates out.
âCâmere a sec?â
Eddie turns, smoothing down his frilly apron and stepping over to where Steveâs sat, legs spread. In his flannel and blue jeans heâs as close to a cowboy as Eddieâs ever seen. (The tabbed off page of his old play girl doesnât see much action anymore, rendered useless by the man before him.)
Steve pulls at his wrists, making Eddie sit straddling his knee. Eddie bites his lip at the friction on his cock through the thin cotton shorts heâs wearing.
âHowâs my best girl huh?â Steve asks, pulling Eddie flush against him.
Eddie whimpers. âGood.â He rasps. âMissed you.â
âMissed you too, did you cook me something nice?â Steve tucks a lock of hair behind Eddieâs ear.
Eddie opens his mouth to answer but Steve shifts his thigh and grips Eddieâs hips to grind against him. Eddie moans.
âWhat was that?â Steve asks.
âYeh, yes.â Eddie manages. âPasta.â
âAh, just like a good little housewife huh? Go serve it up then.â Steve says, lifting Eddieâs writhing form off his leg and smacking him on the ass.
Eddie serves up two plates, hands shaking, dick tenting his shorts.
He canât wait to see what Steve has planned for desert.
đđđđ
Tag list (lmk to be added / removed) : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone
@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair
#I had a vision#but couldnât think of actual smut for it lol#hotlunch#steddie#steve x eddie#steddiespooktober#steddie spooktober#<3#drabbles
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Already over.
Main Steven Grant x F! reader. ( + Marc Spector x F! Reader)
Part 2. Sleepwalking.
Warnings & tags. ANGTS!! Cheating kinda but not really?, hurt, and all of thaaaat.
Word count. 3.4k
Summary.
We been talking for hours About how we shouldn't talk for hours on end. Kissing after a conversation About how we'd probably be better off as friends. Same time here next weekend Say, "We won't do this again" Make me fall where I stand Only like you can.
It had been a while since Steven and you had accepted your positions in Marc's life. Both of you were external parts of something larger, like small protrusions on a road that led nowhere.
You decided to understand it when you realized the burden Marc had to carry. Khonshu had taken hold of his psyche and shattered it as he pleased, although he was aware of his dissociative identity disorder, he had started to lose control a long time ago and this resulted in Steven finding out in the worst possible way. It was as if life itself had decided to break him in every possible way.
Hadn't he suffered enough already? Steven and you weren't going to take away the last thing he had.
The love of his life. Layla El-Faouly.
You envied her in different ways. Living a life of adventures with the man of your dreams sounded like something out of a book. She was a strong woman and the first in Marc's life, and therefore also in Steven's, but if there was something that broke your heart in half, it was knowing that she was happy with him.
It would be a lie to say that you weren't happy with Steven. He gave you all of himself and loved you in a way he never tried to hide. But for years now, you had been the one picking up the pieces of two broken people and putting them back together. And then, there was Layla, who didn't even know about the existence of her husband's alter ego, enjoying the best part.
The carefree part that stood above all the atrocities of daily life, simply having a nice date or the official title of his wife, with a ring and legal documents.
"Do you miss working at the museum?" Steven's fingers traced your waistline, occasionally pausing to press on the moles peeking beneath the fabric of your short shirt.
"You have no idea how much." You could never tell him how much you appreciated that he didn't lie to you. You knew he comforted Marc by telling him that life was perfect just the way it was.
You were face to face. You admired Steven's face in front of you.
Anyone would think that once the issue of his fake sleep disorder was cleared up, he would look less tired. Although there were still hundreds of nocturnal missions, and Khonshu destroyed the mercenary's body until an exhaustion beyond description, now Steven could sleep a few more hours, the ones where he used to force himself to read until the letters danced before him.
Nothing had changed at all. In fact, you could swear that the dark circles under his eyes were becoming more noticeable.
"I love you, Steven." You said suddenly, resting a hand on his cheek. His skin had always been so soft and delightfully warm.
You brought a smile to his face, the one that momentarily makes you forget that both of you feel that time is running out.
The one that makes you forget the slight resentment you have towards Marc.
"I love youâŠ" He whispered before leaning forward, just enough to brush his lips against yours, a gentle touch as his hand rested on your waist, and his thumb traced circles on your bare skin.
He wasn't lying; Steven never lied.
You spent the rest of the afternoon kissing and chatting about what had happened during the week you couldn't see each other. You asked about Layla as you always did, he shrugged, and you wondered if he felt the same resentment towards her that you felt towards Marc.
"The idea of vegan hot wings is stupid," you laughed as you bit into the vegetable in your hand, the one that was trying to deceive you and pass for something else.
"The sauce tastes good!" Steven laughed with you, playfully pushing you with his shoulder. To hell with sitting face to face in restaurants; if your bodies weren't close enough, neither of you were comfortable.
"It's a fraud."
"It's delicious." Seeing you take another bite was enough to feel that he was right without you explicitly saying it.
"Do you want to come to my apartment later?" You sucked your thumb to clean the sauce from it. "Yesterday, I accidentally stumbled upon a garage sale and bought the dumbest movie I've ever seen, I got it for us. It's called Rubber, and it's about a homicidal car tire."
Under any other circumstances, Steven would have laughed with you, but he gave you that look that you already knew too well.
"I'm sorry, love." Suddenly, the fake wings didn't look so appetizing. "Marc is feeling better."
Ah. That.
That was the signal that he would be spending the night with Layla.
"That's fine." You nodded immediately, and you also felt disgusted with the food in your hand.
How much longer could you go on like this?
After a few seconds of silence, you cleared your throat. You had some time to come up with a change of conversation.
"What happened to your hand?" Your index finger touched Steven's injured knuckles.
"Marc didn't keep the suit on long enough; the larger wounds healed, but the rest didn't." He never lied, although this might be the exception. A minor injury to prevent a bigger one; he wouldn't ruin his life over a trivial matter.
You nodded slowly, planted a kiss on his shoulder, and continued with your attempt at a date, which was going perfectly until you remembered where you were standing.
The truth was that the night before, Steven had had a fight with Marc, one of those that hadn't happened since they threatened not to switch bodies back to each other.
"Are you two together, Steven?" He was about to explode, about to go crazy. This was the last thing he needed right now, adding more lies and involving more people. "I already told you, no!" Ever since you considered the possibility that Marc might find out, you had decided that if it was a panic situation, you would opt for the most efficient plan: Deny, deny, deny, deny. "Don't lie to me, not to me!" He never yelled; he was the calculating, quiet, and careful type, but even he had a breaking point, and if Steven was going to shout, then he would too. "Do you think I'm stupid, Steven?" It's funny because he hadn't had any doubts until a few weeks ago, so maybe he was a bit stupid, but he wouldn't say it out loud. "No, no, butâŠ" "But?" "We're not together, Marc; she's my best friend." The second part was at least not a lie. He exhaled heavily and mentally thanked for being in front because dealing with anger, panic, and fear without having control over your body was a nightmare he had experienced before. Why did he ever buy so many mirrors? Marc's accusing gaze followed him around the apartment. "And you like her," Steven completed, another thing that wasn't a lie. "If I lose Layla because of you two, I swear I'llâŠ" Adrenaline rushed through him; he lost control of his hand, which ended up against one of the mirrors, breaking it into a thousand pieces. "Marc!" The other didn't say anything, he watched from the reflection of some glass pieces as Steven's hand now bled, and tears filled his eyes. His body was used to large doses of pain, but emotionally, he wasn't used to seeing himself bleed or handling loud noises well. "We. Are. Not. Together." It was the last thing he said as he stretched his fingers and watched the blood flow between them. Marc was no longer in the reflection. He didn't want to object.
"Will I see you the day after tomorrow?" You could still see him tomorrow, but the idea of him coming to your place smelling of Layla's citrusy perfume always disgusted you. It was as if an extra day would be enough to erase any traces of her from his body.
"The day after tomorrow, without fail." Steven knew; he didn't question you. He placed a kiss on your forehead.
"I love you, Steven."
"I love you, sweetheart."
Receiving calls or visits at midnight was always terrifying, especially when you knew your partner was constantly at risk, and this time was no exception.
The strong knocks on the door woke you up, and knowing it could be no one else but him, you opened the door without hesitation. Clad only in Steven's shirt that barely covered your thighs, with messy hair and half-closed eyes because the hallway light bothered you in the darkness.
Marc's tearful eyes met yours, along with the strong aroma of whiskey that Steven had told you about before, the one that stung his nose.
"Are you okay?" It was the first thing you said as he analyzed you from head to toe. He hated you, hated that you looked so good in the middle of the night, and hated that he felt a sense of ownership just from seeing you in a shirt that was originally his.
He didn't answer, he walked straight into your apartment, and you could only step aside to let him pass.
The way he walked past the sofas to sit on the floor was frightening; you had spent time with Marc during bad moments, but you had never seen him like this. You didn't say anything, didn't press, you just walked behind him and sat down beside him on the cold floor.
Your mere presence was enough for his eyes to fill with tears again.
"I didn't know where to go," he whispered, breaking your heart into a thousand pieces with just a few words.
"Oh, Marc." You knelt beside him to have better access to his body, and within seconds, you had your arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "I'm here, calm down."
You didn't get more words from him for a while, just sobs and those annoying chest contractions you get when you try to breathe through crying. You could even feel the fabric of your shirt damp at the shoulder level from his tears.
"I'm scared." His voice was broken, trembling.
"I'm here." You repeated as you held him tighter.
He didn't have the strength to tell you. He was afraid of you. Afraid of the dreams where he saw himself with you, afraid of the way his heart raced the few times you crossed paths, afraid of losing Layla because of his feelings, and afraid of change.
He was terrified of the mere idea of his life changing completely again.
You played with his curls and stayed on your knees until they hurt, with him in your arms whimpering like a little kid.
"Let's go to bed, Marc." He didn't resist, and you led him by the hand.
Nor did he object when you helped him get rid of his clothes just so he could sleep a little better. He almost felt guilty about how comfortable he seemed to be in your bed.
You hugged him from behind, your two hands resting on his chest where you could feel the beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath. Your cheek enjoyed the warmth of his back.
When you woke up, there were no traces of Marc anymore.
"Meanwhile, Osiris' wife, Isis, searched tirelessly for his body and thenâŠ" The way you were looking at the ground while walking had caught Steven's attention for quite a while, but he didn't confirm his suspicions until he noticed you weren't participating in his narration as you always used to do. "Lovey?"
"Huh?"
"You seem distracted today."
"I'm sorry, I, it's justâŠ" You cleared your throat while forcing a small smile on your face.
"Do you like it here?" He interrupted to finally point out an area in the park that seemed perfect for your plan. You immediately nodded with that fake smile, and both of you sat down carefully on the grass. You placed the book you had been carrying in one hand aside.
Steven handed you your ice cream and kept his own in the other hand.
"Can we talk?"
"Nothing good ever comes out of that, I've seen it in movies." Steven tried to joke, but hearing those words come out of your mouth made him sick to his stomach. Slowly, he rested his head on your lap.
Your hand, as if drawn by a magnet, went straight to his tousled curls. He closed his eyes and smiled; you had always compared that gesture to a puppy seeking more affection.
"We can't keep doing this to Marc, love." Your voice broke as you gave him those caresses he loved so much. "Nor to Layla, it's not fair to them."
Steven was looking at you again, with a terrified expression and a slight pout on his lips.
"And is it fair to us?" he snapped. Needless to say, both of you had long stopped paying attention to your sad ice creams; they were already melting into the grass.
"If Layla finds out, we'll ruin Marc's life." You tried to be the rational one between both of you, but with Steven's puppy eyes fixed on you, it was almost impossible to think clearly.
"And if we end⊠this, mine will be destroyed." Well, he had a point. "Please." His two hands went to your cheeks and pressed them gently, his forehead now resting against yours. "We can't. You can't." His lips claimed yours within seconds, and you could only respond as if life were slipping away.
Whom were you fooling? You were selfish enough to give in. After all, every night you created scenarios where Layla found out and left Marc, knowing that it would destroy him, but in your scenarios, you were there to comfort him, to prevent him from falling apart.
"I love you, Steven." You didn't get a response, but you didn't need to hear it; feeling the strength with which he held you was more than enough.
You were all he had, and he was all you had.
Life was better when you both pretended to have a life that wasn't yours. When you fantasized and made plans for a future you would both do anything to have.
"What do you think of that one?" You both looked like kids with your foreheads pressed against the glass that separated you from the kittens.
"They say the orange ones are crazy, lovey." The fact that Steven was just as interested as you in this fed your good mood entirely. "How about that one?"
"I like his or her fur." You pressed your index finger against the glass to try to get the attention of the kitty that was completely distracted playing with another.
"Love, love, love." He nudged you with his shoulder, making you laugh, so you looked at the opposite side, another part of the store.
You gasped.
"THAT ONE?" You had to cover your mouth when the tone of your voice caught the attention of other people in the place.
There was only one cat in the area reserved for senior cats. You knew it was harder for them to get adopted compared to the kittens, it was as if he was destined to be there.
"It's just a baby." You pouted slightly as you pulled Steven's hand, both walking straight towards the spot where the little cat was staring at you.
He was white, although half of his body was covered in black spots, reminiscent of a cow's fur. When you got closer, you noticed that the tip of one of his ears was missing.
Love at first sight.
"Hiya, mate." The guy next to you was as enchanted as you with the animal. "Uhm, what do you say?" He tilted his head towards the glass. The meow completed his performance. "Look how curious, he says he's looking for new parents."
You laughed, genuine happiness coursing through you. You didn't give Steven time to react before jumping into his arms; he lifted you a few inches off the ground in the middle of the hug.
You didn't care about drawing attention. In fact, having witnesses to your love made it feel more real, reminding you that it wasn't just a product of your imagination.
After he kissed your lips, you could feel the ground under your feet again. You couldn't stop smiling.
"Come on, let's fill out the form." Steven's heart was about to burst with love at any moment.
The instructions were clear: fill out the corresponding paperwork, a few days of socialization with the cat to make sure he felt comfortable with you, and by the following week, he would be yours.
"We'll come to see you, okay? And then we'll go home."
"See ya, buddy." Steven said his goodbye too. "Next week, you'll have the best home, the comfiest bed, and the best parents, I promise."
"What's wrong, Marc?" There was something scary about the idea of being alone with him without him being intoxicated or injured. You were taking off your scarf to leave it on a sofa while he watched you from his table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest.
It was impossible to read his expression because Marc always seemed tense.
"She knows."
Your heart sank in seconds, and you looked at him in surprise.
"Ah?"
"She knows," he repeated. You swallowed hard, and for a moment, you thought this was one of those silly dreams that sometimes distorted your reality.
"Knows what?"
"Please, don't treat me like I'm stupid." His tone of voice was enough to make you tremble. You immediately looked at the bathroom mirror.
Steven had told you that while one had control of the body, the other could be reflected in different surfaces, but of course, that only worked between them. No matter how much you looked, hoping that Steven would appear to save you, it didn't happen.
You didn't even know if he was aware of what Marc was doing.
"I don'tâŠ" Your voice died down slowly, and you refused to get closer to him. "What does she know?"
"About you." He took a step closer, and you felt immobilized. "She thinks you're my lover, like any sane person, she knows nothing about Steven."
You swallowed the lump in your throat as tears filled your eyes.
"You have to tell her, Marc, explain to her sheâŠ" He interrupted you in seconds; the way he raised his voice made you flinch.
"'She will understand?' Is that what you want to say?" He was getting closer, and you felt like he was taking your breath away. Why were you suddenly so afraid? "Yes, I'll tell her every damn thing that's wrong with me so that you can be happy."
Ouch.
"I-I'm saying it for you, Marc." Tears were already streaming down your face, and you mentally cursed yourself for the mere idea of showing so much weakness. "She has to know, it's best for you." And it was, of course, but you were resorting to your last resort to not lose Steven too.
And maybe, not lose Marc either.
"You don't know what's best for me, you have no idea." His sarcasm cut deep as he took the last step to confront you.
"Please, please, don't do this." You pleaded through sobs; your hands ended up on his cheeks. "Please." You pulled him closer to you.
He seemed to relax under your touch, at least for a few seconds. Your heart stopped when one of his hands rested on your waist.
"Don't make this harder, you're killing me." He was also begging, even as his forehead pressed against yours.
"We can get through this, Marc." You sniffed. "I promise, we canâŠ"
A kiss. A desperate and painful kiss silenced your words; it was the only one Marc and you would share.
"Go," he whispered against your lips, still planting small kisses on them. "Please, I beg you, go."
And that was the final nail to seal the coffin between you both.
His hand made you take a step back, a very gentle push.
"I'm choosing her." He knew you better than he'd like, knowing that you wouldn't stop insisting unless he caused you permanent harm. Besides, how could he convince himself he wasn't in love with you if he didn't do this?
You looked at him incredulously, not believing his act, but there was nothing else you could do.
This time, you begged that Steven was present to hear everything that had transpired between you both because you wouldn't have the strength to end it after this. In fact, you didn't even know if you'd have the strength to live without him.
You didn't say anything more, you didn't look back at him, and he didn't change his mind. You left his apartment, leaving your scarf on his sofa as a final reminder of your presence in his life.
sorry, i got tired of happy endings
Part 2. Sleepwalking.
#steven grant x reader#steven grant#steven grant x you#moon knight#moon knight x you#moon knight x reader#moon boys#moon boys x you#moon boys x reader#moon system#moon system x reader#moon system x you#marvel#oscar isaac#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac x reader#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#jake lockley#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley x you
844 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 3)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
GIF: Originally posted by @sassycherryblossomtree
Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader
Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)
Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Physical intimacy.
Word Count: 2.9k
A/N: What a full on week! I've had a job interview. Got turned down for said job. Went to a Sandman filming location (Natural History Museum) and watched Dune Part 2 (cannot recommend enough). It took away from my writing time a bit but part 3 is here now, and I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think. Part 4 will be coming soon. All my love, Saskia xx
Sandman Masterlist
---------------------------------------------
"Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."
The sentence is a catalyst, fuelling the physical and emotional reactions in both the surroundings and your body.
The wind is gone, leaving a claustrophobic air that crackles with untameable energy. The streetlight above violently flickers and flares, the unmistakable noise of a circuit about to overload emanating with each surge.
You feel these surges within your chest too, stoking the warmth radiating through you to an uncontrollable blaze. The ferocity of the sensation makes you whimper.
The man's hands are still touching you. Cradling your face and holding your hand; he feels the tremble that couples with your vocalisation.
"I understand. I feel it too," he whispers. "Though I imagine it is much more intense for your mortal heart to bear."
He eyes are raven black as he strokes his thumb back and forth over your cheek, before strengthening the hold he has on your face.
"Let me kiss the pain away."
He gives you no time to respond. He leans in the last few centimetres and puts his lips firmly against yours.
At first, contrary to his intent, the pain amplifies. He grunts, indicating that he has felt this spike also yet begins to move his lips regardless. It's like your heart is a balloon and it is being overfilled with air, close to exploding and obliterating you from existence. You then feel as if you are about to black out and want to pull away, and are about to try when the agony starts to subside.
The seduction begins.
The fire is mellowing with each press of his mouth, transforming into a restorative, yet sensuous energy. It's alleviation akin to calamine on a sunburn.
It awakens a primal need in your soul. This man is fundamental to you. He is the only one who can truly protect you from harm. You must remain with him. Give yourself to him.
You act on this revelation and kiss him back with a hunger that you didn't think you were capable of demonstrating.
Your reciprocation sends him into a frenzy. He cages you against the damp wall of the building and kisses you with unyielding, dangerous passion.
His skill is impressive, changing technique frequently to keep you guessing. Smothering kisses, bruising kisses, slower kisses to give you time to breathe. The hand that was cupping your face is now stroking down your side; breasts, waist, hips and back up again.
Tentatively, you raise your free hand to the back of his head and run your fingers through his wild hair. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a satisfied vibrating sigh of sorts that encourages you to dig deeper into the silken locks.
He escalates things by slipping his tongue into your mouth. You feel his lips curl into a smirk as you moan in response. His taste is a potent blend: a smoky base, herbaceous core and ambrosial top notes. You are drunk on it, and him seconds after exposure.
Logic has left you. Schedules and duties cast aside.
The juxtaposition between the present and minutes prior would be frightening if not for how correct all this feels. You had been disgusted and alarmed by his conduct, ready to bring in reinforcements and then all of it had dissipated like dust under a short, sharp breath.
It is not a ridiculous change in behaviour; you were supposed to be doing this. This stranger is all you want.
He pulls back when even his slower kisses are unable to calm your elevated respiratory rate, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he does so to draw another moan from you.
The blue of his eyes shimmer with a myriad of emotions. Lust stands out the most along with awe and relief. Your cheeks prickle with a light blush as he continues to stare and document every detail.
"I have been waiting to do that for thousands of years, my precious soulmate," he eventually says in reference to the kiss after absorbing your image for a while.
There's that word again. Soulmate. You hadn't exactly been allowed a period of contemplation when the man first uttered it, too swept up in the fire and his touch, but now with the semi-reinstation of coherent thoughts you begin to assess. It proves difficult. Your cerebral matter feels like a mixture of treacle, sap and epoxy. Trapping words and slowing down your processing power. It would be so simple to let yourself live in this mental mire and be carried along by his whims.
No. You scold inwardly. Ask a question.
"What do you mean by soulmates?" You force yourself to speak.
He guides your palm to rest on his heart and sets up a mirror image with his hand on your chest. "It means that we are bound together, made for one another."
The next question is easier to form. "And what now, given that you've found me?"
"Now," His hips grind into yours. "I will continue with the ritual of awakening you to the metaphysical connection between us, stripping back the shrouds and glamours that have been protecting your mind from the gravity of this gift."
That explained why everything shifted when he first touched your skin.
"Are you going to do that here?" Your brain is really starting to break free of its trappings and you need to ascertain his plan for it sounds like his intentions are of a sexual nature and you are in a public place.
"No, your time in this world has reached its end. I will take you to my realm, lead you to my chambers and I will not stop stimulating you until I have taken residence in your every thought, every cell."
The speed and confidence with which he is pouring forth all of these sentiments, and the near-full recovery of your mental faculties triggers a wave of nausea. Perspiration forms on your nape and ears and your core temperature feels off; warning signs that you get when you are about to vomit.
He still hasn't let go of your hand. You hone in on the softness of his skin, hoping you can use him as an anchor as you wade through the icky symptoms.
Recent events are starting to catch up with you. You replay it all.
Soulmates. Mortal. Thousands of years. Metaphysical. Realm. The unexplainable environmental manifestations. The strange shifting qualities of his eyes. What kind of supernatural devilry had you managed to become ensnared in?
Was he in fact the devil?
You are so conflicted. This being, for you are convinced that 'man' is no longer the correct term, is telling you things that threaten your entire way of life and your heart is pushing you to seek comfort from him!
Then the voices start.
Your sense of balance tilts and you instinctively grasp his forearm for stability. He says your name and you drag your focus from your thoughts to his face. He is looking at you with deep concern.
"Tell me," he commands gently.
"I feel dizzy... And I can hear voices."
"How many?"
"What?"
"How many voices?"
Your eyes are wide as you struggle to understand the relevance of his question.
You stammer out a couple of syllables.
"Breathe," he encourages.
You obey and concentrate on the hubbub.
"Three. Everything is being repeated three times."
The frown lines smooth and he is smiling faintly. "It seems The Fates are vying for your attention."
"The Fates? Like in Greek mythology?"
"The very same."
Was this being a God then?
"They're telling me to close my eyes," you relay as soon as the instruction is delivered.
He nods. "That will be the trigger that transports your mind to their location."
"Will I pass out?"
"No. It will be a temporary connection that keeps your body frozen for mere moments."
"I feel so dizzy though."
"I can hold you while you converse with them should you wish."
You nod somewhat frenetically as a sliver of fear creeps into your mind. "Yes, please."
He lets go of your hand for the first time since you tried to go back in the building, slips his arms around your waist and he pulls you close with a satisfied sigh. The neediness with which you are clinging to him lessens your apprehension just a little.
"How does that feel?" His voice rumbles deliciously through your chest.
"Good, thank you."
"You should close your eyes now. It is best that you do not keep them waiting."
"Okay."
"I'll see you in a few moments."
You shut your eyes.
----------------
The scene you awaken in is all lemon yellows, blush pinks and pastel blues. There's no landforms or structures. Just a never-ending stretch of bedrock, topped with a horizon that is beginning to show a sumptuous sunset.
You squint a little and then notice that there is a actually a point of interest. A lump of rough rock, waist height. There's a divot worn into the top that makes the obtrusion look like a font. For a moment you see a single figure standing at it.
A figure that appears to have three faces.
But then you blink and the number has tripled.
Maiden, Mother and Crone.
The trio block the worst of the sun glare, and the light that isn't obscured is highlighting the translucent layers that overflow from their intricately constructed and adorned outfits. Their curly hair, like the fabric of their clothes, flows freely in the gentle breeze.
You walk towards the group, thinking back to that term in school where you studied Greek mythology. Under no circumstances did you ever think that any of it could possibly be true, yet here you were.
You stop a respectable distance from them and quickly avert your eyes downwards to look at the ruby ring on your right hand.
One of them speaks, "You need not be intimidated by us, sweetness."
"I only wish to pay respect to you, your Graces."
You chance a peek at the Fates and see amusement in their eyes.
"Oh, you are going to fit in very well in his world," the Mother says with a smile.
You don't know what to feel about that comment however you don't have time to dwell on it for the eldest addresses you.
"Come closer. Let us look at you."
And look they did. Their resolute gazes are just as discerning as the stranger's but unlike his, where you knew he was soaking you in, you feel like the Fates are seeing through you.
You don't know what exactly it is that they are looking for but their smiles give the impression of being appeased.
"Has Morpheus told you how this will go?"
"No..." You hesitate before speaking his name, "Morpheus has not."
"He didn't tell you his name, did he?"
"We didn't get a lot of time for small talk," you admit sheepishly.
"We can see that from the state of your lips."
"He always was rather forward with his physical affection."
"Touch starved," the Crone finishes.
You are beyond embarrassed. How swollen were your lips for it to be that obvious? You can almost feel his touch now, it tingles like phantom caresses on the skin of your neck, chest and waist. You swallow hard before further lust can thicken your throat.
The Fates then speak in turn again, explaining the context of your rendezvous.
"You will have the opportunity to ask three questions."
"That is the custom when meeting with us."
"There is no need to rush."
Choosing only three questions will be tough when there are hundreds you could ask. Were you losing your sanity? Was Morpheus a demonic envoy from the underworld sent to corrupt your mind?
You suppose all you really want to know is whether this is real.
"Is he telling the truth about us being soulmates?"
The Maiden answers in a musical voice, "He is. The confluence of yours and Morpheus' lives has been written for millennia. Your souls have been intended for each other since he came into existence. You were never meant for anyone else but him."
You feel like you are about to cry. That last statement cuts deeply.
"All those times that potential partners lost interest or ghosted me. It was because of this soulmates thing," you murmur the statement, aware that you don't need to ask them to know if it is true.
Years of heartache and confusion had been for nothing. The nights spent wondering if you had done something wrong, the days where you threw yourself into your work to distract from it.
You cannot regret all the good things you managed to create as part of your team at the charity yet it is hard to look past the personal torment that countless unexplained rejections caused. You are human after all.
Selfishness rears its head and pushes the next question from your mouth with a tone of indignation.
"Why am I only finding out about this now?"
The Mother takes over, tone caring and brown eyes cordial, "It was not necessary for you to know."
Ire disintegrates into frustration. "But I could have been preparing. Not building a life that I was clearly going to have to give up."
"You would not be the person you are had we given you warning. You needed to live as a human, not as someone who was fated to be with the King of Dreams and Nightmares. Besides, there was no possibility of you being together. For 106 years, Morpheus was the prisoner of a human, and it was the recent end of his captivity that allowed fate to take its intended course. Reaching your potential on Earth gives you a strong foundation from which to guide and influence him in how to best serve humanity, and learn to trust in them once more after what he suffered at the hands of one."
The amount of information you have just received is like a freight train. One after the other, the revelations barrel into you and you take refuge in your mind.
The King of Dreams and Nightmares; not a title you had heard of before. Yet there is a strange sense of recognition. A forgotten memory that barely flickers with life. You ignore the niggling thought and focus on the more devastating one.
This King, your soulmate was held against his will, subjected to suffering. You cannot bear the idea of it regardless of how few details you have at present. Your chest aches and you know your soul is the source.
Fury twitches in your fingers, as fiery as the now burnt oranges and bloody reds of the ever-progressing sunset. You want to know who could do such a terrible thing but you realise that it is not the most important question you could be asking.
You look back to the Fates. You note their proud smiles at your restraint.
"What role am I expected to play in his future?"
The Crone moves to centre stage, "You are to be his everything. Muse. Lover. Queen. Advisor. Confidant."
Your stomach twists.
"Are you ready to return to him?" The Maiden asks, taking you off guard.
You feel like you a patron being kicked out at closing time with half a drink left. A fizzy one that you can't knock back easily.
What you've just been told honestly scares you. It's a mountain of expectation, the sort of thing that could birth an inferiority complex. There's also your self-preservation instinct starting to scream. You've seen darkness in his eyes, felt his physical strength and heard how resolute his statements are.
You have to say something.
"I'm worried about what would happen if I disappoint him, if he would hurt me."
The trio step closer, the scant remnants of sunlight reflect off their perceptive eyes and the metal of their matching earrings.
The Crone speaks solemnly, "It has been well-documented that Morpheus has a ruthless nature. As one of the Endless siblings, he is among the most powerful beings in the universe; equal parts creator, and destroyer."
The Mother touches your cheek with a warm hand. "But you have just as much power to hurt him, sweetness. We have provided you with it."
The Maiden nods in agreement, and takes your hand.
"He deals in fears, yes but his domain also lies in fantasies. He will be able to furnish you with yours. He has been made to be perfect for you."
"But -"
"This is not a loss of agency or an act of surrender. Put aside your qualms, listen to your soul and ask yourself this: do you find him attractive?"
"Yes." He's the most attractive person you've ever seen.
"Do you care for him?"
"Yes." Your reaction to his imprisonment is evidence enough of that.
"Do you want to a chance of happiness?"
"Yes." Deep down beneath all the doubt and overthinking and catastrophising, it's exactly what you want.
You want Morpheus.
"I'm ready," you say calmly.
You take a step back from the Fates and bow.
"Thank you for your time, your Graces."
The sky is an inky violet with daubs of dark blue, the sun is a thin line on the horizon. It sets, signalling the end of the meeting and your time as an ordinary mortal.
"Fare you well," the Fates' voices echo in unison as everything fades to black.
-------------------------
Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines
"Deep in my heart, deep in my mind. Take me away, take me away. This is my word, dream maker, life taker. Open up my mind."
#the sandman#sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman 2022#the sandman fic#the sandman fanfic#the sandman imagine#morpheus#lord morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus/dream#morpheus/dream x reader#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream#dream x reader#the dreaming#the endless#the fates#dark!morpheus#dark morpheus#soulmates#fanfic#angst#tom sturridge#saskia writes sandman#Spotify
206 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ur Dumb Hoesâ SVT FIC REC PT.2
Guide: Not Titled (N/T)
MORE RECS
Headcannons/Reactions
Seventeen and touch-starved s/o hu vu by @wqnwoos
Saying Something They Didnât Mean in a Fight hu vu pu by @babyleostuff
How I think (specific members) react when you reach your climax by @luvelve
them accidentally ditching you on your bday (hu pt2) vu pu by @hannieehaee
N/T & N/T by @sluttyminghao
Seventeen as Displays of affection by @mangocustard16
Ot13/Poly
Sweet Nights by @wifeyoozi
N/T by @nonranghaes
Eggs, Bacons & Sausage Sandwich by @bitchlessdino
S.Coups
White t-shirt by @seungkw1
Caught in a Trap by @cheolism
We got Married! By @yvesette
Takes Two to Tango by @gyuwoncheol
Jeonghan
08:25pm & âPrettyâ by @wheeboo
Comfortable by @watanabebad
Rain and Kisses by @babyleostuff
Mr.styles by deactivated @/yveaart (if they have another account let me know so I can tag them)
N/T by @wonuvs / @c-oupsie
N/T by @hoshifighting
[7:45 pm] by @miupow
Joshua
 Distracted by @eomayas
Always for you (my heart beats) by @dokries
Junhui
warm junhui & N/T by @mountainficss
Gentle & Sound of the Season by @junkissed
Alt title: You are my Kingdom by @fairyhaos
N/T by @4kimji
virgin!jun x reader by @hoshifighting
Doctors Orders by @xuhuihuis
Shut Up by @onlymingyus
Hoshi
You. Always by @sailorrhansol
a tiger's dominion by @onlyseokmins
how to get rid of nightmares by @cheolism
Wonwoo
Badboy!Wonwoo pt.2 by @hannieehaee
1.36 am by @heennnngggggarae
17: "Enemies. Strictly enemies." by @twogyuu
Shy bf Wonwoo Head cannons by @number1mingyustan
virgin!wonwoo x reader by @hoshifighting
Mafia boss! Wonwoo x reader headcanons by @dirtysvthoughts
No Rainbows by @rebeccarose0315
Woozi
Eyeliner 101 by @gorae
N/T by @brainddeadd
DK
[12:44] by @bbyobbyo
Angel Eyes by @monamipencil
N/T by @sluttywonwoo
7:20am by @addicsvt
Shut up (donât) by @gyuswhore
[14:46] & [18:26] by @onlyseokmins
Mingyu
Pink Wrists by @gyuhao5
N/T by @seungcheorry
Overstimulation by @hoekyeom
N/T by @hannieehaee
N/T by @monamipencil
The8
Dancing in the Rain by @magisland
Museum Date by @sebastiannewai
Iâve got you by @xuhuihuis
N/T by @mountainficss
Virgin!minghao x reader by @hoshifighting
N/T by @hannieehaee
First Time by @ilwonuu
Seungkwan
N/T by @hoshifighting
first by @cheolism
N/T by @min4yu
Vernon
A Picture of You by @definitely-nota-fangirl
âstay in characterâ by @idyllic-ghost
10:18pm | hansol vernon chwe by @wheeboo
Dino
N/T by @hannieehaee
Sub!Chan whoâs only comfort id your tits by @monamipencil
#sorry for the procrastination#kpop#seventeen#kats tmi corner#fic rec#jeonghan#wonwoo#wen junhui#scoups#joshua hong#hoshi#svt#seungkwan#seokmin#gose#xu minghao#woozi#mingyu#vernon#seventeen dino
111 notes
·
View notes
Text
List of As Many Fiction Podcasts As I Could Think Of
NOT ORGANIZED! This is a big list of fiction podcasts with no descriptions, meant for the sole purpose of picking one based on the title and just trying it out. Just a big ol' list of titles. Kindof like a blind date! Explore a couple of the ones that intrigue you and come back later for more.
The Hotel
The Night Post
I am in Eskew
Whisperling
Residents of Proserpina Park
The Daedalus Compound
EOS10
The Magnus Archives
Francis Forever
SMILE GROVE
Janus Descending
The Godfrey Audio Guide
Old Gods of Appalachia
Camp Here & There
The Way We Haunt Now
Jack of All Trades
SUPERSUITS
Illuminati Interns
Death by Dying
Life with Leo(h)
Hello from the Hallowoods
Malevolent
The 12:37
Spirit Box Radio
Lost Terminal
Desperado
Neighbourly
The Switchboard
The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality
Aurora Everlasting
The Swashbuckling Ladies Debate Society
CARAVAN
The Amelia Project
Jar of Rebuke
Monstrous Agonies
Where the Stars Fell
Kisses In The Dark
The Town Whispers
Uncommon Commons
The Author's Anathema
Elevator Pitch
Brimstone Valley Mall
Kane & Feels
Middle:Below
The McIlwraith Statements
Caledonian Gothic
I have seen Niagara
Petrified
In Darkness Vast
The Outside Tapes
Seren
Gather the Suspects
This Foul Earth
John from Home
Glasgow Ghost Stories
The Tower
The Antique Shop
either
Tales from Aletheian Society
The Secret of St Kilda
The Green Horizon
Road X
THE NOWHERE MALL
Seven of Hearts
The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio
SubverCity Transmit
The Nuclear Solution
Inkwyrm
Jim Robbie and the Wanderers
Burst
With Caulk and Candles
This Planet Needs a Name
The Glass Appeal
Mar's Best Brisket
Nym's Nebulous Notions
Midnight Radio
The Bright Sessions
When Angels Visit Armadillo
The Mysterious Secrets of Uncle Bertie's Botanarium
Nowhere, On Air
Dark Ages
Welcome to Night Vale
The Silt Verses
Care & Feeding of Werewolves
The Bridge
The Far Meridian
ars PARADOXICA
Among the Stars and Bones
Counterbalance
Primordial Deep
Hannahpocalypse
Someone dies in this Elevator
Mabel
Seen and Not Heard
Abyss FM
Bodies in Space
Among the Stacks
Station Arcadia
Station Blue
Mnemosyne
Wolf 359
Tranthologies
Mx Bad Luck
SAYER
Limetown
What will be here?
Wake of Corrosion
The Pasithea Powder
SINKHOLE
Tell No Tales
The Vesta Clinic
Dreamboy
Georgie Romero is Done For
The Domestic Life of Anthony Todd
Alice isn't Dead
Stellar Firma
Unwell
The Strange Case of Starship Iris
The Heart of Ether
The Orbiting Human Circus
Wooden Overcoats
Greater Boston
Valence
Moonbase Theta Out
The Penumbra Podcast
Desert Skies
Deviser
Leaving Corvat
Red Valley
Back Again Back Again
Sidequesting
#camp here & there#chnt#tma#wtnv#ch&t#welcome to night vale#indie podcast#podcast reccomendation#the penumbra podcast#the hotel#the night post#hello from the hallowoods#old gods of appalachia#i am in eskew#podcasts#audio fiction
916 notes
·
View notes